up his cock,
He lies at the sign of the _Sun_, to be new breech'd.

_Sul._ The Rutter too, is gone.

_Ja._ O that was a brave Rascal,
He would labour like a Thrasher: but alas
What thing can ever last? he has been ill mew'd,
And drawn too soon; I have seen him in the Hospital.

_Sul._ There was an _English_-man.

_Ja._ I there was an _English_-man;
You'l scant find any now, to make that name good:
There were those _English_ that were men indeed,
And would perform like men, but now they are vanisht:
They are so taken up in their own Country,
And so beaten of their speed by their own women,
When they come here, they draw their legs like Hackneys:
Drink, and their own devices have undone 'em.

_Sul._ I must have one that's strong, no life in _Lisbon_ else,
Perfect and young: my Custom with young Ladies,
And high fed City dames, will fall, and break else.
I want my self too, in mine age to nourish me:
They are all sunk I mantain'd: now what's this business,
What goodly fellow's that?

_Enter_ Rutilio _and_ Officers.

_Rut._ Why do you drag me?
Pox o' your justice; let me loose.

_1 Offi._ Not so Sir.

_Rut._ Cannot a man fall into one of your drunken Cellars,
And venture the breaking on's neck, your trap-doors open,
But he must be us'd thus rascally?

_1 Offi._ What made you wandring
So late i'th' night? you know that is imprisonment.

_Rut._ May be I walk in my sleep.

_2 Offi._ May be we'l walk ye.
What made you wandring Sir, into that vault
Where all the City store, and the Munition lay?

_Rut._ I fell into it by chance, I broke my shins for't:
Your worships feel not that: I knockt my head
Against a hundred posts, would you had had it.
Cannot I break my neck in my own defence?

_2 Offi._ This will not serve: you cannot put it off so,
Your coming thither was to play the villain,
To fire the Powder, to blow up that part o'th' City.

_Rut._ Yes, with my nose: why were the trap-doors open?
Might not you fall, or you, had you gone that way?
I thought your City had sunk.

_1 Offi._ You did your best Sir,
We must presume, to help it into th' Air,
If you call that sinking: we have told you what's the law,
He that is taken there, unless a Magistrate,
And have command in that place, presently
If there be nothing found apparent near him
Worthy his torture, or his present death,
Must either pay his fine for his presumption,
(Which is six hundred Duckets) or for six years
Tug at an Oar i'th' Gallies: