Gib. They’ll be here to-night.

Bon. D’ye know of any other gentlemen o’ the pad on this road?

Gib. No.

Bon. I fancy that I have two that lodge in the house just now.

Gib. The devil! how d’ye smoke ’em?

Bon. Why, the one is gone to church.

Gib. That’s suspicious, I must confess.

Bon. And the other is now in his master’s chamber; he pretends to be servant to the other; we’ll call him out and pump him a little.

Gib. With all my heart.

Bon. Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin!

[Calls.

Enter Archer, combing a periwig and singing.

Gib. The roads are consumed deep, I’m as dirty as Old Brentford at Christmas.—A good pretty fellow that; whose servant are you, friend?

Arch. My master’s.

Gib. Really!

Arch. Really.

Gib. That’s much.—The fellow has been at the bar by his evasions.—But pray, sir, what is your master’s name?

Arch. Tall, all, dall!—[Sings and combs the periwig.] This is the most obstinate curl—

Gib. I ask you his name?

Arch. Name, sir—tall, all, dall!—I never asked him his name in my life.—Tall, all, dall!

Bon. What think you now?

[Aside to Gibbet.

Gib. [aside to Boniface]. Plain, plain, he talks now as if he were before a judge.—[To Archer.] But pray, friend, which way does your master travel?

Arch. A-horseback.

Gib. [aside]. Very well again, an old offender, right.—[To Archer.] But, I mean, does he go upwards or downwards?

Arch. Downwards, I fear, sir.—Tall, all!

Gib. I’m afraid my fate will be a contrary way.