,
To sweeten all the heavy Toils of Empire.

_Gill._ So it does, an't please your Highness.

_L. Lam._ Go, let him know I'm coming-- Madam, I must beg your Pardon;
you hear, my Lord to morrow goes on his great Expedition; and, for any
thing we know, may fall a glorious Sacrifice to the Commonwealth;
therefore 'tis meet I offer up some Prayers for his Safety, and all my
leisure Hours 'twixt this and that, will be too few-- Your humble
Servant, Madam.
[Ex. L. _Lam._ and _Gill._

_L. Fleet._ My Dear, I'll leave you too, my time of Devotion is come,
and Heav'n will stay for no Body; where are my People? is my Coach
ready, or my Chair?

_Fleet._ Go in your Chair, my Love, lest you catch cold.

_L. Fleet._ And light your Flambeaus,-- I love to have my Chair
surrounded with Flambeaus.

Enter _Page_.

_Page._ Your Chair is ready, Madam.

[She goes out led by _Fleet_.

_Hews._ What think ye now, my Lords, of settling the Nation a little?
I find my Head swim with Politicks, and what ye call ums.

_War._ Wons, and wad ya settle the Nation when we real our selves?

_Hews._ Who, pox, shall we stand making Childrens Shoes all the Year?
No, no, let's begin to settle the Nation, I say, and go thro-stitch with
our Work.

_Duc._ Right, we have no Head to obey; so that if this _Scotch_ General
do come whilst we Dogs fight for the Bone, he runs away with it.

_Hews._ Shaw, we shall patch up matters with the _Scotch_ General, I'll
warrant you: However, here's to our next Head-- One and all.
[All drink.

_Fleet._ Verily, Sirs, this Health-drinking savoureth of Monarchy, and
is a Type of Malignancy.

_War._ Bread, my Lord, no preaching o'er yar Liquer, wee's now for a Cup
o' th' Creature.

_Cob._ In a gadly way you may; it is lawful.

_Lam._ Come, come, we're dull, give us some Musick-- come, my Lord, I'll
give you a Song, I love Musick as I do a Drum, there's Life and Soul
in't, call my Musick.

_Fleet._ Yea, I am for any Musick, except an Organ.

_War._ Sbread, Sirs, and I's for a Horn-pipe, I've a faud Theefe here
shall dance ye Dance tol a Horn-pipe, with any States-man a ya aud.

_All._ He, he, he.

_Duc._ I know not what your faud Theefe can do; but I'll hold you a
Wager, Colonel _Hewson_, and Colonel _Desbro_ shall dance ye the Seint's
Jigg with any Sinner of your Kirk, or field Conventicler.

_War._ Wons, and I's catch 'em at that Sport, I's dance tol 'em for a
_Scotch_ Poond; but farst