he Danger's over, I may venture out--Pox on't, I wou'd not
be in this fear again, to be Lord Chief Justice of our Court. Why, how
now, Cornet?--what, in dreadful Equipage? Your Battle-Ax bloody, with
Bow and Arrows.

Enter _Timorous_ with Battle-Ax, Bow and Arrows, and Feathers on
his Head.

_Tim._ I'm in the posture of the times, Major--I cou'd not be idle where
so much Action was; I'm going to present my self to the General, with
these Trophies of my Victory here--

_Dull._ Victory--what Victory--did not I see thee creeping out of yonder
Bush, where thou wert hid all the Fight--stumble on a dead _Indian_, and
take away his Arms?

_Tim._ Why, didst thou see me?

_Dull._ See thee, ay--and what a fright thou wert in, till thou wert
sure he was dead.

_Tim._ Well, well, that's all one--Gads zoors, if every Man that passes
for valiant in a Battel, were to give an account how he gained his
Reputation, the World wou'd be but thinly stock'd with Heroes; I'll say
he was a great War-Captain, and that I kill'd him hand to hand, and who
can disprove me?

_Dull._ Disprove thee--why, that pale Face of thine, that has so much of
the Coward in't.

_Tim._ Shaw, that's with loss of Blood--Hah, I am overheard I
doubt--who's yonder-- [Sees _Whim._ and _Whiff_.] how, Brother _Whiff_
in a Hempen Cravat-string?

_Whim._ He call'd the General Traitor, and was running away, and I'm
resolv'd to peach.

_Dull._ Hum--and one Witness will stand good in Law, in case of
Treason--

_Tim._ Gads zoors, in case of Treason, he'll be hang'd if it be proved
against him, were there ne'er a Witness at all; but he must be tried by
a Council of War, Man--Come, come, let's disarm him--
[They take away his Arms, and pull a Bottle of Brandy out of his
Pocket.

_Whiff._ What, I hope you will not take away my Brandy, Gentlemen, my
last comfort.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, it's come in good time--we'll drink it off, here,
Major--
[Drinks, _Whiff_ takes him aside.

_Whiff._ Hark ye, Cornet--you are my good Friend, get this matter made
up before it come to the General.

_Tim._ But this is Treason, Neighbour.

_Whiff._ If I hang--I'll declare upon the Ladder how you kill'd your
War-Captain.

_Tim._ Come, Brother _Whimsey_--we have been all Friends and loving
Magistrates together, let's drink about, and think no more of this
Business.

_Dull._ Ay, ay, if every sober Man in the Nation should be called to
account of the Treason he