him kindly home, and offer him a Commission for General--

_Whiff._ Just my _Nancy's_ Counsel--Dr. _Dunce_ has spoken like a
Cherubin, he shall have my Voice for General; what say you, Brother
_Whimsey_?

_Down._ I say he is a Noble Fellow, and fit for a General.

_Dun._ But conceive me right, Gentlemen; as soon as he shall have
render'd himself, seize him, and strike off his Head at the Fort.

_Whiff._ Hum! his Head--Brother.

_Whim._ Ay, ay, Dr. _Dunce_ speaks like a Cherubin.

_Well._ Mr. _Dunce_, your Counsel in extremity, I confess, is not amiss;
but I should be loth to deal dishonourably with any Man.

_Down._ His Crimes deserve Death, his Life is forfeited by Law, but
shall never be taken by my consent by Treachery: If by any Stratagem we
could take him alive, and either send him for _England_ to receive there
his Punishment, or keep him Prisoner here till the Governour arrive,
I should agree to it; but I question his coming in upon our Invitation.

_Dun._ Leave that to me.

_Whim._ Come, I'll warrant him, the Rogue's as stout as _Hector_, he
fears neither Heaven nor Hell.

_Down._ He's too brave and bold to refuse our Summons, and I am for
sending him for _England_, and leaving him to the King's Mercy.

_Dun._ In that you'll find more difficulty, Sir; to take him off here
will be more quick and sudden: for the People worship him.

_Well._ I'll never yield to so ungenerous an Expedient. The seizing him
I am content in the Extremity wherein we are to follow. What say you,
Colonel _Downright_? shall we send him a Letter now, while this two days
Truce lasts, between him and the _Indians_?

_Down._ I approve it.

_All._ And I, and I, and I.

_Dun._ If your Honours please to make me the Messenger, I'll use some
Arguments of my own to prevail with him.

_Well._ You say well, Mr. _Dunce_, and we'll dispatch you presently.

[Ex. _Well._ _Down._ and all but _Whim._ _Whiff._ and _Dunce_.

_Whiff._ Ah, Doctor, if you could but have persuaded Colonel _Wellman_
and Colonel _Downright_ to have hanged him--

_Whim._ Why, Brother _Whiff_, you were for making him a General but now.

_Whiff._ The Counsels of wise States-men, Brother _Whimsey_, must change
as Causes do, d'ye see.

_Dun._ Your Honours are in the right; and whatever those two leading
Counsellors say, they would be glad if _Bacon_ were dispatch'd: but the
punctilio of Honour is such a thing.

_Whim._ Honour, a Pox on't; what is that Hono