ition here--to make himself a great Man
with the Council again.

_Dull._ Pox o' this Ambition, it has been the ruin of many a gallant
Fellow.

_Whiff._ If I get home again, the height of mine shall be to top
Tobacco; would I'd some Brandy.

_Tim._ Gads zoors, would we had, 'tis the best Armour against
Fear--hum--I hear no body now--prithee advance a little.

_Whim._ What, before a Horse-Officer?

_Friend._ Stand, on your Lives--

_Tim._ Oh, 'tis impossible--I'm dead already.

_Friend._ What are ye?--speak--or I'll shoot.

_Whim._ Friends to thee,--who the Devil are we Friends to?

_Tim._ E'en who please you, Gad zoors.

_Friend._ Hah--Gad zoors--who's there, _Timorous_?

_Tim._ Hum--I know no such Scoundrel-- [Gets behind.

_Dull._ Hah--that's _Friendly's_ Voice.

_Friend._ Right--thine's that of _Dullman_--who's with you?

_Dull._ Only _Timorous_, _Whimsey_ and _Whiff_, all valiantly running
away from the Arch-Rebel that took us Prisoners.

_Haz._ Can you inform us where the Ladies are lodg'd?

_Dull._ In the hither Quarter, in _Daring's_ Tent; you'll know them by
Lanthorns on every corner--there was never better time to surprize
them--for this day _Daring's_ married, and there's nothing but Dancing
and Drinking.

_Haz._ Married! to whom?

_Dull._ That I ne'er enquir'd.

_Friend._ 'Tis to _Chrisante_, Friend--and the Reward of my Attempt is
lost. Oh, I am mad, I'll fight away my Life, and my Despair shall yet do
greater Wonders, than even my Love could animate me to. Let's part our
Men, and beset his Tents on both sides.
[_Friendly_ goes out with a Party.

_Haz._ Come, Gentlemen, let's on--

_Whiff._ On, Sir,--we on, Sir?--

_Haz._ Ay, you on, Sir--to redeem the Ladies.

_Whiff._ Oh, Sir, I am going home for Money to redeem my _Nancy_.

_Whim._ So am I, Sir.

_Tim._ I thank my Stars I am a Batchelor.--Why, what a Plague is a Wife?

_Haz._ Will you march forward?

_Dull._ We have atchiev'd Honour enough already, in having made our
Campaign here--
[Looking big.

_Haz._ 'Sdeath, but you shall go--put them in the front, and prick them
on--if they offer to turn back, run them thro.

_Tim._ Oh, horrid-- [The Soldiers prick them on with their Swords.

_Whiff._ Oh, _Nancy_, thy Dream will yet come to pass.

_Haz._ Will you advance, Sir? [Pricks _Whiff_.

_Whiff._ Why, so we do, Sir; the Devil's in these fighting Fellows.

[Exeunt.

An Alarm at a distance.