MATT. As a Bawd to a Whore, I grant you, he is to us of great
Convenience.

MACHEATH. Make him believe I have quitted the Gang, which I can
never do but with Life. At our private Quarters I will continue to
meet you. A Week or so will probably reconcile us.

MATT. Your Instructions shall be observ'd. 'Tis now high time for
us to repair to our several Duties; so 'till the Evening at our
Quarters in Moor-Fields we bid you farewel.

MACHEATH. I shall wish myself with you. Success attend you.

[Sits down melancholy at the Table.]

AIR XX. March in Rinaldo, with Drums and Trumpets.

MATT. Let us take the Road.
Hark! I hear the Sound of Coaches!
The Hour of Attack approaches,
To your Arms, brave Boys, and load.
See the Ball I hold!
Let the Chymists toil like Asses,
Our Fire their Fire surpasses,
And turns all our Lead to Gold.

[The Gang, rang'd in the Front of the Stage, load their Pistols, and
stick them under their Girdles; then go off singing the first Part in
Chorus.]