here is something in
prospect, that--

_Enter Scrub_.

_Arch_. Well, Scrub, have you secured your Tartar?

_Scrub_. Yes, sir, I left the priest and him disputing about
religion.

_Aim_. And pray carry these gentlemen to reap the
benefit of the controversy. {31}

[_Delivers the prisoners to Scrubs who leads
them out_.

_Mrs. Sul_. Pray, sister, how came my lord here?

_Dor_. And pray, how came the gentleman here?

_Mrs. Sul_. I 'll tell you the greatest piece of villainy--

[_They talk in dumb show_.

_Aim_. I fancy, Archer, you have been more successful in
your adventures than the housebreakers.

_Arch_. No matter for my adventure, yours is the
principal.--Press her this minute to marry you--now
while she's hurried between the palpitation of her
fear and the joy of her deliverance, now while the
tide of her spirits is at high-flood--throw yourself
at her feet, speak some romantic nonsense or other
--address her, like Alexander in the height of his
victory, confound her senses, bear down her reason,
and away with her.--The priest is now in the cellar,
and dare not refuse to do the work.

_Re-enter Lady Bountiful_.

_Aim_. But how shall I get off without being observed?

_Arch_. You a lover, and not find a way to get off!--Let
me see--

_Aim_. You bleed, Archer. {50}

_Arch_. 'Sdeath, I 'm glad on 't; this wound will do the
business. I 'll amuse the old lady and Mrs. Sullen
about dressing my wound, while you carry off
Dorinda.

_Lady Boun_. Gentlemen, could we understand how you
would be gratified for the services--

_Arch_. Come, come, my lady, this is no time for compliments;
I 'm wounded, madam.

_Lady Boun., Mrs. Sut_. How! wounded!

_Dor_. I hope, sir, you have received no hurt? {60}

_Aim_. None but what you may cure----

[_Makes love in dumb show_.

_Lady Boun_. Let me see your arm, sir--I must have
some powder-sugar to stop the blood.--O me! an
ugly gash; upon my word, sir, you must go into bed.

_Arch_. Ay, my lady, a bed would do very well.--[_To
Mrs. Sullen_.] Madam, will you do me the favour
to conduct me to a chamber.

_Lady Boun_. Do, do, daughter--while I get the lint and
the probe and the plaster ready.

[_Runs out one way, Aimwell carries off
Dorinda another_.

_Arch_. Come, madam, why don't you obey your mother's
commands? {71}

_Mrs. Sul_. How can you, after what is pass