Mod.  The doggs have hunted well this dewy morning, And made a merry cry.

1 Hunt.  The Hare was rotten[178];
You should have heard els such a rore, and seene ’em
Make all hir dobles out with such neat hunting
And run at such a merry rate togeather,
They should have dapled ore your bay with fome, Sir.

Mod.  ’Tis very well, and so well I affect it
That I could wish I had nere hunted after
Any delight but this, nor sought more honour. 
This is securely safe, drawes on no danger,
Nor is this Chace crost with malignant envy. 
How sweatly do I live and laugh upon
The perrills I have past, the plotts and traynes! 
And now (methincks) I dare securely looke on
The steepe and desprat follyes my indiscretion
Like a blind careles foole had allmost cast me on. 
Here I stand saffe ’gainst all their strengths and Stratagems: 
I was a boy, a foole to follow Barnavelt,
To step into his attempts, to wedd my freedom
To his most dangerous faction, a meere Coxcomb;
But I have scapd their clawes.—­Have ye found more game?

    Enter 2 Huntesmen[179].

2 Hunt.  Beating about to find a new Hare, we discoverd—­

Mod.  Discoverd what?

2 Hunt.  Horsemen, and’t please ye, Sir, Scowt round about us, and which way still the doggs went They made up within view.

Mod.  Look’t they like Soldiers?

2 Hunt.  For certaine they are Soldiers; for if theis are eyes I saw their pistolls.

Mod.  Many?

2 Hunt.  Some half a score, Sir.

Mod.  I am betraide:  away and raise the Boores up, Bid ’em deale manfully.

1 Hunt.  Take a close way home And clap your spurres on roundly.

Mod.  No place safe for me!  This Prince has long armes, and his kindled anger A thousand eyes—­Make hast and raise the Cuntry.

[Exeunt.

    Enter Captn & Soldiers.

Cap.  This was a narrow scape; he was ith’ feild, sure.

Sold.  Yes, that was certaine he that ridd of by us, When we stood close ith’ brakes.

Cap.  A devill take it!  How are we cozend! pox of our goodly providence!  If he get home or if the Cuntry know it!

Sold.  Make haste, he is yet unmand:  we may come time enough
To enter with him.  Besides there’s this advantage: 
They that are left behind, instead of helping
A Boores Cart ore the Bridge, loden with hay,
Have crackt the ax-tree with a trick, and there it stands
And choakes the Bridge from drawing.

Cap.  There’s some hope yet.  Away and clap on spurs:  he shall scape hardly If none of us salute him.  Mounte, mounte.

[Exeunt.

    Enter Modesbargen & Huntesmen.

Mod.  Hell take this hay! ’tis set on purpose here:  Fire it and draw the Bridge:  clap faggotts on’t And fire the Cart and all.  No Boores come in yet?  Where be your Musketts, Slaves?