Burlesque Plays and Poems :: The Rehearsal .

The Rehearsal .

Henry Morley

——?——

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Bayes.
Johnson.
Smith.
Two Kings of Brentford.
Prince Prettyman.
Prince Volscius.
Gentleman-Usher.
Physician.
Drawcansir.
General.
Lieutenant-General.
Cordelio.
Tom Thimble.
Fisherman.
Sun.
Thunder.
Players.
Soldiers.
Two Heralds.
}
Four Cardinals. {
Mayor. { Mutes
Judges {
Serjeant-at-Arms.{
Amaryllis.
Cloris.
Parthenope.
Pallas.
Lightning.
Moon.
Earth.
Attendants of Men and Women.

SCENE.—Brentford.

PROLOGUE.

Johnson and Smith.

Johns. Honest Frank! I am glad to see thee with all my heart: how long hast thou been in town?

Smith. Faith, not above an hour: and, if I had not met you here, I had gone to look you out; for I long to talk with you freely of all the strange new things we have heard in the country.

Johns. And, by my troth, I have long'd as much to laugh with you at all the impertinent, dull, fantastical things, we are tired out with here.

Smith. Dull and fantastical! that's an excellent composition. Pray, what are our men of business doing?

Johns. I ne'er inquire after 'em. Thou knowest my humour lies another way. I love to please myself as much, and to trouble others as little as I can; and therefore do naturally avoid the company of those solemn fops, who, being incapable of reason, and insensible of wit and pleasure, are always looking grave, and troubling one another, in hopes to be thought men of business.

Smith. Indeed, I have ever observed, that your grave lookers are the dullest of men.

Johns. Ay, and of birds and beasts too: your gravest bird is an owl, and your gravest beast is an ass.

Smith. Well: but how dost thou pass thy time?

Johns. Why, as I used to do; eat, drink as well as I can, have a friend to chat with in the afternoon, and sometimes see a play; where there are such things, Frank, such hideous, monstrous things, that it has almost made me forswear the stage, and resolve to apply myself to the solid nonsense of your men of business, as the more ingenious pastime.

Smith. I have heard, indeed, you have had lately many new plays; and our country wits commend 'em.

Johns. Ay, so do some of our city wits too; but they are of the new kind of wits.

Smith. New kind! what kind is that?

Johns. Why, your virtuousi; your civil persons, your drolls; fellows that scorn to imitate nature; but are given altogether to elevate and surprise.

Smith. Elevate and surprise! prithee, make me understand the meaning of that.

Johns. Nay, by my troth, that's a hard matter: I don't understand that myself. 'Tis a phrase they have got among them, to express their no-meaning by. I'll tell you, as near as I can, what it is. Let me see; 'tis fighting, loving, sleeping, rhyming, dying, dancing, singing, crying; and everything, but thinking and sense.

Mr. Bayes passes over the stage.

Bayes. Your most obsequious, and most observant, very servant, sir.

Johns. Odso, this is an author. I'll go fetch him to you.

Smith. No, prithee let him alone.

Johns. Nay, by the Lord, I'll have him.

[Goes after him.

Here he is; I have caught him. Pray, sir, now for my sake, will you do a favour to this friend of mine?

Bayes. Sir, it is not within my small capacity to do favours, but receive 'em; especially from a person that does wear the honourable title you are pleased to impose, sir, upon this—sweet sir, your servant.

Smith. Your humble servant, sir.

Johns. But wilt thou do me a favour, now?

Bayes. Ay, sir, what is't?

Johns. Why, to tell him the meaning of thy last play.

Bayes. How, sir, the meaning? Do you mean the plot?

Johns. Ay, ay; anything.

Bayes. Faith, sir, the intrigo's now quite out of my head; but I have a new one in my pocket that I may say is a virgin; it has never yet been blown upon. I must tell you one thing: 'tis all new wit, and, though I say it, a better than my last; and you know well enough how that took. In fine, it shall read, and write, and act, and plot, and show, ay, and pit, box, and gallery, egad, with any play in Europe.[1] This morning is its last rehearsal, in their habits, and all that, as it is to be acted; and if you and your friend will do it but the honour to see it in its virgin attire; though, perhaps, it may blush, I shall not be ashamed to discover its nakedness unto you. I think it is in this pocket. [Puts his hand in his pocket.

Johns. Sir, I confess I am not able to answer you in this new way; but if you please to lead, I shall be glad to follow you, and I hope my friend will do so too.

Smith. Sir, I have no business so considerable as should keep me from your company.

Bayes. Yes, here it is. No, cry you mercy: this is my book of Drama Commonplaces, the mother of many other plays.

Johns. Drama Commonplaces! pray what's that?

Bayes. Why, sir, some certain helps that we men of art have found it convenient to make use of.

Smith. How, sir, helps for wit?

Bayes. Ay, sir, that's my position. And I do here aver that no man yet the sun e'er shone upon has parts sufficient to furnish out a stage, except it were by the help of these my rules.[2]

Johns. What are those rules, I pray?

Bayes. Why, sir, my first rule is the rule of transversion, or Regula Duplex; changing verse into prose, or prose into verse, alternativÈ as you please.

Smith. Well; but how is this done by a rule, sir?

Bayes. Why thus, sir; nothing so easy when understood. I take a book in my hand, either at home or elsewhere, for that's all one; if there be any wit in't, as there is no book but has some, I transverse it; that is, if it be prose, put it into verse (but that takes up some time), and if it be verse, put it into prose.

Johns. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting verse into prose should be called transprosing.

Bayes. By my troth, sir, 'tis a very good notion; and hereafter it shall be so.

Smith. Well, sir, and what d'ye do with it then?

Bayes. Make it my own. 'Tis so changed that no man can know it. My next rule is the rule of record, by way of table-book. Pray observe.

Johns. We hear you, sir; go on.

Bayes. As thus. I come into a coffee-house, or some other place where witty men resort, I make as if I minded nothing; do you mark? but as soon as any one speaks, pop I slap it down, and make that too my own.

Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, are you not sometimes in danger of their making you restore, by force, what you have gotten thus by art?

Bayes. No, sir; the world's unmindful: they never take notice of these things.

Smith. But pray, Mr. Bayes, among all your other rules, have you no one rule for invention?

Bayes. Yes, sir, that's my third rule that I have here in my pocket.

Smith. What rule can that be, I wonder?

Bayes. Why, sir, when I have anything to invent, I never trouble my head about it, as other men do; but presently turn over this book, and there I have, at one view, all that Persius, Montaigne, Seneca's Tragedies, Horace, Juvenal, Claudian, Pliny, Plutarch's Lives, and the rest, have ever thought upon this subject: and so, in a trice, by leaving out a few words, or putting in others of my own, the business is done.

Johns. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, this is as sure and compendious a way of wit as ever I heard of.

Bayes. Sir, if you make the least scruples of the efficacy of these my rules, do but come to the playhouse, and you shall judge of 'em by the effects.

Smith. We'll follow you, sir. [Exeunt.

Enter three Players on the stage.

1st Play. Have you your part perfect?

2nd Play. Yes, I have it without book; but I don't understand how it is to be spoken.

3rd Play. And mine is such a one, as I can't guess for my life what humour I'm to be in; whether angry, melancholy, merry, or in love. I don't know what to make on't.

1st Play. Phoo! the author will be here presently, and he'll tell us all. You must know, this is the new way of writing, and these hard things please forty times better than the old plain way. For, look you, sir, the grand design upon the stage is to keep the auditors in suspense; for to guess presently at the plot, and the sense, tires them before the end of the first act: now here, every line surprises you, and brings in new matter. And then, for scenes, clothes, and dances, we put quite down all that ever went before us; and those are the things, you know, that are essential to a play.

2nd Play. Well, I am not of thy mind; but, so it gets us money, 'tis no great matter.

Enter Bayes, Johnson, and Smith.

Bayes. Come, come in, gentlemen. You're very welcome, Mr.—a—. Ha' you your part ready?

1st Play. Yes, sir.

Bayes. But do you understand the true humour of it?

1st Play. Ay, sir, pretty well.

Bayes. And Amaryllis, how does she do? does not her armour become her?

3rd Play. Oh, admirably!

Bayes. I'll tell you now a pretty conceit. What do you think I'll make 'em call her anon, in this play?

Smith. What, I pray?

Bayes. Why, I make 'em call her Armaryllis, because of her armour: ha, ha, ha!

Johns. That will be very well indeed.

Bayes. Ay, 'tis a pretty little rogue; but—a—come, let's sit down. Look you, sirs, the chief hinge of this play, upon which the whole plot moves and turns, and that causes the variety of all the several accidents, which, you know, are the things in nature that make up the grand refinement of a play, is, that I suppose two kings of the same place; as for example, at Brentford, for I love to write familiarly. Now the people having the same relations to 'em both, the same affections, the same duty, the same obedience, and all that, are divided among themselves in point of devoir and interest, how to behave themselves equally between 'em: these kings differing sometimes in particular; though, in the main, they agree. (I know not whether I make myself well understood.)

Johns. I did not observe you, sir: pray say that again.

Bayes. Why, look you, sir (nay, I beseech you be a little curious in taking notice of this, or else you'll never understand my notion of the thing), the people being embarrass'd by their equal ties to both, and the sovereigns concern'd in a reciprocal regard, as well to their own interest, as the good of the people, make a certain kind of a—you understand me—upon which, there do arise several disputes, turmoils, heart-burnings, and all that—in fine, you'll apprehend it better when you see it.

[Exit, to call the Players.

Smith. I find the author will be very much obliged to the players, if they can make any sense out of this.

Enter Bayes.

Bayes. Now, gentlemen, I would fain ask your opinion of one thing. I have made a prologue and an epilogue, which may both serve for either; that is, the prologue for the epilogue, or the epilogue for the prologue;[3] (do you mark?) nay, they may both serve too, egad, for any other play as well as this.

Smith. Very well; that's indeed artificial.

Bayes. And I would fain ask your judgments, now, which of them would do best for the prologue? for, you must know there is, in nature, but two ways of making very good prologues: the one is by civility, by insinuation, good language, and all that, to—a—in a manner, steal your plaudit from the courtesy of the auditors: the other, by making use of some certain personal things, which may keep a hank upon such censuring persons, as cannot otherways, egad, in nature, be hindered from being too free with their tongues. To which end, my first prologue is, that I come out in a long black veil, and a great huge hangman behind me, with a furr'd cap, and his sword drawn; and there tell 'em plainly, that if out of good-nature, they will not like my play, egad, I'll e'en kneel down, and he shall cut my head off. Whereupon they all clapping—a—

Smith. Ay, but suppose they don't.

Bayes. Suppose! sir, you may suppose what you please; I have nothing to do with your suppose, sir; nor am at all mortified at it; not at all, sir; egad, not one jot, sir. Suppose, quoth-a!—ha, ha, ha! [Walks away.

Johns. Phoo! prithee, Bayes, don't mind what he says; he is a fellow newly come out of the country, he knows nothing of what's the relish, here, of the town.

Bayes. If I writ, sir, to please the country, I should have follow'd the old plain way; but I write for some persons of quality, and peculiar friends of mine, that understand what flame and power in writing is; and they do me the right, sir, to approve of what I do.

Johns. Ay, ay, they will clap, I warrant you; never fear it.

Bayes. I'm sure the design's good; that cannot be denied. And then, for language, egad, I defy 'em all, in nature, to mend it. Besides, sir, I have printed above a hundred sheets of paper to insinuate the plot into the boxes;[4] and, withal, have appointed two or three dozen of my friends to be ready in the pit, who, I'm sure, will clap, and so the rest, you know, must follow; and then, pray, sir, what becomes of your suppose? Ha, ha, ha!

Johns. Nay, if the business be so well laid, it cannot miss.

Bayes. I think so, sir; and therefore would choose this to be the prologue. For, if I could engage 'em to clap, before they see the play, you know it would be so much the better; because then they were engag'd; for let a man write ever so well, there are, now-a-days, a sort of persons they call critics, that, egad, have no more wit in them than so many hobby-horses; but they'll laugh at you, sir, and find fault, and censure things that, egad, I'm sure, they are not able to do themselves. A sort of envious persons that emulate the glories of persons of parts, and think to build their fame by calumniating of persons[5] that, egad, to my knowledge, of all persons in the world, are, in nature, the persons that do as much despise all that as—a— In fine, I'll say no more of 'em.

Johns. Nay, you have said enough of 'em, in all conscience; I'm sure more than they'll e'er be able to answer.

Bayes. Why, I'll tell you, sir, sincerely and bonÂ fide, were it not for the sake of some ingenious persons and choice female spirits, that have a value for me, I would see 'em all hang'd, egad, before I would e'er more set pen to paper, but let 'em live in ignorance like ingrates.

Johns. Ay, marry! that were a way to be reveng'd of 'em indeed; and, if I were in your place, now, I would do so.

Bayes. No, sir; there are certain ties upon me that I cannot be disengag'd from;[6] otherwise, I would. But pray, sir, how do you like my hangman?

Smith. By my troth, sir, I should like him very well.

Bayes. By how do you like it, sir? (for, I see, you can judge) would you have it for a prologue, or the epilogue?

Johns. Faith, sir, 'tis so good, let it e'en serve for both.

Bayes. No, no; that won't do. Besides, I have made another.

Johns. What other, sir?

Bayes. Why, sir, my other is Thunder and Lightning.

Johns. That's greater; I'd rather stick to that.

Bayes. Do you think so? I'll tell you then; tho' there have been many witty prologues written of late, yet, I think, you'll say this is a non pareillo: I'm sure nobody has hit upon it yet. For here, sir, I make my prologue to be a dialogue; and as, in my first, you see, I strive to oblige the auditors by civility, by good nature, good language, and all that; so, in this, by the other way, in terrorem, I choose for the persons Thunder and Lightning. Do you apprehend the conceit?

Johns. Phoo, phoo! then you have it cock-sure. They'll be hang'd before they'll dare affront an author that has 'em at that lock.

Bayes. I have made, too, one of the most delicate dainty similes in the whole world, egad, if I knew but how to apply it.

Smith. Let's hear it, I pray you.

Bayes. 'Tis an allusion to love.

[7]"So boar and sow, when any storm is nigh,

Snuff up, and smell it gath'ring in the sky;

Boar beckons sow to trot in chestnut-groves,

And there consummate their unfinish'd loves:

Pensive in mud they wallow all alone,

And snore and gruntle to each other's moan."

How do you like it now, ha?

Johns. Faith, 'tis extraordinary fine; and very applicable to Thunder and Lightning, methinks, because it speaks of a storm.

Bayes. Egad, and so it does, now I think on't: Mr. Johnson, I thank you; and I'll put it in profecto. Come out, Thunder and Lightning.

Enter Thunder and Lightning.

Thun. I am the bold Thunder.

Bayes. Mr. Cartwright, prithee speak that a little louder, and with a hoarse voice. I am the bold Thunder: pshaw! speak it me in a voice that thunders it out indeed: I am the bold Thunder.

Thun. I am the bold Thunder.[8]

Light. The brisk Lightning, I.

Bayes. Nay, you must be quick and nimble.

The brisk Lightning, I. That's my meaning.

Thun. I am the bravest Hector of the sky.

Light. And I fair Helen, that made Hector die.

Thun. I strike men down.

Light. I fire the town.

Thun. Let critics take heed how they grumble,

For then begin I for to rumble.

Light. Let the ladies allow us their graces,

Or I'll blast all the paint on their faces,

And dry up their petre to soot.

Thun. Let the critics look to't.

Light. Let the ladies look to't.[9]

Thun. For Thunder will do't.

Light. For Lightning will shoot.

Thun. I'll give you dash for dash.

Light. I'll give you flash for flash.

Gallants, I'll singe your feather.

Thun. I'll thunder you together.

Both. Look to't, look to't; we'll do't, we'll do't. Look to't,

we'll do't. [Twice or thrice repeated.

[Exeunt ambo.

Bayes. There's no more. 'Tis but a flash of a prologue: a droll.

Smith. Yes, 'tis short indeed; but very terrible.

Bayes. Ay, when the simile's in, it will do to a miracle, egad.
Come, come, begin the play.

Enter First Player.

1st Play. Sir, Mr. Ivory is not come yet; but he'll be here presently, he's but two doors off.[10]

Bayes. Come then, gentlemen, let's go out and take a pipe of tobacco. [Exeunt.

ACT II.—Scene I.

Bayes, Johnson, and Smith.

Bayes. Now, sir, because I'll do nothing here that ever was done before, instead of beginning with a scene that discovers something of the plot, I begin this play with a whisper.[11]

Smith. Umph! very new indeed.

Bayes. Come, take your seats. Begin, sirs.

Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician.

Phys. Sir, by your habit, I should guess you to be the Gentleman-usher of this sumptuous place.

Ush. And by your gait and fashion, I should almost suspect you rule the healths of both our noble kings, under the notion of Physician.

Phys. You hit my function right.

Ush. And you mine.

Phys. Then let's embrace.

Ush. Come.

Phys. Come.

Johns. Pray, sir, who are those so very civil persons?

Bayes. Why, sir, the gentleman-usher and physician of the two kings of Brentford.

Johns. But, pray then, how comes it to pass, that they know one another no better?

Bayes. Phoo! that's for the better carrying on of the plot.

Johns. Very well.

Phys. Sir, to conclude.

Smith. What, before he begins?

Bayes. No, sir, you must know they had been talking of this a pretty while without.

Smith. Where? in the tyring-room?

Bayes. Why, ay, sir. He's so dull! come, speak again.

Phys. Sir, to conclude, the place you fill has more than amply exacted the talents of a wary pilot; and all these threat'ning storms, which, like impregnate clouds, hover o'er our heads, will (when they once are grasped but by the eye of reason) melt into fruitful showers of blessings on the people.

Bayes. Pray mark that allegory. Is not that good?

Johns. Yes, that grasping of a storm with the eye is admirable.

Phys. But yet some rumours great are stirring; and if Lorenzo should prove false (which none but the great gods can tell), you then perhaps would find that——

[Whispers.

Bayes. Now he whispers.

Ush. Alone do you say?

Phys. No, attended with the noble—— [Whispers.

Bayes. Again.

Ush. Who, he in grey?

Phys. Yes, and at the head of—— [Whispers.

Bayes. Pray mark.

Ush. Then, sir, most certain 'twill in time appear,

These are the reasons that have mov'd him to't;

First, he—— [Whispers.

Bayes. Now the other whispers.

Ush. Secondly, they—— [Whispers.

Bayes. At it still.

Ush. Thirdly, and lastly, both he and they—— [Whispers.

Bayes. Now they both whisper. [Exeunt whispering.

Now, gentlemen, pray tell me true, and without flattery, is not this a very odd beginning of a play?

Johns. In troth, I think it is, sir. But why two kings of the same place?

Bayes. Why, because it's new, and that's it I aim at. I despise your Jonson and Beaumont, that borrowed all they writ from nature: I am for fetching it purely out of my own fancy, I.

Smith. But what think you of Sir John Suckling?

Bayes. By gad, I am a better poet than he.

Smith. Well, sir, but pray why all this whispering?

Bayes. Why, sir (besides that it is new, as I told you before), because they are supposed to be politicians, and matters of state ought not to be divulg'd.

Smith. But then, sir, why——

Bayes. Sir, if you'll but respite your curiosity till the end of the fifth act, you'll find it a piece of patience not ill recompensed. [Goes to the door.

Johns. How dost thou like this, Frank? Is it not just as I told thee?

Smith. Why, I never did before this see anything in nature, and all that (as Mr. Bayes says) so foolish, but I could give some guess at what moved the fop to do it; but this, I confess, does go beyond my reach.

Johns. It is all alike; Mr. Wintershull[12] has informed me of this play already. And I'll tell thee, Frank, thou shalt not see one scene here worth one farthing, or like anything thou canst imagine has ever been the practice of the world. And then, when he comes to what he calls good language, it is, as I told thee, very fantastical, most abominably dull, and not one word to the purpose.

Smith. It does surprise me, I'm sure, very much.

Johns. Ay, but it won't do so long: by that time thou hast seen a play or two, that I'll show thee, thou wilt be pretty well acquainted with this new kind of foppery.

Smith. Plague on't, but there's no pleasure in him: he's too gross a fool to be laugh'd at.

Enter Bayes.

Johns. I'll swear, Mr. Bayes, you have done this scene most admirably; tho' I must tell you, sir, it is a very difficult matter to pen a whisper well.

Bayes. Ay, gentlemen, when you come to write yourselves, on my word, you'll find it so.

Johns. Have a care of what you say, Mr. Bayes; for Mr. Smith there, I assure you, has written a great many fine things already.

Bayes. Has he, i'fackins? why then pray, sir, how do you do when you write?

Smith. Faith, sir, for the most part, I am in pretty good health.

Bayes. Ay, but I mean, what do you do when you write?

Smith. I take pen, ink, and paper, and sit down.

Bayes. Now I write standing; that's one thing; and then another thing is, with what do you prepare yourself?

Smith. Prepare myself! what the devil does the fool mean?

Bayes. Why, I'll tell you, now, what I do. If I am to write familiar things, as sonnets to Armida, and the like, I make use of stew'd prunes only: but, when I have a grand design in hand, I ever take physic, and let blood; for, when you would have pure swiftness of thought, and fiery flights of fancy, you must have a care of the pensive part. In fine, you must purge the stomach.

Smith. By my troth, sir, this is a most admirable receipt for writing.

Bayes. Ay, 'tis my secret; and, in good earnest, I think one of the best I have.

Smith. In good faith, sir, and that may very well be.

Bayes. May be, sir? Egad, I'm sure on't: Experto crede Roberto. But I must give you this caution by the way, be sure you never take snuff,[13] when you write.

Smith. Why so, sir?

Bayes. Why, it spoil'd me once, egad, one of the sparkishest plays in all England. But a friend of mine, at Gresham College, has promised to help me to some spirit of brains, and, egad, that shall do my business.

Scene II.

Enter the two Kings, hand in hand.

Bayes. Oh, these are now the two kings of Brentford; take notice of their style, 'twas never yet upon the stage: but if you like it, I could make a shift perhaps to show you a whole play, writ all just so.

1st King. Did you observe their whispers, brother king?

2nd King. I did, and heard, besides, a grave bird sing,

That they intend, sweetheart, to play us pranks.

Bayes. This is now familiar, because they are both persons of the same quality.

Smith. S'death, this would make a man sick.

1st King. If that design appears,

I'll lug them by the ears,

Until I make 'em crack.

2nd King. And so will I, i'fack.

1st King. You must begin, Ma foy.

2nd King. Sweet sir, Pardonnez moy.

Bayes. Mark that; I make 'em both speak French, to show their breeding.

Johns. Oh, 'tis extraordinary fine!

2nd King. Then spite of fate, we'll thus combined stand,

And, like two brothers, walk still hand in hand. [Exeunt Reges.

Johns. This is a majestic scene indeed.

Bayes. Ay, 'tis a crust, a lasting crust for your rogue-critics, egad: I would fain see the proudest of 'em all but dare to nibble at this; egad, if they do, this shall rub their gums for 'em, I promise you. It was I, you must know, that have written a whole play just in this very same style; it was never acted yet.

Johns. How so?

Bayes. Egad, I can hardly tell you for laughing: ha, ha, ha! it is so pleasant a story: ha, ha, ha!

Smith. What is't?

Bayes. Egad, the players refuse to act it. Ha, ha, ha!

Smith. That's impossible!

Bayes. Egad, they did it, sir; point-blank refus'd it, egad, ha, ha, ha!

Johns. Fie, that was rude.

Bayes. Rude! ay, egad, they are the rudest, uncivillest persons, and all that, in the whole world, egad. Egad, there's no living with 'em. I have written, Mr. Johnson, I do verily believe, a whole cartload of things, every whit as good as this; and yet, I vow to gad, these insolent rascals have turn'd 'em all back upon my hands again.

Johns. Strange fellows indeed!

Smith. But pray, Mr. Bayes, how came these two kings to know of this whisper? for, as I remember, they were not present at it.

Bayes. No, but that's the actors' fault, and not mine; for the two kings should (a plague take 'em) have popp'd both their heads in at the door, just as the other went off.

Smith. That indeed would have done it.

Bayes. Done it! ay, egad, these fellows are able to spoil the best things in Christendom. I'll tell you, Mr. Johnson, I vow to gad, I have been so highly disoblig'd by the peremptoriness of these fellows, that I'm resolved hereafter to bend my thoughts wholly for the service of the nursery, and mump your proud players, egad. So, now Prince Prettyman comes in, and falls asleep, making love to his mistress; which you know was a grand intrigue in a late play, written by a very honest gentleman, a knight.[14]

Scene III.

Enter Prince Prettyman.

Pret. How strange a captive am I grown of late!

Shall I accuse my love, or blame my fate!

My love, I cannot; that is too divine:

And against fate what mortal dares repine?[15]

Enter Chloris.

But here she comes.

Sure 'tis some blazing comet! is it not! [Lies down.

Bayes. Blazing comet! mark that, egad, very fine!

Pret. But I am so surpris'd with sleep, I cannot speak the rest. [Sleeps.

Bayes. Does not that, now, surprise you, to fall asleep in the nick? his spirits exhale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and swop he falls asleep, as you see. Now here she must make a simile.

Smith. Where's the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes. Because she's surpris'd. That's a general rule; you must ever make a simile when you are surpris'd; 'tis the new way of writing.

Cloris.[16] As some tall pine, which we on Ætna find

T' have stood the rage of many a boist'rous wind,

Feeling without that flames within do play,

Which would consume his root and sap away;

He spreads his worsted arms unto the skies,

Silently grieves, all pale, repines and dies:

So shrouded up, your bright eye disappears.

Break forth, bright scorching sun, and dry my tears. [Exit.

Johns. Mr. Bayes, methinks this simile wants a little application too.

Bayes. No, faith; for it alludes to passion, to consuming, to dying, and all that; which, you know, are the natural effects of an amour. But I'm afraid this scene has made you sad; for, I must confess, when I writ it, I wept myself.

Smith. No truly, sir, my spirits are almost exhal'd too, and I am likelier to fall asleep.

Prince Prettyman starts up, and says—

Pret. It is resolved! [Exit.

Bayes. That's all.

Smith. Mr. Bayes, may one be so bold as to ask you one question, now, and you not be angry?

Bayes. O Lord, sir, you may ask me anything; what you please; I vow to gad, you do me a great deal of honour: you do not know me, if you say that, sir.

Smith. Then pray, sir, what is it that this prince here has resolved in his sleep?

Bayes. Why, I must confess, that question is well enough asked, for one that is not acquainted with this new way of writing. But you must know, sir, that to outdo all my fellow-writers, whereas they keep their intrigo secret, till the very last scene before the dance; I now, sir (do you mark me?)—a—

Smith. Begin the play, and end it, without ever opening the plot at all?

Bayes. I do so, that's the very plain truth on't: ha, ha, ha! I do, egad. If they cannot find it out themselves, e'en let 'em alone for Bayes, I warrant you. But here, now, is a scene of business: pray observe it; for I dare say you'll think it no unwise discourse this, nor ill argued. To tell you true, 'tis a discourse I overheard once betwixt two grand, sober, governing persons.

Scene IV.

Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician.

Ush. Come, sir; let's state the matter of fact, and lay our heads together.

Phys. Right; lay our heads together. I love to be merry sometimes; but when a knotty point comes, I lay my head close to it, with a snuff-box in my hand; and then I fegue it away, i'faith.

Bayes. I do just so, egad, always.

Ush. The grand question is, whether they heard us whisper? which I divide thus.

Phys. Yes, it must be divided so indeed.

Smith. That's very complaisant, I swear, Mr. Bayes, to be of another man's opinion, before he knows what it is.

Bayes. Nay, I bring in none here but well-bred persons, I assure you.

Ush. I divide the question into when they heard, what they heard, and whether they heard or no.

Johns. Most admirably divided, I swear!

Ush. As to the when; you say, just now: so that is answer'd. Then, as for what; why, that answers itself; for what could they hear, but what we talk'd of? so that, naturally, and of necessity, we come to the last question, videlicet, whether they heard or no.

Smith. This is a very wise scene, Mr. Bayes.

Bayes. Ay, you have it right; they are both politicians.

Ush. Pray, then, to proceed in method, let me ask you that question.

Phys. No, you'll answer better; pray let me ask it you.

Ush. Your will must be a law.

Phys. Come, then, what is't I must ask?

Smith. This politician, I perceive, Mr. Bayes, has somewhat a short memory.

Bayes. Why, sir, you must know, that t'other is the main politician, and this is but his pupil.

Ush. You must ask me whether they heard us whisper.

Phys. Well, I do so.

Ush. Say it then.

Smith. Heyday! here's the bravest work that ever I saw.

Johns. This is mighty methodical.

Bayes. Ay, sir; that's the way; 'tis the way of art; there is no other way, egad, in business.

Phys. Did they hear us whisper?

Ush. Why, truly, I can't tell; there's much to be said upon the word whisper: to whisper in Latin is susurrare, which is as much as to say, to speak softly; now, if they heard us speak softly, they heard us whisper; but then comes in the quomodo, the how; how did they hear us whisper? why as to that, there are two ways: the one, by chance or accident; the other, on purpose; that is, with design to hear us whisper.

Phys. Nay, if they heard us that way, I'll never give them physic more.

Ush. Nor I e'er more will walk abroad before 'em.

Bayes. Pray mark this, for a great deal depends upon it, towards the latter end of the play.

Smith. I suppose that's the reason why you brought in this scene, Mr. Bayes.

Bayes. Partly, it was, sir; but I confess I was not unwilling, besides, to show the world a pattern, here, how men should talk of business.

Johns. You have done it exceeding well indeed.

Bayes. Yes, I think this will do.

Phys. Well, if they heard us whisper, they will turn us out, and nobody else will take us.

Bayes. There's now an odd surprise; the whole state's turned quite topsy-turvy, without any pother or stir in the whole world, egad.[17]

Johns. A very silent change of government, truly, as ever I heard of.

Bayes. It is so. And yet you shall see me bring 'em in again, by-and-by, in as odd a way every jot.

[The Usurpers march out, flourishing their swords.

Enter Shirly.

Shir. Heyho! heyho! what a change is here! heyday, heyday!

I know not what to do, nor what to say.[18] [Exit.

Johns. Mr. Bayes, in my opinion, now, that gentleman might have said a little more upon this occasion.

Bayes. No, sir, not at all; for I underwrit his part on purpose to set off the rest.

Johns. Cry you mercy, sir.

Smith. But pray, sir, how came they to depose the kings so easily?

Bayes. Why, sir, you must know, they long had a design to do it before; but never could put it in practice till now: and to tell you true, that's one reason why I made 'em whisper so at first.

Smith. Oh, very well; now I'm fully satisfied.

Bayes. And then to show you, sir, it was not done so very easily neither, in the next scene you shall see some fighting.

Smith. Oh, oh; so then you make the struggle to be after the business is done?

Bayes. Ay.

Smith. Oh, I conceive you: that, I swear, is very natural.

Scene V.

Enter four Men at one door, and four at another, with their swords drawn.

1st Sold. Stand. Who goes there?

2nd Sold. A friend.

1st Sold. What friend?

2nd Sold. A friend to the house.

1st Sold. Fall on! [They all kill one another.

[Music strikes.

Bayes. Hold, hold. [To the music. It ceases.

Now, here's an odd surprise: all these dead men you shall see

rise up presently, at a certain note that I have, in effaut flat,

and fall a-dancing. Do you hear, dead men? remember your

note in effaut flat.

Play on. [To the music.

Now, now, now! [The music plays his note, and the dead men

rise; but cannot get in order.

O Lord! O Lord! Out, out, out! did ever men spoil a good

thing so! no figure, no ear, no time, nothing. Udzookers, you

dance worse than the angels in "Harry the Eighth," or the fat

spirits in the "Tempest," egad.

1st Sold. Why, sir, 'tis impossible to do anything in time, to this tune.

Bayes. O Lord, O Lord! impossible! Why, gentlemen, if there be any faith in a person that's a Christian, I sat up two whole nights in composing this air, and apting it for the business; for, if you observe, there are two several designs in this tune: it begins swift, and ends slow. You talk of time, and time; you shall see me do it. Look you, now: here I am dead.

[Lies down flat upon his face.

Now mark my note effaut flat. Strike up, music.

Now. [As he rises up hastily, he falls down again.

Ah, gadzookers! I have broke my nose.

Johns. By my troth, Mr. Bayes, this is a very unfortunate note of yours, in effaut.

Bayes. A plague on this old stage, with your nails, and your tenter-hooks, that a gentleman can't come to teach you to act, but he must break his nose, and his face, and the devil and all. Pray, sir, can you help me to a wet piece of brown paper?

Smith. No, indeed, sir, I don't usually carry any about me.

2nd Sold. Sir, I'll go get you some within presently.

Bayes. Go, go, then; I follow you. Pray dance out the dance, and I'll be with you in a moment. Remember you dance like horse-men. [Exit Bayes.

Smith. Like horse-men! what a plague can that be?

They dance the dance, but can make nothing of it.

1st Sold. A devil! let's try this no longer. Play my dance
that Mr. Bayes found fault with so. [Dance, and Exeunt.

Smith. What can this fool be doing all this while about his
nose?

Johns. Prithee let's go see. [Exeunt.

ACT III.—Scene I.

Bayes with a paper on his nose, and the two Gentlemen.

Bayes. Now, sirs, this I do, because my fancy, in this play, is, to end every act with a dance.

Smith. Faith, that fancy is very good; but I should hardly have broke my nose for it, tho'.

Johns. That fancy I suppose is new too.

Bayes. Sir, all my fancies are so. I tread upon no man's heels; but make my flight upon my own wings, I assure you. Now, here comes in a scene of sheer wit, without any mixture in the whole world, egad! between Prince Prettyman and his tailor: it might properly enough be call'd a prize of wit; for you shall see them come in one upon another snip-snap, hit for hit, as fast as can be. First, one speaks, then presently t'other's upon him, slap, with a repartee; then he at him again, dash with a new conceit; and so eternally, eternally, egad, till they go quite off the stage.
[Goes to call the Players.

Smith. What a plague does this fop mean, by his snip snap, hit for hit, and dash!

Johns. Mean! why, he never meant anything in's life; what dost talk of meaning for?

Enter Bayes.

Bayes. Why don't you come in?

Enter Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble.[19]

This scene will make you die with laughing, if it be well acted, for 'tis as full of drollery as ever it can hold. 'Tis like an orange stuff'd with cloves, as for conceit.

Pret. But prithee, Tom Thimble, why wilt thou needs marry? if nine tailors make but one man, what work art thou cutting out here for thyself, trow?

Bayes. Good.

Thim. Why, an't please your highness, if I can't make up all the work I cut out, I shan't want journeymen enow to help me, I warrant you.

Bayes. Good again.

Pret. I am afraid thy journeymen, tho', Tom, won't work by the day.

Bayes. Good still.

Thim. However, if my wife sits but as I do, there will be no great danger: not half so much as when I trusted you, sir, for your coronation-suit.

Bayes. Very good, i'faith.

Pret. Why the times then liv'd upon trust; it was the fashion. You would not be out of time, at such a time as that, sure: a tailor, you know, must never be out of fashion.

Bayes. Right.

Thim. I'm sure, sir, I made your clothes in the court-fashion, for you never paid me yet.

Bayes. There's a bob for the court.[20]

Pret. Why, Tom, thou art a sharp rogue when thou art angry, I see: thou pay'st me now, methinks.

Bayes. There's pay upon pay! as good as ever was written, egad!

Thim. Ay, sir, in your own coin; you give me nothing but words.[21]

Bayes. Admirable!

Pret. Well, Tom, I hope shortly I shall have another coin for thee; for now the wars are coming on, I shall grow to be a man of metal.

Bayes. Oh, you did not do that half enough.

Johns. Methinks he does it admirably.

Bayes. Ay, pretty well; but he does not hit me in't: he does not top his part.[22]

Thim. That's the way to be stamp'd yourself, sir. I shall see you come home, like an angel for the king's evil, with a hole bor'd thro' you. [Exeunt.

Bayes. Ha, there he has hit it up to the hilts, egad! How do you like it now, gentlemen? is not this pure wit?

Smith. 'Tis snip-snap, sir, as you say; but methinks not pleasant, nor to the purpose; for the play does not go on.

Bayes. Play does not go on! I don't know what you mean: why, is not this part of the play?

Smith. Yes; but the plot stands still.

Bayes. Plot stand still! why, what a devil is the plot good for, but to bring in fine things?

Smith. Oh, I did not know that before.

Bayes. No, I think you did not, nor many things more, that I am master of. Now, sir, egad, this is the bane of all us writers; let us soar but never so little above the common pitch, egad, all's spoil'd, for the vulgar never understand it; they can never conceive you, sir, the excellency of these things.

Johns. 'Tis a sad fate, I must confess; but you write on still for all that!

Bayes. Write on? Ay, egad, I warrant you. 'Tis not their talk shall stop me; if they catch me at that lock, I'll give them leave to hang me. As long as I know my things are good, what care I what they say? What, are they gone without singing my last new song? 'sbud would it were in their bellies. I'll tell you, Mr. Johnson, if I have any skill in these matters, I vow to gad this song is peremptorily the very best that ever yet was written: you must know it was made by Tom Thimble's first wife after she was dead.

Smith. How, sir, after she was dead?

Bayes. Ay, sir, after she was dead. Why, what have you to say to that?

Johns. Say? why nothing. He were a devil that had anything to say to that.

Bayes. Right.

Smith. How did she come to die, pray, sir?

Bayes. Phoo! that's no matter; by a fall: but here's the conceit, that upon his knowing she was kill'd by an accident, he supposes, with a sigh, that she died for love of him.

Johns. Ay, ay, that's well enough; let's hear it, Mr. Bayes.

Bayes. 'Tis to the tune of "Farewell, fair Armida;" on seas, and in battles, in bullets, and all that.

Song.[23]

In swords, pikes, and bullets, 'tis safer to be,

Than in a strong castle, remoted from thee:

My death's bruise pray think you gave me, tho' a fall

Did give it me more from the top of a wall:

For then if the moat on her mud would first lay,

And after before you my body convey:

The blue on my breast when you happen to see,

You'll say with a sigh, there's a true blue for me.

Ha, rogues! when I am merry, I write these things as fast as hops, egad; for, you must know, I am as pleasant a cavalier as ever you saw; I am, i'faith.

Smith. But, Mr. Bayes, how comes this song in here? for methinks there is no great occasion for it.

Bayes. Alack, sir, you know nothing; you must ever interlard your plays with songs, ghosts, and dances, if you mean to—a—

Johns. Pit, box, and gallery,[24] Mr. Bayes.

Bayes. Egad, and you have nick'd it. Hark you, Mr. Johnson, you know I don't flatter; egad, you have a great deal of wit.

Johns. O Lord, sir, you do me too much honour.

Bayes. Nay, nay, come, come, Mr. Johnson, i'faith this must not be said amongst us that have it. I know you have wit, by the judgment you make of this play; for that's the measure we go by: my play is my touchstone. When a man tells me such a one is a person of parts: is he so? say I; what do I do, but bring him presently to see this play: if he likes it, I know what to think of him; if not, your most humble servant, sir; I'll no more of him, upon my word, I thank you. I am Clara voyant, egad. Now here we go on to our business.

Scene II.

Enter the two Usurpers,[25] hand in hand.

Ush. But what's become of Volscius the Great;

His presence has not grac'd our court of late.

Phys. I fear some ill, from emulation sprung,

Has from us that illustrious hero wrung.

Bayes. Is not that majestical?

Smith. Yes, but who the devil is that Volscius?

Bayes. Why, that's a prince I make in love with Parthenope.

Smith. I thank you, sir.

Enter Cordelio.

Cor. My lieges, news from Volscius the prince.

Ush. His news is welcome, whatsoe'er it be.[26]

Smith. How, sir, do you mean whether it be good or bad?

Bayes. Nay, pray, sir, have a little patience: gadzookers, you'll spoil all my play. Why, sir, 'tis impossible to answer every impertinent question you ask.

Smith. Cry you mercy, sir.

Cor. His highness, sirs, commanded me to tell you,

That the fair person whom you both do know,

Despairing of forgiveness for her fault,

In a deep sorrow, twice she did attempt

Upon her precious life; but, by the care

Of standers-by, prevented was.

Smith. Why, what stuff's here?

Cor. At last,

Volscius the Great this dire resolve embrac'd:

His servants he into the country sent,

And he himself to Piccadilly went;

Where he's inform'd by letters that she's dead.

Ush. Dead! is that possible? dead!

Phys. O ye gods! [Exeunt.

Bayes. There's a smart expression of a passion: O ye gods! that's one of my bold strokes, egad.

Smith. Yes; but who's the fair person that's dead?

Bayes. That you shall know anon, sir.

Smith. Nay, if we know at all, 'tis well enough.

Bayes. Perhaps you may find, too, by-and-by, for all this, that she's not dead neither.

Smith. Marry, that's good news indeed. I am glad of that with all my heart.

Bayes. Now here's the man brought in that is supposed to have kill'd her. [A great shout within.

Scene III.

Enter Amaryllis, with a book in her hand, and attendants.

Ama. What shout triumphant's that?

Enter a Soldier.

Sold. Shy maid, upon the river brink, near Twic'nam town, the false assassinate is ta'en.

Ama. Thanks to the powers above for this deliverance. I hope,

Its slow beginning will portend

A forward exit to all future end.

Bayes. Pish! there you are out; to all future end! no, no; to all future END! You must lay the accent upon "end," or else you lose the conceit.

Smith. I see you are very perfect in these matters.

Bayes. Ay, sir, I have been long enough at it, one would think, to know something.

Enter Soldiers, dragging in an old Fisherman.

Ama. Villain, what monster did corrupt thy mind

T' attack the noblest soul of human kind?

Tell me who set thee on.

Fish. Prince Prettyman.

Ama. To kill whom?

Fish. Prince Prettyman.

Ama. What! did Prince Prettyman hire you to kill Prince Prettyman?

Fish. No; Prince Volscius.

Ama. To kill whom?

Fish. Prince Volscius.

Ama. What! did Prince Volscius hire you to kill Prince Volscius?

Fish. No, Prince Prettyman.

Ama. So drag him hence,

Till torture of the rack produce his sense. [Exeunt.

Bayes. Mark how I make the horror of his guilt confound his intellects; for he's out at one and t'other: and that's the design of this scene.

Smith. I see, sir, you have a several design for every scene.

Bayes. Ay, that's my way of writing; and so, sir, I can dispatch you a whole play, before another man, egad, can make an end of his plot.

Scene IV.

So now enter Prince Prettyman in a rage. Where the devil is he? why, Prettyman? why, where I say? O fie, fie, fie, fie! all's marr'd, I vow to gad, quite marr'd.

Enter Prettyman.

Phoo, phoo! you are come too late, sir; now you may go out again, if you please. I vow to gad, Mr.—a—I would not give a button for my play, now you have done this.

Pret. What, sir?

Bayes. What, sir! why, sir, you should have come out in choler, rouse upon the stage, just as the other went off. Must a man be eternally telling you of these things?

Johns. Sure this must be some very notable matter that he's so angry at.

Smith. I am not of your opinion.

Bayes. Pish! come let's hear your part, sir.

Pret.[27]Bring in my father: why d'ye keep him from me?

Altho' a fisherman, he is my father:

Was ever son yet brought to this distress,

To be, for being a son, made fatherless!

Ah! you just gods, rob me not of a father:

The being of a son take from me rather. [Exit.

Smith. Well, Ned, what think you now?

Johns. A devil, this is worst of all: Mr. Bayes, pray what's the meaning of this scene?

Bayes. O cry you mercy, sir: I protest I had forgot to tell you. Why, sir, you must know, that long before the beginning of this play, this prince was taken by a fisherman.

Smith. How, sir, taken prisoner?

Bayes. Taken prisoner! O Lord, what a question's there! did ever any man ask such a questions? Plague on him, he has put the plot quite out of my head with this—this—question! what was I going to say?

Johns. Nay, Heaven knows: I cannot imagine.

Bayes. Stay, let me see: taken! O 'tis true. Why, sir, as I was going to say, his highness here, the prince, was taken in a cradle by a fisherman, and brought up as his child!

Smith. Indeed!

Bayes. Nay, prithee, hold thy peace. And so, sir, this murder being committed by the river-side, the fisherman, upon suspicion, was seiz'd, and thereupon the prince grew angry.

Smith. So, so; now 'tis very plain.

Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, is not this some disparagement to a prince, to pass for a fisherman's son? Have a care of that, I pray.

Bayes. No, no, not at all; for 'tis but for a while: I shall fetch him off again presently, you shall see.

Enter Prettyman and Thimble.

Pret. By all the gods, I'll set the world on fire,

Rather than let 'em ravish hence my sire.

Thim. Brave Prettyman, it is at length reveal'd,

That he is not thy sire who thee conceal'd.

Bayes. Lo, you now; there, he's off again.

Johns. Admirably done, i'faith!

Bayes. Ay, now the plot thickens very much upon us.

Pret. What oracle this darkness can evince!

Sometimes a fisher's son, sometimes a prince.

It is a secret, great as is the world;

In which I, like the soul, am toss'd and hurl'd,

The blackest ink of Fate sure was my lot,

And when she writ my name, she made a blot. [Exit.

Bayes. There's a blustering verse for you now.

Smith. Yes, sir; but why is he so mightily troubled to find he is not a fisherman's son?

Bayes. Phoo! that is not because he has a mind to be his son, but for fear he should be thought to be nobody's son at all.

Smith. Nay, that would trouble a man, indeed.

Bayes. So, let me see.

Scene V.

Enter Prince Volscius, going out of town.

Smith. I thought he had been gone to Piccadilly.

Bayes. Yes, he gave it out so; but that was only to cover his design.

Johns. What design?

Bayes. Why, to head the army that lies conceal'd for him at Knightsbridge.

Johns. I see here's a great deal of plot, Mr. Bayes.

Bayes. Yes, now it begins to break: but we shall have a world of more business anon.

Enter Prince Volscius, Cloris, Amaryllis, and Harry, with a riding-cloak and boots.

Ama. Sir, you are cruel thus to leave the town,

And to retire to country solitude.

Clo. We hop'd this summer that we should at least

Have held the honour of your company.

Bayes. Held the honour of your company; prettily express'd: held the honour of your company! gadzookers, these fellows will never take notice of anything.

Johns. I assure you, sir, I admire it extremely; I don't know what he does.

Bayes. Ay, ay, he's a little envious; but 'tis no great matter. Come.

Ama. Pray let us two this single boon obtain!

That you will here, with poor us, still remain!

Before your horses come, pronounce our fate,

For then, alas, I fear 'twill be too late.

Bayes. Sad!

Harry, my boots; for I'll go range among!

Vols. My blades encamp'd, and quit this urban throng.[28]

Smith. But pray, Mr. Bayes, is not this a little difficult, that you were saying e'en now, to keep an army thus conceal'd in Knightsbridge?

Bayes. In Knightsbridge? stay.

Johns. No, not if the inn-keepers be his friends.

Bayes. His friends! ay, sir, his intimate acquaintance; or else indeed I grant it could not be.

Smith. Yes, faith, so it might be very easy.

Bayes. Nay, if I do not make all things easy, egad, I'll give you leave to hang me. Now you would think that he's going out of town: but you shall see how prettily I have contriv'd to stop him presently.

Smith. By my troth, sir, you have so amaz'd me, that I know not what to think.

Enter Parthenope.

Vols. Bless me! how frail are all my best resolves!

How, in a moment, is my purpose chang'd!

Too soon I thought myself secure from love.

Fair madam, give me leave to ask her name,[29]

Who does so gently rob me of my fame:

For I should meet the army out of town,

And if I fail, must hazard my renown.

Par. My mother, sir, sells ale by the town-walls;

And me her dear Parthenope she calls.

Bayes. Now that's the Parthenope I told you of.

Johns. Ay, ay, egad, you are very right.

Vols. Can vulgar vestments high-born beauty shroud?

Thou bring'st the morning pictur'd in a cloud.[30]

Bayes. The morning pictur'd in a cloud! ah, gadzookers, what a conceit is there!

Par. Give you good even, sir. [Exit.

Vols. O inauspicious stars! that I was born

To sudden love, and to more sudden scorn!

Ama. } How! Prince Volscius in love? ha, ha, ha![31]

Clo. } [Exeunt laughing.

Smith. Sure, Mr. Bayes, we have lost some jest here, that they laugh at so.

Bayes. Why, did you not observe? he first resolves to go out of town, and then as he's pulling on his boots, falls in love with her; ha, ha, ha!

Smith. Well, and where lies the jest of that?

Bayes. Ha? [Turns to Johns.

Johns. Why, in the boots: where should the jest lie?

Bayes. Egad, you are in the right: it does lie in the boots—— [Turns to Smith. Your friend and I know where a good jest lies, though you don't, sir.

Smith. Much good do't you, sir.

Bayes. Here now, Mr. Johnson, you shall see a combat betwixt love and honour. An ancient author has made a whole play on't;[32] but I have dispatch'd it all in this scene.

Volscius sits down to pull on his boots: Bayes stands by, and over-acts the part as he speaks it.

Vols. How has my passion made me Cupid's scoff!

This hasty boot is on, the other off,

And sullen lies, with amorous design,

To quit loud fame, and make that beauty mine.

Smith. Prithee, mark what pains Mr. Bayes takes to act this speech himself!

Johns. Yes, the fool, I see, is mightily transported with it.

Vols. My legs the emblem of my various thought

Show to what sad distraction I am brought.

Sometimes with stubborn honour, like this boot,

My mind is guarded, and resolv'd to do't:

Sometimes again, that very mind, by love

DisarmÉd, like this other leg does prove.

Shall I to honour or to love give way?

Go on, cries honour;[33] tender love says, nay;

Honour aloud commands, pluck both boots on;

But softer love does whisper, put on none.

What shall I do! what conduct shall I find,

To lead me thro' this twilight of my mind?

For as bright day, with black approach of night

Contending, makes a doubtful puzzling light;

So does my honour and my love together

Puzzle me so, I can resolve for neither.

[Goes out hopping, with one boot on, and t'other off.

Johns. By my troth, sir, this is as difficult a combat as ever I saw, and as equal; for 'tis determin'd on neither side.

Bayes. Ay, is't not now egad, ha? for to go off hip-hop, hip-hop, upon this occasion, is a thousand times better than any conclusion in the world, egad.

Johns. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, that hip-hop, in this place, as you say, does a very great deal.

Bayes. Oh, all in all, sir! they are these little things that mar, or set you off a play; as I remember once in a play of mine, I set off a scene, egad, beyond expectation, only with a petticoat, and the gripes.[34]

Smith. Pray how was that, sir?

Bayes. Why, sir, I contriv'd a petticoat to be brought in upon a chair (nobody knew how) into a prince's chamber, whose father was not to see it, that came in by chance.

Johns. By-my-life, that was a notable contrivance indeed.

Smith. Ay, but Mr. Bayes, how could you contrive the stomach-ache?

Bayes. The easiest i' th' world, egad: I'll tell you how. I made the prince sit down upon the petticoat, no more than so, and pretended to his father that he had just then got the gripes: whereupon his father went out to call a physician, and his man ran away with the petticoat.

Smith. Well, and what follow'd upon that?

Bayes. Nothing, no earthly thing, I vow to gad.

Johns. On my word, Mr. Bayes, there you hit it.

Bayes. Yes, it gave a world of content. And then I paid 'em away besides; for it made them all talk beastly: ha, ha, ha, beastly! downright beastly upon the stage, egad, ha, ha, ha! but with an infinite deal of wit, that I must say.

Johns. That, ay, that, we know well enough, can never fail you.

Bayes. No, egad, can't it. Come, bring in the dance. [Exit to call the Players.

Smith. Now, the plague take thee for a silly, confident, unnatural, fulsome rogue.

Enter Bayes and Players.

Bayes. Pray dance well before these gentlemen; you are commonly so lazy, but you should be light and easy, tah, tah, tah.

[All the while they dance, Bayes puts them out with teaching them.

Well, gentlemen, you'll see this dance, if I am not deceiv'd, take very well upon the stage, when they are perfect in their motions, and all that.

Smith. I don't know how 'twill take, sir; but I am sure you sweat hard for't.

Bayes. Ay, sir, it costs me more pains and trouble to do these things than almost the things are worth.

Smith. By my troth, I think so, sir.

Bayes. Not for the things themselves; for I could write you, sir, forty of 'em in a day: but, egad, these players are such dull persons, that if a man be not by 'em upon every point, and at every turn, egad, they'll mistake you, sir, and spoil all.

Enter a Player.

What, is the funeral ready?

Play. Yes, sir.

Bayes. And is the lance fill'd with wine?

Play. Sir, 'tis just now a-doing.

Bayes. Stay, then, I'll do it myself.

Smith. Come, let's go with him.

Bayes. A match. But, Mr. Johnson, egad, I am not like other persons; they care not what becomes of their things, so they can but get money for 'em: now, egad, when I write, if it be not just as it should be in every circumstance, to every particular, egad, I am no more able to endure it, I am not myself, I'm out of my wits, and all that; I'm the strangest person in the whole world: for what care I for money? I write for reputation. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.—Scene I.

Bayes, and the two Gentlemen.

Bayes. Gentlemen, because I would not have any two things alike in this play, the last act beginning with a witty scene of mirth, I make this to begin with a funeral.

Smith. And is that all your reason for it, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes. No, sir, I have a precedent for it besides. A person of honour, and a scholar, brought in his funeral just so;[35] and he was one, let me tell you, that knew as well what belong'd to a funeral as any man in England, egad.

Johns. Nay, if that be so, you are safe.

Bayes. Egad, but I have another device, a frolic, which I think yet better than all this; not for the plot or characters (for, in my heroic plays, I make no difference as to those matters), but for another contrivance.

Smith. What is that, I pray?

Bayes. Why, I have design'd a conquest that cannot possibly, egad, be acted in less than a whole week; and I'll speak a bold word, it shall drum, trumpet, shout, and battle, egad, with any the most warlike tragedy we have, either ancient or modern.[36]

Johns. Ay, marry, sir, there you say something.

Smith. And pray, sir, how have you order'd this same frolic of yours?

Bayes. Faith, sir, by the rule of romance; for example, they divide their things into three, four, five, six, seven, eight, or as many tomes as they please. Now I would very fain know what should hinder me from doing the same with my things, if I please?

Johns. Nay, if you should not be master of your own works, 'tis very hard.

Bayes. That is my sense. And then, sir, this contrivance of mine has something of the reason of a play in it too; for as every one makes you five acts to one play, what do I, but make five plays to one plot: by which means the auditors have every day a new thing.

Johns. Most admirably good, i'faith! and must certainly take, because it is not tedious.

Bayes. Ay, sir, I know that; there's the main point. And then upon Saturday to make a close of all (for I ever begin upon a Monday), I make you, sir, a sixth play that sums up the whole matter to 'em, and all that, for fear they should have forgot it.

Johns. That consideration, Mr. Bayes, indeed I think will be very necessary.

Smith. And when comes in your share, pray, sir?

Bayes. The third week.

Johns. I vow you'll get a world of money.

Bayes. Why, faith, a man must live; and if you don't thus pitch upon some new device, egad, you'll never do't; for this age (take it o' my word) is somewhat hard to please. But there is one pretty odd passage in the last of these plays, which may be executed two several ways, wherein I'd have your opinion, gentlemen.

Johns. What is't, sir.

Bayes. Why, sir, I make a male person to be in love with a female.

Smith. Do you mean that, Mr. Bayes, for a new thing?

Bayes. Yes, sir, as I have order'd it. You shall hear: he having passionately lov'd her through my five whole plays, finding at last that she consents to his love, just after that his mother had appear'd to him like a ghost, he kills himself: that's one way. The other is, that she coming at last to love him, with as violent a passion as he lov'd her, she kills herself. Now my question is, which of these two persons should suffer upon this occasion?

Johns. By my troth, it is a very hard case to decide.

Bayes. The hardest in the world, egad, and has puzzled this pate very much. What say you, Mr. Smith?

Smith. Why truly, Mr. Bayes, if it might stand with your justice now, I would spare 'em both.

Bayes. Egad, and I think—ha—why then, I'll make him hinder her from killing herself. Ay, it shall be so. Come, come, bring in the funeral.

Enter a Funeral, with the two Usurpers and Attendants.

Lay it down there; no, no, here, sir. So now speak.

Bayes. Is not this good language now? is not that elevate? 'tis my non ultra, egad; you must know they were both in love with her.

Smith. With her! with whom?

Bayes. Why, this is Lardella's funeral.

Smith. Lardella! ay, who is she?

Bayes. Why, sir, the sister of Drawcansir; a lady that was drown'd at sea, and had a wave for her winding-sheet.[37]

K. Ush. Lardella, O Lardella, from above

Behold the tragic issues of our love:

Pity us, sinking under grief and pain,

For thy being cast away upon the main.

Bayes. Look you now, you see I told you true.

Smith. Ay, sir, and I thank you for it very kindly.

Bayes. Ay, egad, but you will not have patience; honest Mr.—a—you will not have patience.

Johns. Pray, Mr. Bayes, who is that Drawcansir?

Bayes. Why, sir, a fierce hero, that frights his mistress, snubs up kings, baffles armies, and does what he will, without regard to numbers, good manners, or justice.[38]

Johns. A very pretty character!

Smith. But, Mr. Bayes, I thought your heroes had ever been men of great humanity and justice.

Bayes. Yes, they have been so; but for my part, I prefer that one quality of singly beating of whole armies, above all your moral virtues put together, egad. You shall see him come in presently. Zookers, why don't you read the paper? [To the Players.

K. Phys. O, cry you mercy. [Goes to take the paper.

Bayes. Pish! nay you are such a fumbler. Come, I'll read it myself.
[Takes the paper from off the coffin.
Stay, it's an ill hand, I must use my spectacles. This now is a copy of verses, which I make Lardella compose just as she is dying, with design to have it pinn'd upon her coffin, and so read by one of the usurpers, who is her cousin.

Smith. A very shrewd design that, upon my word, Mr. Bayes.

Bayes. And what do you think now, I fancy her to make love like, here, in this paper?

Smith. Like a woman: what should she make love like?

Bayes. O' my word you are out tho', sir; egad you are.

Smith. What then, like a man?

Bayes. No, sir; like a humble-bee.

Smith. I confess, that I should not have fancy'd.

Bayes. It may be so, sir; but it is tho', in order to the opinion of some of our ancient philosophers, who held the transmigration of the soul.

Smith. Very fine.

Bayes. I'll read the title: "To my dear Couz, King Physician."

Smith. That's a little too familiar with a king, tho', sir, by your favour, for a humble-bee.

Bayes. Mr. Smith, in other things, I grant your knowledge may be above me; but as for poetry, give me leave to say I understand that better: it has been longer my practice; it has indeed, sir.

Smith. Your servant, sir.

Bayes. Pray mark it. [Reads.

"Since death my earthly part will thus remove,

I'll come a humble-bee to your chaste love:

With silent wings I'll follow you, dear couz;

Or else, before you, in the sunbeams, buz.

And when to melancholy groves you come,

An airy ghost, you'll know me by my hum;

For sound, being air, a ghost does well become."[39]

Smith (after a pause). Admirable!

Bayes. "At night, into your bosom I will creep,

And buz but softly if you chance to sleep:

Yet in your dreams, I will pass sweeping by,

And then both hum and buz before your eye."

Johns. By my troth, that's a very great promise.

Smith. Yes, and a most extraordinary comfort to boot.

Bayes. "Your bed of love from dangers I will free;

But most from love of any future bee.

And when with pity your heart-strings shall crack,

With empty arms I'll bear you on my back."

Smith. A pick-a-pack, a pick-a-pack.

Bayes. Ay, egad, but is not that tuant now, ha? is it not

tuant? Here's the end.

"Then at your birth of immortality,

Like any wingÉd archer hence I'll fly,

And teach you your first fluttering in the sky."

Johns. Oh, rare! this is the most natural, refined fancy that ever I heard, I'll swear.

Bayes. Yes, I think, for a dead person, it is a good way enough of making love; for, being divested of her terrestrial part, and all that, she is only capable of these little, pretty, amorous designs that are innocent, and yet passionate. Come, draw your swords.

K. Phys. Come, sword, come sheath thyself within this breast,

Which only in Lardella's tomb can rest.

K. Ush. Come, dagger, come and penetrate this heart,

Which cannot from Lardella's love depart.

Enter Pallas.

Pal. Hold, stop your murd'ring hands

At Pallas's commands:

For the supposÉd dead, O kings,

Forbear to act such deadly things.

Lardella lives; I did but try

If princes for their loves could die.

Such celestial constancy

Shall, by the gods, rewarded be:

And from these funeral obsequies,

A nuptial banquet shall arise.

[The coffin opens, and a banquet is discovered.

Bayes. So, take away the coffin. Now 'tis out. This is the very funeral of the fair person which Volscius sent word was dead; and Pallas, you see, has turned it into a banquet.

Smith. Well, but where is this banquet?

Bayes. Nay, look you, sir; we must first have a dance, for joy that Lardella is not dead. Pray, sir, give me leave to bring in my things properly at least.

Smith. That, indeed, I had forgot; I ask your pardon.

Bayes. Oh, d'ye so, sir? I am glad you will confess yourself once in an error, Mr. Smith.

[Dance.]

K. Ush. Resplendent Pallas, we in thee do find

The fiercest beauty, and a fiercer mind:

And since to thee Lardella's life we owe,

We'll supple statues in thy temple grow.

K. Phys. Well, since alive Lardella's found,

Let in full bowls her health go round.

[The two Usurpers take each of them a bowl in their hands.

K. Ush. But where's the wine?

Pal. That shall be mine.

Lo, from this conquering lance

Does flow the purest wine of France: [Fills the bowls out of her lance.

And to appease your hunger, I

Have in my helmet brought a pie:

Lastly, to bear a part with these,

Behold a buckler made of cheese.[40] [Vanish Pallas.

Bayes. That's the banquet. Are you satisfied now, sir?

Johns. By my troth now, that is new, and more than I expected.

Bayes. Yes, I knew this would please you; for the chief art in poetry is to elevate your expectation, and then bring you off some extraordinary way.

Enter Drawcansir.

K. Phys. What man is this that dares disturb our feast?

Draw. He that dares drink, and for that drink dares die;

And knowing this, dares yet drink on, am I.[41]

Johns. That is, Mr. Bayes, as much as to say, that though he would rather die than not drink, yet he would fain drink for all that too.

Bayes. Right; that's the conceit on't.

Johns. 'Tis a marvellous good one, I swear.

Bayes. Now, there are some critics that have advis'd me to put out the second dare, and print must in the place on't;[42] but, egad, I think 'tis better thus a great deal.

Johns. Whoo! a thousand times.

Bayes. Go on then.

K. Ush. Sir, if you please, we should be glad to know,

How long you here will stay, how soon you'll go?

Bayes. Is not that now like a well-bred person, egad? so modest, so gent!

Smith. O very like.

Draw. You shall not know how long I here will stay;

But you shall know I'll take your bowls away.[43]

[Snatches the bowls out of the kings' hands and drinks them off.

Smith. But, Mr. Bayes, is that, too, modest and gent?

Bayes. No, egad, sir, but 'tis great.

K. Ush. Tho', brother, this grum stranger be a clown,

He'll leave us sure a little to gulp down.

Draw. Whoe'er to gulp one drop of this dare think,

I'll stare away his very power to drink,[44]

[The two Kings sneak off the stage with their attendants.

I drink, I huff, I strut, look big and stare;

And all this I can do because I dare.[45] [Exit.

Smith. I suppose, Mr. Bayes, this is the fierce hero you spoke of?

Bayes. Yes; but this is nothing. You shall see him in the last act win above a dozen battles, one after another, egad, as fast as they can possibly come upon the stage.

Johns. That will be a fight worth the seeing, indeed.

Smith. But pray, Mr. Bayes, why do you make the kings let him use them so scurvily?

Bayes. Phoo! that's to raise the character of Drawcansir.

Johns. O' my word, that was well thought on.

Bayes. Now, sirs, I'll show you a scene indeed; or rather, indeed, the scene of scenes. 'Tis an heroic scene.

Smith. And pray, what's your design in this scene?

Bayes. Why, sir, my design is gilded truncheons, forc'd conceit, smooth verse and a rant; in fine, if this scene don't take, egad, I'll write no more. Come, come in, Mr.—a—nay, come in as many as you can. Gentlemen, I must desire you to remove a little, for I must fill the stage.

Smith. Why fill the stage?

Bayes. Oh, sir, because your heroic verse never sounds well but when the stage is full.

SCENE II.

Enter Prince Prettyman and Prince Volscius.

Nay, hold, hold; pray by your leave a little. Look you, sir, the drift of this scene is somewhat more than ordinary; for I make 'em both fall out because they are not in love with the same woman.

Smith. Not in love? You mean, I suppose, because they are in love, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes. No, sir; I say not in love; there's a new conceit for you. Now speak.

Pret. Since fate, Prince Volscius, now has found the way

For our so long'd-for meeting here this day,

Lend thy attention to my grand concern.

Vols. I gladly would that story from thee learn;

But thou to love dost, Prettyman, incline;

Yet love in thy breast is not love in mine.

Bayes. Antithesis! thine and mine.

Pret. Since love itself's the same, why should it be

Diff'ring in you from what it is in me?

Bayes. Reasoning! egad, I love reasoning in verse.

Vols. Love takes, camÉleon-like, a various dye

From every plant on which itself doth lie.

Bayes. Simile!

Pret. Let not thy love the course of nature fright:

Nature does most in harmony delight.

Vols. How weak a deity would nature prove,

Contending with the powerful god of love!

Bayes. There's a great verse!

Vols. If incense thou wilt offer at the shrine

Of mighty Love, burn it to none but mine.

Her rosy lips eternal sweets exhale;

And her bright flames make all flames else look pale.

Bayes. Egad, that is right.

Pret. Perhaps dull incense may thy love suffice;

But mine must be ador'd with sacrifice.

All hearts turn ashes, which her eyes control:

The body they consume, as well as soul.

Vols. My love has yet a power more divine;

Victims her altars burn not, but refine;

Amidst the flames they ne'er give up the ghost,

But, with her looks, revive still as they roast.

In spite of pain and death they're kept alive;

Her fiery eyes make 'em in fire survive.

Bayes. That is as well, egad, as I can do.

Vols. Let my Parthenope at length prevail.

Bayes. Civil, egad.

Pret. I'll sooner have a passion for a whale;

In whose vast bulk, tho' store of oil doth lie,

We find more shape, more beauty in a fly.

Smith. That's uncivil, egad.

Bayes. Yes; but as far-fetched a fancy, tho', egad, as e'er you saw.

Vols. Soft, Prettyman, let not thy vain pretence

Of perfect love defame love's excellence:

Parthenope is, sure, as far above

All other loves, as above all is Love.

Bayes. Ah! egad, that strikes me.

Pret. To blame my Cloris, gods would not pretend—

Bayes. Now mark—

Vols. Were all gods join'd, they could not hope to mend

My better choice: for fair Parthenope

Gods would themselves un-god themselves to see.[46]

Bayes. Now the rant's a-coming.

Pret. Durst any of the gods be so uncivil,

I'd make that god subscribe himself a devil.[47]

Bayes. Ay, gadzookers, that's well writ!

[Scratching his head, his peruke falls off.

Vols. Could'st thou that god from heaven to earth translate,

He could not fear to want a heav'nly state;

Parthenope, on earth, can heav'n create.

Pret. Cloris does heav'n itself so far excel,

She can transcend the joys of heav'n in hell.

Bayes. There's a bold flight for you now! 'sdeath, I have lost my peruke. Well, gentlemen, this is what I never yet saw any one could write, but myself. Here's true spirit and flame all through, egad. So, so, pray clear the stage. [He puts 'em off the stage.

Johns. I wonder how the coxcomb has got the knack of writing smooth verse thus.

Smith. Why, there's no need of brain for this: 'tis but scanning the labours on the finger; but where's the sense of it?

Johns. Oh! for that he desires to be excus'd: he is too proud a man to creep servilely after sense, I assure you.[48] But pray, Mr. Bayes, why is this scene all in verse? Bayes. Oh, sir, the subject is too great for prose.

Smith. Well said, i'faith; I'll give thee a pot of ale for that answer; 'tis well worth it.

Bayes. Come, with all my heart.

I'll make that god subscribe himself a devil;

That single line, egad, is worth all that my brother poets ever writ.

Let down the curtain. [Exeunt.

ACT. V.—Scene I.

Bayes, and the two Gentlemen.

Bayes. Now, gentlemen, I will be bold to say, I'll show you the greatest scene that ever England saw: I mean not for words, for those I don't value; but for state, show and magnificence. In fine, I'll justify it to be as grand to the eye every whit, egad, as that great scene in "Harry the Eighth," and grander too, egad; for instead of two bishops, I bring in here four cardinals.

[The curtain is drawn up, the two usurping Kings appear in state with the four Cardinals, Prince Prettyman, Prince Volscius, Amaryllis, Cloris, Parthenope. &c., before them, Heralds and Sergeants-at-arms, with maces.

Smith. Mr. Bayes, pray what is the reason that two of the cardinals are in hats, and the other in caps?

Bayes. Why, sir, because—— By gad I won't tell you. Your country friend, sir, grows so troublesome—

K. Ush. Now, sir, to the business of the day.

K. Phys. Speak, Volscius.

Vols. Dread sovereign lords, my zeal to you must not invade my duty to your son; let me entreat that great Prince Prettyman first to speak; whose high pre-eminence in all things, that do bear the name of good, may justly claim that privilege.

Bayes. Here it begins to unfold; you may perceive, now, that he is his son.

Johns. Yes, sir, and we are very much beholden to you for that discovery.

Pret. Royal father, upon my knees I beg,

That the illustrious Volscius first be heard.

Vols. That preference is only due to Amaryllis, sir.

Bayes. I'll make her speak very well, by-and-by, you shall see.

Ama. Invincible sovereigns—— [Soft music.

K. Ush. But stay, what sound is this invades our ears?[49]

K. Phys. Sure 'tis the music of the moving spheres.

Pret. Behold, with wonder, yonder comes from far

A god-like cloud, and a triumphant car;

In which our two right kings sit one by one,

With virgins' vests, and laurel garlands on.

K. Ush. Then, brother Phys., 'tis time we should be gone.

[The two Usurpers steal out of the throne, and go away.

Bayes. Look you now, did not I tell you, that this would be as easy a change as the other?

Smith. Yes, faith, you did so; tho' I confess I could not believe you: but you have brought it about, I see.

[The two right kings of Brentford descend in the clouds, singing, in white garments; and three fiddlers sitting before them, in green.

Bayes. Now, because the two right kings descend from above,

I make 'em sing to the tune and style of our modern spirits.

1st King. Haste, brother king, we are sent from above.

2nd King. Let us move, let us move;

Move to remove the fate

Of Brentford's long united state.[50]

1st King. Tarra, ran, tarra, full east and by south.

2nd King. We sail with thunder in our mouth,

In scorching noon-day, whilst the traveller stays;

Busy, busy, busy, busy, we bustle along,

Mounted upon warm Phoebus's rays,

Through the heavenly throng,

Hasting to those

Who will feast us at night with a pig's petty-toes.

1st King. And we'll fall with our plate

In an ollio of hate.

2nd King. But now supper's done, the servitors try,

Like soldiers, to storm a whole half-moon pie.

1st King. They gather, they gather hot custards in spoons:

But alas, I must leave these half-moons,

And repair to my trusty dragoons.

2nd King. Oh, stay, for you need not as yet go astray:

The tide, like a friend, has brought ships in our way,

And on their high ropes we will play

Like maggots in filberts we'll snug in our shell,

We'll frisk in our shell,

And farewell.

1st King. But the ladies have all inclination to dance,

And the green frogs croak out a coranto of France.

Bayes. Is not that pretty, now? The fiddlers are all in green.

Smith. Ay, but they play no coranto.

Johns. No, but they play a tune that's a great deal better.

Bayes. No coranto, quoth-a! that's a good one, with all my heart. Come, sing on.

2nd King. Now mortals that hear

How we tilt and career,

With wonder will fear

The event of such things as shall never appear.

1st King. Stay you to fulfil what the gods have decreed.

2nd King. Then call me to help you, if there shall be need.

1st King. So firmly resolv'd is a true Brentford king,

To save the distress'd, and help to 'em to bring,

That ere a full pot of good ale you can swallow,

He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla.

[Bayes fillips his finger, and sings after them.

Bayes. "He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla." This, sir, you must know, I thought once to have brought in with a conjuror.[51]

Johns. Ay, that would have been better.

Bayes. No, faith, not when you consider it; for thus it is more compendious, and does the thing every whit as well.

Smith. Thing! what thing?

Bayes. Why, bring 'em down again into the throne, sir. What thing would you have?

Smith. Well, but methinks the sense of this song is not very plain!

Bayes. Plain! why, did you ever hear any people in clouds speak plain? They must be all for flight of fancy at its full range, without the least check or control upon it. When once you tie up spirits and people in clouds, to speak plain, you spoil all.

Smith. Bless me, what a monster's this!

[The two Kings light out of the clouds, and step into the throne.

1st King. Come, now to serious counsel we'll advance.

2nd King. I do agree; but first, let's have a dance.

Bayes. Right. You did that very well, Mr. Cartwright. But first, let's have a dance. Pray remember that; be sure you do it always just so: for it must be done as if it were the effect of thought and premeditation. But first, let's have a dance; pray remember that.

Smith. Well, I can hold no longer, I must gag this rogue, there's no enduring of him.

Johns. No, prithee make use of thy patience a little longer, let's see the end of him now. [Dance a grand dance.

Bayes. This, now, is an ancient dance, of right belonging to the Kings of Brentford; but since derived, with a little alteration, to the Inns of Court.

An Alarm. Enter two Heralds.

1st King. What saucy groom molests our privacies?

1st Her. The army's at the door, and in disguise,

Desires a word with both your majesties.

2nd Her. Having from Knightsbridge hither marched by stealth.

2nd King. Bid 'em attend awhile, and drink our health.

Smith. How, Mr. Bayes, the army in disguise!

Bayes. Ay, sir, for fear the usurpers might discover them, that went out but just now.

Smith. Why, what if they had discover'd them?

Bayes. Why, then they had broke the design.

1st King. Here take five guineas for those warlike men.

2nd King. And here's five more, that makes the sum just ten.

1st Her. We have not seen so much, the Lord knows when. [Exeunt Heralds.

1st King. Speak on, brave Amaryllis.

Ama. Invincible sovereigns, blame not my modesty, if at this
grand conjuncture—— [Drum beats behind the stage.

1st King. What dreadful noise is this that comes and goes?

Enter a Soldier with his sword drawn.

Sold. Haste hence, great sirs, your royal persons save,

For the event of war no mortal knows:[52]

The army, wrangling for the gold you gave,

First fell to words, and then to handy-blows. [Exit.

Bayes. Is not that now a pretty kind of a stanza, and a handsome come-off?

2nd King. O dangerous estate of sovereign power!

Obnoxious to the change of every hour.

1st King. Let us for shelter in our cabinet stay;

Perhaps these threatning storms may pass away. [Exeunt.

Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, did not you promise us just now, to make Amaryllis speak very well?

Bayes. Ay, and so she would have done, but that they hinder'd her.

Smith. How, sir, whether you would or no?

Bayes. Ay, sir, the plot lay so, that I vow to gad, it was not to be avoided.

Smith. Marry, that was hard.

Johns. But, pray, who hinder'd her?

Bayes. Why, the battle, sir, that's just coming in at the door: and I'll tell you now a strange thing; tho' I don't pretend to do more than other men, egad, I'll give you both a whole week to guess how I'll represent this battle.

Smith. I had rather be bound to fight your battle, I assure you, sir.

Bayes. Whoo! there's it now: fight a battle! there's the common error. I knew presently where I should have you. Why, pray, sir, do but tell me this one thing: can you think it a decent thing, in a battle before ladies, to have men run their swords thro' one another, and all that?

Johns. No, faith, 'tis not civil.

Bayes. Right; on the other side, to have a long relation of squadrons here, and squadrons there: what is it, but dull prolixity?

Johns. Excellently reason'd, by my troth!

Bayes. Wherefore, sir, to avoid both those indecorums, I sum up the whole battle in the representation of two persons only, no more: and yet so lively, that, I vow to gad, you would swear ten thousand men were at it really engag'd. Do you mark me?

Smith. Yes, sir: but I think I should hardly swear tho', for all that.

Bayes. By my troth, sir, but you would tho', when you see it: for I make 'em both come out in armour cap-a-pie, with their swords drawn, and hung with a scarlet ribbon at their wrist; which, you know, represents fighting enough.

Johns. Ay, ay; so much, that if I were in your place, I would make 'em go out again, without ever speaking one word.

Bayes. No, there you are out; for I make each of 'em hold a lute in his hand.

Smith. How, sir, instead of a buckler?

Bayes. O Lord, O Lord! instead of a buckler? pray, sir, do you ask no more questions. I make 'em, sirs, play the battle in recitativo. And here's the conceit just at the very same instant that one sings, the other, sir, recovers you his sword, and puts himself into a warlike posture: so that you have at once your ear entertain'd with music and good language, and your eye satisfied with the garb and accoutrements of war.

Smith. I confess, sir, you stupefy me.

Bayes. You shall see.

Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, might not we have a little fighting? for I love those plays where they cut and slash one another upon the stage for a whole hour together.

Bayes. Why, then, to tell you true, I have contriv'd it both ways: but you shall have my recitativo first.

Johns. Ay, now you are right: there is nothing that can be objected against it.

Bayes. True: and so, egad, I'll make it too a tragedy in a trice.[53]

Enter at several doors the General and Lieutenant-General, arm'd cap-a-pie, with each of them a lute in his hand, and a sword drawn, and hung with a scarlet ribbon at his wrist.[54]

Lieut.-Gen. Villain, thou liest!

Gen. Arm, arm, Gonsalvo,[55] arm, what, ho!

The lie no flesh can brook, I trow.

Lieut.-Gen. Advance from Acton with the musqueteers.

Gen. Draw down the Chelsea cuirassiers.[56]

Lieut.-Gen. The band you boast of Chelsea cuirassiers,

Shall, in my Putney pikes, now meet their peers.[57]

Gen. Chiswickians, aged and renown'd in fight,

Join with the Hammersmith brigade.

Lieut.-Gen. You'll find my Mortlake boys will do them right,

Unless by Fulham numbers over-laid.

Gen. Let the left wing of Twick'nam foot advance,

And line that eastern hedge.

Lieut.-Gen. The horse I rais'd in Petty-France

Shall try their chance,

And scour the meadows, overgrown with sedge.

Gen. Stand: give the word.

Lieut.-Gen. Bright sword.

Gen. That may be thine.

But 'tis not mine.

Lieut.-Gen. Give fire, give fire, at once give fire,

And let those recreant troops perceive mine ire.[58]

Gen. Pursue, pursue; they fly

That first did give the lie. [Exeunt.

Bayes. This now is not improper, I think; because the spectators know all these towns, and may easily conceive them to be within the dominions of the two Kings of Brentford.

Johns. Most exceeding well design'd!

Bayes. How do you think I have contriv'd to give a stop to this battle?

Smith. How?

Bayes. By an eclipse; which, let me tell you, is a kind of fancy that was yet never so much as thought of, but by myself, and one person more, that shall be nameless.

Enter Lieutenant-General.

Lieut.-Gen. What midnight darkness does invade the day,

And snatch the victor from his conquer'd prey?

Is the sun weary of this bloody fight,

And winks upon us with the eye of light!

'Tis an eclipse! this was unkind, O moon,

To clap between me and the sun so soon.

Foolish eclipse! thou this in vain hast done;

My brighter honour had eclips'd the sun:

But now behold eclipses two in one. [Exit.

Johns. This is an admirable representation of a battle as ever I saw.

Bayes. Ay, sir; but how would you fancy now to represent an eclipse?

Smith. Why, that's to be suppos'd.

Bayes. Suppos'd! ay, you are ever at your suppose: ha, ha, ha! why, you may as well suppose the whole play. No, it must come in upon the stage, that's certain; but in some odd way, that may delight, amuse, and all that. I have a conceit for't, that I am sure is new, and I believe to the purpose.

Johns. How's that?

Bayes. Why, the truth is, I took the first hint of this out of a dialogue between Phoebus and Aurora, in the "Slighted Maid," which, by my troth, was very pretty; but I think you'd confess this is a little better.

Johns. No doubt on't, Mr. Bayes, a great deal better.

[Bayes hugs Johnson, then turns to Smith.

Bayes. Ah, dear rogue! But—a—sir, you have heard, I suppose, that your eclipse of the moon is nothing else but an interposition of the earth between the sun and moon; as likewise your eclipse of the sun is caus'd by an interlocation of the moon betwixt the earth and the sun.

Smith. I have heard some such thing indeed.

Bayes. Well, sir, then what do I but make the earth, sun, and moon come out upon the stage, and dance the hey. Hum! and of necessity, by the very nature of this dance, the earth must be sometimes between the sun and the moon, and the moon between the earth and sun: and there you have both eclipses by demonstration.

Johns. That must needs be very fine, truly.

Bayes. Yes, it has fancy in't. And then, sir, that there may be something in't, too, of a joke, I bring 'em in all singing; and make the moon sell the earth a bargain. Come, come out, eclipse, to the tune of "Tom Tyler."

Enter Luna.

Bayes. Now the earth's before the moon: now the moon's before the sun: there's the eclipse again.

Smith. He's mightily taken with this, I see.

Johns. Ay, 'tis so extraordinary, how can he choose?

Bayes. So, now, vanish eclipse, and enter t'other battle, and fight. Here now, if I am not mistaken, you will see fighting enough.

[A battle is fought between foot and great hobby-horses. At last, Drawcansir comes in and kills them all on both sides. All the while the battle is fighting, Bayes is telling them when to shout, and shouts with 'em.

Draw. Others may boast a single man to kill;

But I the blood of thousands daily spill.

Let petty kings the names of parties know:

Where'er I come, I slay both friend and foe.

The swiftest horse-men my swift rage controls,

And from their bodies drives their trembling souls.

If they had wings, and to the gods could fly,

I would pursue and beat 'em through the sky;

And make proud Jove, with all his thunder, see

This single arm more dreadful is than he. [Exit.

Bayes. There's a brave fellow for you now, sirs. You may talk of your Hectors, and Achilles's, and I know not who; but I defy all your histories, and your romances too, to show me one such conqueror, as this Drawcansir.

Johns. I swear, I think you may.

Smith. But, Mr. Bayes, how shall all these dead men go off? for I see none alive to help 'em.

Bayes. Go off! why, as they came on, upon their legs: how should they go off? Why, do you think the people here don't know they are not dead? he is mighty ignorant, poor man: your friend here is very silly, Mr. Johnson; egad, he is. Ha, ha, ha! Come, sir, I'll show you how they shall go off. Rise, rise, sirs, and go about your business.[62] There's go off for you now; ha, ha, ha! Mr. Ivory, a word. Gentlemen, I'll be with you presently. [Exit.

Johns. Will you so? Then we'll be gone.

Smith. Ay, prithee let's go, that we may preserve our hearing.
One battle more will take mine quite away. [Exeunt.

Enter Bayes and Players.

Bayes. Where are the gentlemen?

1st Play. They are gone, sir.

Bayes. Gone! 'sdeath, this act is best of all. I'll go fetch 'em again. [Exit.

1st Play. What shall we do, now he is gone away?

2nd Play. Why, so much the better; then let's go to dinner.

3rd Play. Stay, here's a foul piece of paper. Let's see what 'tis.

3rd or 4th Play. Ay, ay, come, let's hear it. [Reads. The argument of the fifth act.

3rd Play. "Cloris, at length, being sensible of Prince Prettyman's passion, consents to marry him; but just as they are going to church, Prince Prettyman meeting, by chance, with old Joan, the chandler's widow, and remembering it was she that first brought him acquainted with Cloris; out of a high point of honour, breaks off his match with Cloris, and marries old Joan. Upon which, Cloris, in despair, drowns herself; and Prince Prettyman, discontentedly, walks by the river-side."——This will never do: 'tis just like the rest. Come, let's be gone.

Most of the Players. Ay, plague on't, let's go away. [Exeunt.

Enter Bayes.

Bayes. A plague on 'em both for me! they have made me sweat, to run after 'em. A couple of senseless rascals, that had rather go to dinner, than see this play out, with a plague to 'em. What comfort has a man to write for such dull rogues! Come, Mr.—a—where are you, sir? Come away, quick, quick.

Enter Stage-keeper.

Stage-keep. Sir: they are gone to dinner.

Bayes. Yes, I know the gentlemen are gone; but I ask for the players.

Stage-keep. Why, an't please your worship, sir, the players are gone to dinner too.

Bayes. How! are the players gone to dinner? 'tis impossible: the players gone to dinner! egad, if they are, I'll make 'em know what it is to injure a person that does them the honour to write for 'em, and all that. A company of proud, conceited, humorous, cross-grain'd persons, and all that. Egad, I'll make 'em the most contemptible, despicable, inconsiderable persons, and all that, in the whole world, for this trick. Egad, I'll be revenged on 'em; I'll sell this play to the other house.

Stage-keep. Nay, good sir, don't take away the book; you'll disappoint the company that comes to see it acted here this afternoon.

Bayes. That's all one, I must reserve this comfort to myself, my play and I shall go together; we will not part, indeed, sir.

Stage-keep. But what will the town say, sir?

Bayes. The town! why, what care I for the town? Egad, the town has us'd me as scurvily as the players have done: but I'll be reveng'd on them too; for I'll lampoon 'em all. And since they will not admit of my plays, they shall know what a satirist I am. And so farewell to this stage, egad, for ever. [Exit Bayes.

Enter Players.

1st Play. Come, then, let's set up bills for another play.

2nd Play. Ay, ay; we shall lose nothing by this, I warrant you.

1st Play. I am of your opinion. But before we go, let's see Haynes and Shirley practise the last dance; for that may serve us another time.

2nd Play. I'll call 'em in: I think they are but in the tyring-room. [The dance done.]

1st Play. Come, come; let's go away to dinner. [Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

The play is at an end, but where's the plot?

That circumstance our poet Bayes forgot.

And we can boast, tho' 'tis a plotting age,

No place is freer from it than the stage.

The ancients plotted, tho', and strove to please

With sense that might be understood with ease;

They every scene with so much wit did store,

That who brought any in, went out with more.

But this new way of wit does so surprise,

Men lose their wits in wond'ring where it lies.

If it be true, that monstrous births presage

The following mischiefs that afflict the age,

And sad disasters to the state proclaim;

Plays without head or tail may do the same.

Wherefore for ours, and for the kingdom's peace,

May this prodigious way of writing cease.

Let's have at least, once in our lives, a time

When we may hear some reason, not all rhyme.

We have this ten years felt its influence;

Pray let this prove a year of prose and sense.

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