Bon. Veal! sir, we had a delicate loin of veal on Wednesday last.

Aim. Have you got any fish or wildfowl?

Bon. As for fish, truly, sir, we are an inland town, and indifferently provided with fish, that’s the truth on’t; and then for wildfowl—we have a delicate couple of rabbits.

Aim. Get me the rabbits fricasseed.

Bon. Fricasseed! Lard, sir, they’ll eat much better smothered with onions.

Arch. Psha! Damn your onions!

Aim. Again, sirrah!—Well, landlord, what you please. But hold, I have a small charge of money, and your house is so full of strangers, that I believe it may be safer in your custody than mine; for when this fellow of mine gets drunk he minds nothing. —Here, sirrah, reach me the strong-box.

Arch. Yes, sir.—[Aside.] This will give us a reputation.

Brings Aimwell the box.

Aim. Here, landlord; the locks are sealed down both for your security and mine; it holds somewhat above two hundred pound: if you doubt it, I’ll count it to you after supper; but be sure you lay it where I may have it at a minute’s warning; for my affairs are a little dubious at present; perhaps I may be gone in half an hour, perhaps I may be your guest till the best part of that be spent; and pray order your ostler to keep my horses always saddled. But one thing above the rest I must beg, that you would let this fellow have none of your Anno Domini, as you call it; for he’s the most insufferable sot.—Here, sirrah, light me to my chamber.

Exit, lighted by Archer.

Bon. Cherry! daughter Cherry!

Re-enter Cherry.

Cher. D’ye call, father?

Bon. Ay, child, you must lay by this box for the gentleman: ’tis full of money.

Cher. Money! all that money! why, sure, father, the gentleman comes to be chosen parliament-man. Who is he?

Bon. I don’t know what to make of him; he talks of keeping his horses ready saddled, and of going perhaps at a minute’s warning, or of staying perhaps till the best part of this be spent.

Cher. Ay, ten to one, father, he’s a highwayman.

Bon. A highwayman! upon my life, girl, you have hit it, and this box is some new-purchased booty. Now, could we find him out, the money were ours.

Cher. He don’t belong to our gang.

Bon. What horses have they?

Cher. The master rides upon a black.