_War._ Right, my gued Lord,"sbred, that _Cromwel_ was th" faudest limmer Loon that ever cam into lour Country, the faud Diel has tane him by th"
Luggs for robbing our Houses and Land.
_Fleet._ No swearing, my Lord.
_War._ Weel, weel, my Loord, I"s larne to profess and lee as weel as best on ya.
_Hews._ That may bring you profit, my Lord-- but, Clerk, proceed.
_Clerk reads._] To _Walter Frost_, Treasurer of the Contingencies, twenty thousand Pounds. To _Thurloe_, Secretary to his Highness--
_Duc._ To old _Noll_.
_Clerk reads._] --Old Noll, ten thousand Pounds, for unknown Service done the Commonwealth-- To Mr. _Hutchinson_, Treasurer of the Navy, two hundred thousand Pounds--
_War._ Two hundred thousand Pound; Owns, what a Sum"s there?-- Marry it came from the Mouth of a Cannon sure.
_Clerk reads._] A Present to the Right Honourable and truly Virtuous Lady, the Lady _Lambert_, for Service done to the late Protector--
_Hews._ Again-- say _Cromwel_.
_Clerk._ --Cromwel-- six thousand Pound in _Jacobus"s_.
_War._ "Sbread, sike a Sum wou"d make me honour the Face of aud _Jemmy_.
_Clerk._ To Mr. _Ice_ six thousand Pound; to Mr. _Loether_, late Secretary to his High--
_Whit._ To _Oliver Cromwel_ say, can you not obey Orders?
_Clerk._ --Secretary to _Oliver Cromwel_-- two thousand nine hundred ninety nine Pounds for Intelligence and Information, and piously betraying the King"s Liege People.
_War._ Haud, haud, Sirs, Mary en ya gift se fast ya"ll gif aud away from poor _Archibald Johnson_.
_Whit._ Speak for your self, my Lord; or rather, my Lord, do you speak for him.
[To _Lam._
_Lam._ Do you move it for him, and I"ll do as much for you anon.
[Aside to _Whit._
_Whit._ My Lord, since we are upon Gratifications,-- let us consider the known Merit of the Lord _Wariston_, a Person of industrious Mischiefs to the malignant Party, and great Integrity to us, and the Commonwealth.
_War._ Gued faith, an I"s ha been a trusty Trojon, Sir, what say you, may very gued and gracious Loords?--
_Duc._ I scorn to let a Dog go unrewarded; and you, Sir, fawn so prettily, "tis pity you shou"d miss Preferment.
_Hews._ And so "tis; come, come, my Lords, consider he was ever our Friend, and "tis but reasonable we shou"d st.i.tch up one another"s broken Fortunes.
_Duc._ Nay, Sir, I"m not against it.
_All._ "Tis Reason, "tis Reason.
_Free._ d.a.m.n "em, how they lavish out the Nation!
_War._ Scribe, pretha read my Paper.
_Hews._ Have you a Pert.i.tion there?
_Cob._ A Pet.i.tion, my Lord.
_Hews._ Pshaw, you Scholards are so troublesome.
_Lam._ Read the Substance of it. [To the Clerk.
_Clerk._ That your Honours wou"d be pleas"d, in consideration of his Service, to grant to your Pet.i.tioner, a considerable Sum of Money for his present Supply.
_Fleet._ Verily, order him two thousand Pound--
_War._ Two thousand poond? Bread a gued, and I"s gif my Voice for _Fleetwood_.
[Aside.
_Lam._ Two thousand; nay, my Lords, let it be three.
_War._ Wons, I lee"d, I lee"d; I"s keep my Voice for _Lambert_-- Guds Benizon light on yar Sol, my gued Lord _Lambert._
_Hews._ Three thousand Pound! why such a Sum wou"d buy half _Scotland_.
_War._ Wons, my Lord, ya look but blindly on"t then: time was, a Mite on"t had bought aud shoos in yar Stall, Brother, tho noo ya so abound in _Irish_ and Bishops Lands.
_Duc._ You have nick"d him there, my Lord.
_All._ He, he, he.
_War._ Scribe-- gang a tiny bit farther.
_Clerk._ --And that your Honours would be pleas"d to confer an Annual Pension on him--
_Lam._ Reason, I think; what say you, my Lords, of five hundred Pound a Year?
_All._ Agreed, agreed.
_War._ The Diel swallow me, my Lord, ya won my Heart.
_Due._ "Tis very well-- but out of what shall this be rais"d?
_Lam._ We"ll look what Malignants" Estates are forfeit, undispos"d of-- let me see-- who has young _Freeman"s_ Estate?
_Des._ My Lord, that fell to me.
_Lam._ What all the fifteen hundred Pound a Year?