Trap. Fie upon't, fie upon't! make no excuses.

Sneer. Consider, sir, I am my own enemy.

Trap. I do consider that you might have past your time, perhaps, here as well as in another place.

Sneer. But I hope I have not transgressed much.

Trap. All's over, sir, all's over; you might as well have stayed away entirely; the fifth act's beginning, and the plot's at an end.

Sneer. What!'s the plot at an end before the fifth act is begun?

Trap. No, no, no, no, I don't mean at an end;

but we are so far advanced in it that it will be impossible for you to comprehend or understand anything of it.

Fust. You have too mean an opinion of Mr Sneerwell's capacity; I'll engage he shall understand as much of it as I, who have heard the other four.

Trap. Sir, I can't help your want of understanding or apprehension; 'tis not my fault if you cannot take a hint, sir: would you have a catastrophe in every act? Oons and the devil! have not I promised you you should know all by and by? but you are so impatient!

Fust. I think you have no reason to complain of my want of patience. Mr Sneerwell, be easy; 'tis but one short act before my tragedy begins; and that I hope will make you amends for what you are to undergo before it. Trapwit, I wish you would begin.

Trap. I wish so too. Come, prompter! are the members in their chairs?

Promp. Yes, sir.

Trap. Then carry them over the stage: but, hold, hold, hold! where is the woman to strew the flowers? [The members are carried over the stage.] Halloo, mob, halloo, halloo! Oons, Mr Prompter! you must get more mob to halloo, or these gentlemen will never be believed to have had the majority.

Promp. Sir, I can get no more mob; all the rest of the mob are gone to St James's-park to see the show.

Sneer. Pray, Mr Trapwit, who are these gentlemen in the chairs?

Trap. Ay, sir, this is your staying away so long; if you had been here the first four acts you would have known who they were.

Fust. Dear Sneerwell, ask him no more questions; if you enquire into every absurdity you see we shall have no tragedy to-day.

Trap. Come, Mr Mayor and Mrs Mayoress.

Enter Mayor and Mrs Mayoress.

May. So, now you have undone yourself your own way; you have made me vote against my conscience and interest too, and now I have lost both parties.

Mrs M. How have you lost both parties?

May. Why, my lord will never remember my voting for him, now he has lost the day; and Sir Harry, who has won it, will never forgive my voting against him: let which side will be uppermost, I shall have no place till the next election.

Mrs M. It will be your own fault then, sir; for you have it now in your power to oblige my lord more than ever; go and return my lord and the colonel as duly elected, and I warrant you I do your business with him yet.

May. Return 'em, my dear? Why, there was a majority of two or three score against 'em.

Mrs M. A fig for a majority of two or three score! if there had been a majority of as many hundreds, you'll never be called to an account for returning them; and when you have returned 'em, you'll have done all in your power. How can you expect that great men should do anything to serve you if you stick at anything to serve them?

May. My conscience boggles at this thing—but yet it is impossible I should ever get anything by the other side.

Mrs M. Ay, let that satisfy your conscience, that it is the only way to get anything.

May. Truly, I think it is.

Sneer. I think, Mr Trapwit, interest would be a better word there than conscience.

Trap. Ay, interest or conscience, they are words of the same meaning; but I think conscience rather politer of the two, and most used at court.

Mrs M. Besides, it will do a service to your town, for half of them must be carried to London at the candidates' expence; and I dare swear there is not one of them, whatever side he votes of, but would be glad to put the candidate to as much expence as he can in an honest way. [Exit Mayor.

Enter Miss Mayoress, crying.

Miss M. Oh, mama, I have grieved myself to death at the court party's losing the day; for if the others should have a majority in the house, what would become of us? alas, we should not go to London!

Mrs M. Dry up your tears, my dear, all will be well; your father shall return my lord and the colonel, and we shall have a controverted election, and we will go to London, my dear.

Miss M. Shall we go to London? then I am easy; but if we had staid here I should have broke my heart for the love of my country.—Since my father returns them, I hope justice will find some friends above, where people have sense enough to know the right side from the left; however, happen what will, there is some consolation in going to London.

Mrs M. But I hope you have considered well what my lord told you, that you will not scruple going into keeping: perhaps, you will have it in your power to serve your family, and it would be a great sin not to do all you can for your family.

Miss M. I have dreamt of nothing but coaches and six, and balls, and treats, and shows, and masquerades ever since.

Fust. Dreamt, sir? why, I thought the time of your comedy had been confined to the same day, Mr Trapwit?

Trap. No, sir, it is not; but suppose it was, might she not have taken an afternoon's nap?

Sneer. Ay, or dreamt waking, as several people do.

Enter Lord PLACE and Col. PROMISE.

Place. Madam, I am come to take my leave of you; I am very sensible of my many obligations to you, and shall remember them till the next election, when I will wait on you again; nay, I don't question but we shall carry our point yet, though they have given us the trouble of a petition.

Mrs M. No, no, my lord, you are not yet reduced to that; I have prevailed on my husband to return you and the colonel.

Place. To return us, madam?

Mrs M. Yes, my lord, as duly elected; and when we have returned you so, it will be your own fault if you don't prove yourself so.

Place. Madam, this news has so transported my spirits, that I fear some ill effect unless you instantly give me a dram.

Mrs M. If your lordship please to walk with me into my closet, I'll equip your lordship. [Exit.

Trap. How do you like that dram, sir?

Sneer. Oh! most excellent!

Fust. I can't say so, unless I tasted it.

Trap. Faith, sir, if it had not been for that dram my play had been at an end.

Fust. The devil take the dram with all my heart!

Trap. Now, Mr Fustian, the plot, which has hitherto been only carried on by hints, and opened itself like the infant spring by small and imperceptible degrees to the audience, will display itself like a ripe matron, in its full summer's bloom; and cannot, I think, fail with its attractive charms, like a loadstone, to catch the admiration of every one like a trap, and raise an applause like thunder, till it makes the whole house like a hurricane. I must desire a strict silence through this whole scene. Colonel, stand you still on this side of the stage; and, miss, do you stand on the opposite.—There, now look at each other. A long silence here.

Fust. Pray, Mr Trapwit, is nobody ever to speak again?

Trap. Oh! the devil! You have interrupted the scene; after all my precautions the scene's destroyed; the best scene of silence that ever was penned by man. Come, come, you may speak now; you may speak as fast as you please.

Col. Madam, the army is very much obliged to you for the zeal you shew for it; me, it has made your slave for ever; nor can I ever think of being happy unless you consent to marry me.

Miss M. Ha! and can you be so generous to forgive all my ill usage of you?

Fust. What ill usage, Mr Trapwit? For, if I mistake not, this is the first time these lovers spoke to one another.

Trap. What ill usage, sir? a great deal, sir.

Fust. When, sir? where, sir?

Trap. Why, behind the scenes, sir. What, would you have everything brought upon the stage? I intend to bring ours to the dignity of the French stage; and I have Horace's advice on my side. We have many things both said and done in our comedies which might be better performed behind the scenes: the French, you know, banish all cruelty from their stage; and I don't see why we should bring on a lady in ours practising all manner of cruelty upon her lover: besides, sir, we do not only produce it, but encourage it; for I could name you some comedies, if I would, where a woman is brought in for four acts together, behaving to a worthy man in a manner for which she almost deserves to be hanged; and in the fifth, forsooth, she is rewarded with him for a husband: now, sir, as I know this hits some tastes, and am willing to oblige all, I have given every lady a latitude of thinking mine has behaved in whatever manner she would have her.

Sneer. Well said, my little Trap! but pray let us have the scene.

Trap. Go on, miss, if you please.

Miss M. I have struggled with myself to put you to so many trials of your constancy; nay, perhaps have indulged myself a little too far in the innocent liberties of abusing you, tormenting you, coquetting, lying, and jilting; which as you are so good to forgive, I do faithfully promise to make you all the amends in my power, by making you a good wife.

Trap. That single promise, sir, is more than any of my brother authors had ever the grace to put into the mouth of any of their fine ladies yet; so that the hero of a comedy is left in a much worse condition than the villain of a tragedy, and I would choose rather to be hanged with the one than married with the other.

Sneer. Faith, Trapwit, without a jest, thou art in the right on't.

Fust. Go on, go on, dear sir, go on.

Col. And can you be so generous, so great, so good? Oh! load not thus my heart with obligations, lest it sink beneath its burden! Oh! could I live a hundred thousand years, I never could repay the bounty of that last speech! Oh! my paradise!

Eternal honey drops from off your tongue!
And when you spoke, then Farinelli sung!

Trap. Open your arms, miss, if you please; remember you are no coquet now: how pretty this looks! don't it? [Mimicking her] Let me have one of your best embraces, I desire: do it once more, pray—There, there, that's pretty well; you must practise this behind the scenes.

[Exeunt Miss M. and Col.]

Sneer. Are they gone to practice, now, Mr Trapwit?

Trap. You're a joker, Mr Sneerwell; you're a joker.

Enter Lord PLACE, Mayor, and Mrs Mayoress.

Place. I return you my hearty thanks, Mr Mayor, for this return! and in return of the favour, I will certainly do you a very good turn very shortly.

Fust. I wish the audience don't do you an ill turn, Mr Trapwit, for that last speech.

Sneer. Yes, faith, I think I would cut out a turn or two.

Trap. Sir, I'll sooner cut off an ear or two: sir, that's the very best thing in the whole play. Come, enter the colonel and Miss ——— married.

Sneer. Upon my word, they have been very expeditious.

Trap. Yes, sir; the parson understands his business, he has plyed several years at the Fleet.

Enter Col. PROMISE and Miss Mayoress.

Col. and Miss (kneeling). Sir, and madam, your blessing.

Mrs M. and May. Ha!

Col. Your daughter, sir and madam, has made me the happiest of mankind.

Mrs M. Colonel, you know you might have had my consent; why did you choose to marry without it? However, I give you both my blessing.

May. And so do I.

Place. Then call my brother candidates; we will spend this night in feast and merriment.

Fust. What has made these two parties so suddenly friends, Mr Trapwit?

Trap. What? why the marriage, sir; the usual reconciler at the end of a comedy. I would not have concluded without every person on the stage for the world.

Place. Well, colonel, I see you are setting out for
life, and so I wish you a good journey.
And you, gallants, from what you've seen to-night,
If you are wrong, may set your judgments right;
Nor, like our misses, about bribing quarrel,
When better herring is in neither barrel.

[Manent FUST, TRAP and SNEER.]

Trap. Thus ends my play, sir.

Fust. Pray, Mr Trapwit, how has the former part of it conduced to this marriage?

Trap. Why, sir, do you think the colonel would ever have had her but on the prospect her father has from this election?

Sneer. Ay, or to strengthen his interest with the returning officer?

Trap. Ay, sir, I was just going to say so.

Sneer. But where's your epilogue?

Trap. Faith, sir, I can't tell what I shall do for an epilogue.

Sneer. What I have you writ none?

Trap. Yes, faith, I have writ one, but——

Sneer. But what?

Trap. Faith, sir, I can get no one to speak it; the actresses are so damn'd difficult to please. When first I writ it they would not speak it, because there were not double-entendres enough in it; upon which I went to Mr Watt's and borrowed all his plays; went home, read over all the epilogues, and crammed it as full as possible; and now, forsooth, it has too many in it. Oons! I think we must get a pair of scales and weigh out a sufficient quantity of that same.

Fust. Come, come, Mr Trapwit, clear the stage, if you please.

Trap. With all my heart; for I have overstayed my time already; I am to read my play to-day to six different companies of quality.

Fust. You'll stay and see the tragedy rehearsed, I hope?

Trap. Faith, sir, it is my great misfortune that I can't; I deny myself a great pleasure, but cannot possibly stay—to hear such damn'd stuff as I know it must be. [Aside.

Sneer. Nay, dear Trapwit, you shall not go. Consider, your advice may be of some service to Mr Fustian; besides, he has stayed the rehearsal of your play——

Fust. Yes, I have—and kept myself awake with much difficulty. [Aside.

Trap. Nay, nay, you know I can't refuse you—though I shall certainly fall asleep in the first act. [Aside.

Sneer. If you'll let me know who your people of quality are, I'll endeavour to bring you off.

Trap. No, no, hang me if I tell you, ha, ha, ha! I know you too well—But prithee, now, tell me, Fustian, how dost thou like my play? dost think it will do?

Fust. 'Tis my opinion it will.

Trap. Give me a guinea, and I'll give you a crown a night as long as it runs.

Sneer. That's laying against yourself, Mr Trapwit.

Trap. I love a hedge, sir.

Fust. Before the rehearsal begins, gentlemen, I must beg your opinion of my dedication: you know, a dedication is generally a bill drawn for value therein contained; which value is a set of nauseous fulsome compliments which my soul abhors and scorns; for I mortally hate flattery, and therefore have carefully avoided it.

Sneer. Yes, faith, a dedication without flattery will be worth the seeing.

Fust. Well, sir, you shall see it. Read it, dear Trapwit; I hate to read my own works.

Trap. [Reads.] "My lord, at a time when nonsense, dullness, lewdness, and all manner of profaneness and immorality are daily practised on the stage, I have prevailed on my modesty to offer to your lordship's protection a piece which, if it has no merit to recommend it, has at least no demerit to disgrace it; nor do I question at this, when every one else is dull, you will be pleased to find one exception to the number.

"I cannot indeed help assuming to myself some little merit from the applause which the town has so universally conferred upon me."

Fust. That you know, Mr Sneer well, may be omitted, if it should meet with any ill-natured opposition; for which reason, I shall not print off my dedication till after the play is acted.

Trap. [Reads.] "I might here indulge myself with a delineation of your lordship's character; but as I abhor the least imputation of flattery, and as I am certain your lordship is the only person in this nation that does not love to hear your praises, I shall be silent—only this give me leave to say, That you have more wit, sense, learning, honour, and humanity, than all mankind put together; and your person comprehends in it everything that is beautiful; your air is everything that is graceful, your look everything that is majestic, and your mind is a storehouse where every virtue and every perfection are lodged: to pass by your generosity, which is so great, so glorious, so diffusive, that like the sun it eclipses, and makes stars of all your other virtues—I could say more——"

Sneer. Faith, sir, that's more than I could.

Trap. "But shall commit a violence upon myself, and conclude with assuring your lordship, that I am, my lord, your lordship's most obedient, most devoted, most obsequious, and most obliged humble servant."

Fust. There you see it, sir, concise, and not fulsome.

Sneer. Very true, sir, if you had said less it would not have done.

Fust. No, I think less would have been downright rude, considering it was to a person of the first quality.

Sneer. Prithee, Trap wit, let's see yours.

Trap. I have none, sir.

Fust. How, sir? no dedication?

Trap. No, sir, for I have dedicated so many plays, and received nothing for them, that I am resolved to trust no more; I'll let no more flattery go out of my shop without being paid beforehand.

Fust. Sir, flattery is so cheap, and every man of quality keeps so many flatterers about him, that egad our trade is quite spoil'd; but if I am not paid for this dedication, the next I write shall be a satirical one; if they won't pay me for opening my mouth, I'll make them pay me for shutting it. But since you have been so kind, gentlemen, to like my dedication, I'll venture to let you see my prologue. Sir, I beg the favour of you to repeat the prologue, if you are perfect in it. [To a Player.]

Play. Sir, I'll do it to the best of my power.

Fust. This prologue was writ by a friend.

PROLOGUE.

When Death's sharp scythe has mowed the hero down,
The muse again awakes him to renown;
She tells proud Fate that all her darts are vain,
And bids the hero live and strut about again:
Nor is she only able to restore,
But she can make what ne'er was made before;
Can search the realms of Fancy, and create
What never came into the brain of Fate.

Forth from these realms, to entertain to-night,
She brings imaginary kings and queens to light,
Bids Common Sense in person mount the stage,
And Harlequin to storm in tragick rage.
Britons, attend; and decent reverence shew
To her, who made th' Athenian bosoms glow;
Whom the undaunted Romans could revere,
And who in Shakespeare's time was worshipp'd here:
If none of these can her success presage,
Your hearts at least a wonder may engage:
Oh I love her like her sister monsters of the age.

Sneer. Faith, sir, your friend has writ a very fine prologue.

Fust. Do you think so? Why then, sir, I must assure you, that friend is no other than myself. But come, now for the tragedy. Gentlemen, I must desire you all to clear the stage, for I have several scenes which I could wish it was as big again for.

2d Player enters and whispers TRAPWIT.

2 Play. Sir, a gentlewoman desires to speak to you.

Trap. Is she in a chair?

2 Play. No, sir, she is in a riding-hood, and says she has brought you a clean shirt. [Exit.

Trap. I'll come to her.—Mr Fustian, you must excuse me a moment; a lady of quality hath sent to take some boxes. [Exit.

Promp. Common Sense, sir, desires to speak with you in the green-room.

Fust. I'll wait upon her.

Sneer. You ought, for it is the first message, I believe, you ever received from her. [Aside. [Exeunt Fus. and SNEER.

Enter a Dancer.

Dane. Look'e, Mr Prompter, I expect to dance first goddess; I will not dance under Miss Minuet; I am sure I shew more to the audience than any lady upon the stage.

Promp. Madam, it is not my business.

Dane. I don't know whose business it is; but I think the town ought to be the judges of a dancer's merit; I am sure they are on my side; and if I am not used better, I'll go to France; for now we have got all their dancers away, perhaps they may be glad of some of ours.

Promp. Heyday! what's the matter? [A noise within.

Enter Player.

Play. The author and Common Sense are quarrelling in the green-room.

Promp. Nay, then, that's better worth seeing than anything in the play. [Exit Promp.

Danc. Hang this play, and all plays; the dancers are the only people that support the house; if it were not for us they might act their Shakspeare to empty benches.