a while on the Regiments, who are
silent all.

_Bac._ Well, Gentlemen, in order to your fine Declaration, you see I
come to render my self.

_Dun._ How came he to know of our Declaration?

_Whiff._ Rogues, Rogues among our selves, that inform.

_Bac._ What, are ye silent all,--not a Man to lift his Hand in Obedience
to the Council, to murder this Traytor that has exposed his Life so
often for you? Hah, what, not for three hundred Pound?--You see I've
left my Troops behind, and come all wearied with the Toils of War, worn
out by Summers heats, and Winters cold, march'd tedious Days and Nights
through Bogs and Fens as dangerous as your Clamours, and as
faithless,--what though 'twas to preserve you all in Safety, no matter,
you shou'd obey the grateful Council, and kill this honest Man that has
defended you.

_All._ Hum, hum, hum.

_Whiff._ The General speaks like a Gorgon.

_Tim._ Like a Cherubin, Man.

_Bac._ All silent yet--where's that mighty Courage, that cried so loud
but now, A Council, a Council? where is your Resolution? cannot three
hundred Pound excite your Valour to seize that Traitor _Bacon_ who has
bled for you?

_All._ A _Bacon_, a _Bacon_, a _Bacon_. [Hollow.

_Down._ Oh villainous Cowards!--Oh the faithless Multitude!

_Bac._ What say you, Parson?--you have a forward Zeal.

_Dun._ I wish my Coat, Sir, did not hinder me from acting as becomes my
Zeal and Duty.

_Whim._ A plaguy rugged Dog,--that Parson--

_Bac._ _Fearless_, seize me that canting Knave from out the Herd, and
next those honourable Officers.

[Points to _Dull._ _Whim._ _Whiff_, and _Tim._ _Fearless_ seizes
them, and gives them to the Soldiers, and takes the Proclamation
from _Dunce_, and shews _Bacon_; they read it.

_Dull._ Seize us, Sir, you shall not need, we laid down our Commissions
on purpose to come over to your Honour.

_Whiff._ We ever lov'd and honour'd your Honour.

_Tim._ So intirely, Sir--that I wish I were safe in _James_ Town for
your sake, and your Honour were hang'd.
[Aside.

_Bac._ This fine Piece is of your penning, Parson,--though it be
countenanc'd by the Council's Names.--Oh Ingratitude! Burn, burn the
treacherous Town, fire it immediately.--

_Whim._ We'll obey you, Sir.

_Whiff._ Ay, ay, we'll make a Bonfire on't, and drink your Honour's
health round about it.
[They offer to go.

_Bac._ Yet hold, my Revenge shall be more merciful, I ordered that all
the Women o