THE REHEARSAL, As it was Acted at the Theatre-Royal.  
LONDON, Printed for Thomas Dring, at the White-Lyon, next Chancery-lane end in Fleetstreet. 1672.   

PROLOGUE.  
WE might well call this short Mock-play of ours  
A Posy made of Weeds instead of Flowers;  
Yet such have been presented to your noses,  
And there are such, I fear, who thought 'em Roses.  
Would some of 'em were here, to see, this night,  
What stuff it is in which they took delight.  
Here, brisk insipid Blades, for wit, let fall  
Sometimes dull sense; but oftener, none at all:  
There, strutting Heroes, with a grim-faced train,  
Shall brave the Gods, in King Cambyses vain.  
For (changing Rules, of late, as if men writ  
In spite of Reason, Nature, Art, and Wit)  
Our Poets make us laugh at Tragedy,  
And with their Comedies they make us cry.  
Now, Critics, do your worst, that here are met;  
For, like a Rook I have hedged in my Bet.  
If you approve; I shall assume the state  
Of those high-flyers whom I imitate:  
And justly too; for I will show you more  
Than ever they vouchsafed to show before:  
I will both represent the feats they do,  
And give you all their reasons for 'em too.  
Some honour to me will from this arise.  
But if, by my endeavours, you grow wise,  
And what was once so praised you now despise;  
Then I'll cry out, swelled with Poetic rage,  
'Tis I, John Lacie, have reformed your Stage.   

The Actors Names.  

Bays.  
johnson.  
Smith.  
Two Kings of Brentford.  
Prince Pretty-man.  
Prince Volscius.  
Gentleman Usher.  
Physician.  
Drawcansir.  
General.  
Lieutenant General.  
Cordelio.  
Tom Thimble.  
Fisherman.  
Sun.  
Thunder.  
Players.  
Soldiers.  
Two Heralds.  
Four Cardinals.  
Mayor.  
Judges.  
Sergeants at Arms.   

Women.  
Amaryllis.  
Cloris.  
Parthenope.  
Pallas.  
Lightning.  
Moon.  
Earth.  
Attendants of Men and Women.   
Scene Brentford.   

THE REHEARSAL.  

ACTUS I. SCAENA I.  Johnson and Smith. john's. 
HOnest Frank! I'm glad to see thee with all my heart: how long hast thou been in Town?  Smi. 
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.  john's. 
And, by my troth, I have longed as much to laugh with you, at all the impertinent, dull, fantastical things, we are tired out with here.  Smi. 
Dull and fantastical! that's an excellent composition. Pray, what are our men of business doing?  john's. 
I ne'er inquire after 'em. Thou know'st 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.  Smi. 
Indeed, I have ever observed, that your grave lookers are the dullest of men.  john's. 
ay, and of Birds, and Beasts too: your gravest Bird is an Owl, and your gravest Beast is an Ass.  Smi. 
Well; but how dost thou pass thy time?  john's. 
Why, as I use to do; eat and drink as well as I can, have a She-friend to be private 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 pretenders to Business, as the more ingenious pastime.  Smi. 
I have heard, indeed, you have had lately many new Plays, and our Country-wits commend 'em.  john's. 
ay, so do some of our City-wits too; but they are of the new kind of Wits.  Smi. 
New kind? what kind is that?  john's. 
Why, your Blade, your frank Persons, your Drolls: fellows that scorn to imitate Nature; but are given altogether to elevate and surprise.  Smi. 
Elevate, and surprise? prithee make me understand the meaning of that.  john's. 
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 well as I can, what it is. Let me see; 'tis Fighting, Loving, Sleeping, Rhyming, Dying, Dancing, Singing, Crying; and every thing, but Thinking and Sense.  Mr. Bayes passes o'er the Stage. Bays. 
Your most obsequious, and most observant, very servant, Sir.  john's. 
Godso, this is an Author: I'll fetch him to you.  Smi. 
Nay, prithee let him alone.  john's. 
Nay, by the Lord, I'll have him. Goes after him. Here he is. I have caught him. Pray, Sir, for may sake, will you do a favour to this friend of mine?  Bays. 
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.  Smi. 
Your humble servant, Sir.  john's. 
But wilt thou do me a favour, now?  Bays. 
ay, Sir: what is't?  john's. 
Why, to tell him the meaning of thy last Play.  Bays. 
How, Sir, the meaning? do you mean the Plot.  john's. 
ay, I; any thing.  Bays. 
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; 't 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, I gad, with any Play in Europe. 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 o' this side. Puts his hand in his pocket.  john's. 
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.  Smi. 
ay, Sir, I have no business so considerable, as should keep me from your company.  Bays. 
Yes, here it is. No, cry your mercy: this is my book of Drama Common places; the Mother of many other Plays.  john's. 
Drama Common places! pray what's that?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, some certain helps, that we men of Art have found it convenient to make use of.  Smi. 
How, Sir, help for Wit?  Bays. 
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 be with the help of these my Rules.  john's. 
What are those Rules, I pray?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, my first Rule is the Rule of Transversion, or Regula Duplex: changing Verse into Prose, or Prose into verse, alternative as you please.  Smi. 
How's that, Sir, by a Rule, I pray?  Bays. 
Why, thus, Sir; nothing more 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) if it be Verse, put it into Prose.  john's. 
Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting Verse into Prose should be called Transprosing.  Bays. 
By my troth, a very good Notion, and hereafter it shall be so.  Smi. 
Well, Sir, and what d'ye do with it then?  Bays. 
Make it my own. 'Tis so altered that no man can know it. My next Rule is the Rule of Record, and by way of Table-Book. Pray observe.  john's. 
Well, we hear you: go on.  Bays. 
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.  john's. 
But, Mr. Bayes, are not you sometimes in danger of their making you restore, by force, what you have gotten thus by Art?  Bays. 
No, Sir; the world's unmindful: they never take notice of these things.  Smi. 
But pray, Mr. Bayes, among all your other Rules, have you no one Rule for Invention?  Bays. 
Yes, Sir; that's my third Rule that I have here in my pocket.  Smi. 
What Rule can that be?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, when I have any thing to invent, I never trouble my head about it, as other men do; but presently turn o'er this Book, and there I have, at one view, all that Perseus, 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.  john's. 
Indeed, Mr. Bayes, this is as sure, and compendious a way of Wit as ever I heard of.  Bays. 
ay, Sirs, when you come to write yourselves, o' my word you'll find it so. But, Gentlemen, if you make the least scruple of the efficacy of these my Rules, do but come to the Playhouse, and you shall judge of 'em by the effects.  Smi. 
We'll follow you, Sir. Exeunt.  Enter three Players upon the Stage. 1 Play. 
Have you your part perfect?  2 Play. 
Yes, I have it without book; but I do not understand how it is to be spoken.  3 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.  1. 
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 'em before the end of the first Act: now, here, every line surprises you, and brings in new matter. And, then, for Scenes, clothes and Dancing, we put 'em quite down, all that ever went before us: and these are the things, you know, that are essential to a Play.  2 Play. 
Well, I am not of thy mind; but, so it gets us money, 'tis no great matter.  Enter Bayes, Johnson and Smith. Bays. 
Come, come in, Gentlemen. You're very welcome Mr.— a— Ha' you your Part ready?  1 Play. 
Yes, Sir.  Bays. 
But do you understand the true humour of it?  1 Play. 
ay, Sir, pretty well.  Bays. 
And Amarillis, how does she do? Does not her Armour become her?  3 Play. 
O, admirably!  Bays. 
I'll tell you, now, a pretty conceit. What do you think I'll make 'em call her a non, in this Play?  Smi. 
What, I pray?  Bays. 
Why I'll make 'em call her Armarillis, because of her Armour: ha, ha, ha.  john's. 
That will be very well, indeed.  Bays. 
ay, it's a pretty little rogue; she is my Mistress. I knew her face would set off Armour extremely: and, to tell you true, I writ that Part only for her. Well, Gentlemen, I dare be bold to say, without vanity, I'll show you something, here, that's very ridiculous, I gad. Exeunt Players.  john's. 
Sir, that we do not doubt of.  Bays. 
Pray, Sir, let's sit down. Look you, Sir, 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 thing in Nature that make up the grand refinement of a Play, is, that I suppose two Kings to be 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.  john's. 
I did not observe you, Sir: pray say that again.  Bays. 
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 embarrast by their equal ties to both, and the Sovereigns concerned in a reciprocal regard, as well to their own interest, as the good of the people; may make a certain kind of a— you understand me— upon which, there does arise several disputes, turmoils, heartburning, and all that— In fine, you'll apprehend it better when you see it.  Exit, to call the Players. Smi. 
I find the Author will be very much obliged to the Players, if they can make any sense of this.  Enter Bayes. Bays. 
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: (do you mark?) nay, they may both serve too, I gad, for any other Play as well as this.  Smi. 
Very well. That's, indeed, Artificial.  Bays. 
And I would fain ask your judgements, 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 thank upon such censuring persons, as cannot otherways, A gad, 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, why I gad, I'll e'en kneel down, and he shall cut my head off. Whereupon they all clapping— a—  Smi. 
But, suppose they do not.  Bays. 
Suppose! Sir, you may suppose what you please, I have nothing to do with your suppose, Sir, nor am not at all mortified at it; not at all, Sir; I gad, not one jot. Suppose quoth a!— Walks away.  john's. 
Phoo! prithee, Bays, don't mind what he says: he's a fellow newly come out of the Country, he knows nothing of what's the relish, here, of the Town.  Bays. 
If I writ, Sir, to please the Country, I should have followed 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.  john's. 
ay, I, they will clap, I warrant you; never fear it.  Bays. 
I'm sure the design's good: that cannot be denied▪ And then, for language, I gad, I defy 'em all, in nature, to mend it. Besides, Sir, I have printed above a hundred sheets of papyr, to insinuate the Plot into the Boxes: 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.  john's. 
Nay, if the business be so well laid, it cannot miss.  Bays. 
I think so, Sir: and therefore would choose this for the Prologue. For if I could engage 'em to clap, before they see the Play, you know 'twould be so much the better; because than they were engaged: for, let a man write never so well, there are, nowadays, a sort of persons, they call Critics, that, I gad, have no more wit in 'em than so many Hobby-horses; but they'll laugh you, Sir, and find fault, and censure things that, A gad, 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 that, I gad, 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.  john's. 
ay, I, you have said enough of 'em in conscience: I'm sure more than they'll ever be able to answer.  Bays. 
Why, I'll tell you, Sir, sincerely, and bona 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 hanged before I would e'er more set pen to papyr; but let 'em live in ignorance like ingrates.  john's. 
I marry! that were a way to be revenged of 'em indeed: and, if I were in your place, now, I would do it.  Bays. 
No, Sir; there are certain ties upon me, that I cannot be disengaged from; otherwise, I would. But pray, Sir, how do you like my hangman?  Smi. 
By my troth, Sir, I should like him very well.  Bays. 
ay, but how do you like it? (for I see you can judge) Would you have it for the Prologue, or the Epilogue?  john's. 
Faith, Sir, it's so good, let it e'en serve for both.  Bays. 
No, no; that won't do. Besides, I have made another.  john's. 
What other, Sir?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, my other is Thunder and Lightning.  john's. 
That's greater: I'd rather stick to that.  Bays. 
Do you think so? I'll tell you then; though there have been many witty Prologues written of late, yet I think you'll say this is a non pareillo: I'm sure no body has hit upon it yet. For here, Sir, I make my Prologue to be Dialogue: and as, in my first, you see I strive to oblige the Auditors by civility, by good nature, 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?  john's. 
Phoo, pox! then you have it cocksure. They'll be hanged, before they'll dare affront an Author, that has 'em at that lock.  Bays. 
I have made, too, one of the most delicate, dainty Similes in the whole world, I glad, if I knew but how to apply it.  Smi. 
Let's hear it, I pray you.  Bays. 
'Tis an alusion to love. 
So Boar and Sow, when any storm is nigh,  
Snuff up, and smell it gathering in the Sky:  
Boar beckons Sow to trot in Chesnunt Groves,  
And there consummate their unfinished Loves.  
Pensive in mud they wallow all alone,  
And snort, and gruntle to each others moan.  How do you like it now, ha?  john's. 
Faith, 'tis extraordinary fine: and very applicable to Thunder and Lightning, methinks, because it speaks of a Storm.  Bays. 
I gad, 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.  Bays. 
Mr. Cartwright, pray thee speak a little louder, and with a hoarser 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.  Light. 
The brisk Lightning, I.  Bays. 
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 the 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 Peter to foot.  Thun. 
Let the Critics look to't.  Light. 
Let the Ladies look to't.  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. Bays. 
That's all. 'Tis but a flash of a Prologue: a Droll.  Smi. 
'Tis short, indeed; but very terrible.  Bays. 
Ay, when the simile is in, it will do to a Miracle, I gad. Come, come; begin the Play.  Enter first Player. 1 Play. 
Sir, Mr. Ivory is not come yet; but he'll be here presently, he's but two doors off.  Bays. 
Come then, Gentlemen, let's go out and take a pipe of Tobacco. Exeunt.  
Finis Actus primi.   

ACTUS II.  

SCAENA I.  Bays, Johnson and Smith. Bays. 
NOw, Sir, because I'll do nothing here that ever was done before— Spits.  Smi. 
A very notable design, for a Play, indeed.  Bays. 
Instead of beginning with a Scene that discovers something of the Plot, I begin this with a whisper.  Smi. 
That's very new.  Bays. 
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.  Vsh. 
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.  Vsh. 
And you, mine.  Phys. 
Then let's embrace.  Vsh. 
Come then.  Phys. 
Come.  john's. 
Pray, Sir, who are those two so very civil persons?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, the Gentleman-Usher, and Physicians of the two Kings of Brentford.  john's. 
But how comes it to pass, then, that they know one another no better?  Bays. 
Phoo! that's for the better carrying on of the Intrigue.  john's. 
Very well.  Phys. 
Sir, to conclude,  Smi. 
What, before he begins?  Bays. 
No, Sir; you must know they had been talking of this a pretty while without.  Smi. 
Where? in the Tyring-room?  Bays. 
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 threatning storms which, like impregnant Clouds, do hover o'er our heads, (when they once are grasped but by the eye of reason) melt into fruitful showers of blessings on the people.  Bays. 
Pray mark that Allegory. Is not that good?  john's. 
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, (as none but the great Gods can tell) you then perhaps would find, that— Whispers.  Bays. 
Now they whisper.  Vsh. 
Alone, do you say?  Phys. 
No; attended with the noble— Whispers.  Vsh. 
Who, he in gray?  Phys. 
Yes; and at the head of— Whispers.  Bays. 
Pray mark.  Vsh. 
Then, Sir, most certain, 'twill in time appear  
These are the reasons that induced 'em to't:  
First, he— Whispers.  Bays. 
Now t'other whispers.  Vsh. 
Secondly, they— Whispers.  Bays. 
He's at it still.  Vsh. 
Thirdly, and lastly, both he, and they— Whispers.  Bays. 
There they both whisper. Exeunt Whispering. Now, Gentlemen, pray tell me true, and without flattery, is not this a very odd beginning of a Play?  john's. 
In troth, I think it is, Sir. But why two Kings of the same place?  Bays. 
Why? because it's new; and that's it I aim at. I despise your johnson, and Beaumond, that borrowed all they writ from Nature: I am for fetching it purely out of my own fancy, I.  Smi. 
But what think you of Sir john Suckling, Sir?  Bays. 
By gad, I am a better Poet than he.  Smi. 
Well, Sir; but pray why all this whispering?  Bays. 
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 divulged.  Smi. 
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.  john's. 
How dost thou like this, Frank? Is it not just as I told thee?  Smi. 
Why, I did never, before this, see any thing 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.  john's. 
Why, 'tis all alike: Mr. Wintershull has informed me of this Play before. And I'll tell thee, Frank, thou shalt not see one Scene here, that either properly aught to come in, or is like any thing 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.  Smi. 
It does surprise me, I am sure, very much.  john's. 
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.   

SCAENA II.  Enter the two Kings, hand in hand. Bays. 
THese are the two Kings of Brentford; take notice of their stile: 'twas never yet upon the Stage; but, if you like it, I could make a shift, perhaps, to show you a whole Play, written all just so.  1 King. 
Did you observe their whisper, brother King?  2 King. 
I did; and heard besides a grave Bird sing  
That they intent, sweetheart, to play us pranks.  Bays. 
This, now, is familiar, because they are both persons of the same Quality.  Smi. 
'Sdeath, this would make a man spew.  1 King. 
If that design appears,  
I'll lug 'em by the ears  
Until I make 'em crack.  2 King. 
And so will I, i'fack.  1 King. 
You must begin, Mon foy.  2 King. 
Sweet, Sir, Pardonnes moy.  Bays. 
Mark that: I Makes 'em both speak French, to show their breeding.  john's. 
O, 'tis extraordinary fine.  2 King. 
Then, spite of Fate, we'll thus combined stand;  
And, like true brothers, walk still hand in hand.  Exeunt Reges. john's. 
This is a very Majestic Scene indeed.  Bays. 
Ay, 'tis a crust, a lasting crust for your Rogue Critics, I gad: I would fain see the proudest of 'em all but dare to nibble at this; I gad, if they do, this shall rub their gums for 'em, I promise you. It was I, you must know, writ the Play I told you of, in this very Style: and shall I tell you a very good jest? I gad, the Players would not act it: ha, ha, ha.  Smi. 
That's impossible.  Bays. 
I gad, they would not, Sir: ha, ha, ha. They refused it, I gad, the silly Rogues: ha, ha, ha.  john's. 
Fie, that was rude.  Bays. 
Rude! I gad, they are the rudest, uncivilest persons, and all that, in the whole world: I gad, 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 turned 'em all back upon my hands again.  john's. 
Strange fellows indeed.  Smi. 
But pray, Mr. Bayes, how came these two Kings to know of this whisper? for, as I remember, they were not present at it.  Bays. 
No, but that's the Actor's fault, and not mine; for the Kings should (a pox take 'em) have popped both their heads in at the door, just as the other went off.  Smi. 
That, indeed, would ha' done it.  Bays. 
Done it! Ay, I gad, 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 disobliged, by the peremptoriness of these fellows, that I am resolved, hereafter, to bend all my thoughts for the service of the Nursery, and mump your proud Players, I gad.   

SCAENA III.  Enter Prince Pretty-man. 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?  Enter Cloris. 
But here she comes.  
Sure 'tis some blazing Comet, is it not? Lies down.  Bays. 
Blazing Comet! mark that. I gad, very fine.  Pret. 
But I am so surprised with sleep, I cannot speak the rest. sleeps.  Bays. 
Does not that, now, surprise you, to fall asleep just in the nick? His spirits exhale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and swop falls asleep, as you see. Now, here, she must make a simile.  Smi. 
Where's the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes?  Bays. 
Because she's surprised. That's a general Rule: you must ever make a simile when you are surprised; 'tis the new way of writing.  Cloris. 
As some tall Pine, which we, on Aetna, find  
't have stood the rage of many a boisterous 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. Bays. 
I am afraid, Gentlemen, this Scene has made you sad; for I must confess, when I writ it, I wept myself.  Smi. 
No, truly, Sir, my spirits are almost exhaled too, and I am likelier to fall asleep.  Prince Pretty-man starts up, and says— Pret. 
It is resolved. Exit.  Smi. 
Mr. Bays, may one be so bold as to ask you a question, now, and you not be angry?  Bays. 
O Lord, Sir, you may ask me 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.  Smi. 
Then, pray, Sir, what is it that this Prince here has resolved in his sleep?  Bays. 
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—  Smi. 
Begin the Play, and end it, without ever opening the Plot at all?  Bays. 
I do so, that's the very plain troth on't: ha, ha, ha; I do, I gad. If they cannot find it out themselves, e'en let 'em alone for Bays, 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 Debate I overheard once betwixt two grand, sober, governing persons.   

SCAENA IV.  Enter Gentleman-usher and Physician. Vsh. 
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 pipe of Tobacco in my mouth, and then I whew it away, i'faith.  Bays. 
I do just so, I gad, always.  Vsh. 
The grand question is, whether they heard us whisper? which I divide thus: into when they heard, what they heard, and whether they heard or no.  john's. 
Most admirably divided, I swear.  Vsh. 
As to the when; you say just now: so that is answered. Then, for what; why, what answers itself: for what could they hear, but what we talked of? So that, naturally, and of necessity, we come to the last question, Videlicet, whether they heard or no?  Smi. 
This is a very wise Scene, Mr. Bayes.  Bays. 
Yes; you have it right: they are both Politicians. I writ this Scene for a pattern, to show the world how men should talk of business.  john's. 
You have done it exceeding well, indeed.  Bays. 
Yes, I think this will do.  Phys. 
Well, if they heard us whisper, they'll turn us out, and no body else will take us.  Vsh. 
No body else will take us.  Smi. 
Not for Politicians, I dare answer for it.  Phys. 
Let's then no more ourselves in vain bemoan:  
We are not safe until we them unthrone.  Vsh. 
'Tis right:  
And, since occasion now seems debonair,  
I'll seize on this, and you shall take that chair.  They draw their Swords, and sit down in the two great chairs upon the Stage. Bays. 
There's now an odd surprise; the whole State's turned quite topsi-turvy, without any pother or stir in the whole world, I gad.  john's. 
A very silent change of a Government, truly, as ever I heard of.  Bays. 
It is so. And yet you shall see me bring 'em in again, by and by, in as odd a way every jot.  The Usurper's march out flourishing their swords. Enter Shirley. Shir. 
hay ho, hay ho: what a change is here! hay day, hay day! I know not what to do, nor what to say. Exit.  Smi. 
But, pray, Sir, how came they to depose the Kings so easily?  Bays. 
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.  Smi. 
O, very well: now I'm fully satisfied.  Bays. 
And then, to show you, Sir, it was not done so very easily neither; in this next Scene you shall see some fighting.  Smi. 
O, ho: so than you make the struggle to be after the business is done?  Bays. 
Ay.  Smi. 
O, I conceive you: that is very natural.   

SCAENA V.  Enter four men at one door, and four at another, with their swords drawn. 1 Soldier. 
STand. Who goes there?  2 Sol. 
A friend.  1 Sol. 
What friend?  2 Sol. 
A friend to the House.  1 Sol. 
Fall on. They all kill one another. Music strikes.  Bays. 
Hold, hold. To the Music. It ceaseth. Now here's an odd surprise: all these dead men you shall see rise up presently, at a certain Note that I have made, 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 play▪ 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, no thing? you dance worse than the Angels in Harry the Eight, or the fat Spirits in The Tempest, I gad.  1 Sol. 
Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to do any thing in time, to this Tune.  Bays. 
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't. Look you now. Here I am dead. Lies down flat on his face. Now mark my Note in Effaut flat. Strike up Music. Now. As he rises up hastily, he tumbles and falls down again. Ah, gadsookers, I have broke my Nose.  john's. 
By my troth, Mr. Bayes, this is a very unfortunate Note of yours, in Effaut flat.  Bays. 
A plague of this damned Stage, with your nails, and your tenterhooks, that a man cannot 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 papyr?  Smi. 
No indeed, Sir; I done't usually carry any about me.  2 Sol. 
Sir, I'll go get you some within presently.  Bays. 
Go, go then; I'll follow you. Pray dance out the Dance, and I'll be with you in a moment. Remember you four that you dance like Horsemen. Exit Bayes.  They dance the Dance, but can make nothing of it. 1 Sol. 
A Devil! let's try this no more: play my Dance that Mr. Bayes found fault with. Dance, & Exeumt.  Smi. 
What can this fool be doing all this while about his nose?  john's. 
Prithee let's go see. Exeunt.   
Finis Actus secundi.   

ACTUS III.  

SCAENA I.  Bays with a papyr on his Nose, and the two Gentlemen. Bays. 
NOw, Sir, this I do, because my fancy in this Play is to end every Act with a Dance.  Smi. 
Faith, that fancy is very good, but I should hardly have broke my nose for it, though.  john's. 
That fancy, I suppose, is new too.  Bays. 
Sir, all my fancies are so. I tread upon no man's heels; but make my flight upon my own wings, I assure you. As, now, this next Scene some perhaps will say, It is not very necessary to the Plot: I grant it; what then? I meant it so. But then it's as full of Drollery as ever it can hold: 'tis like an Orange stuck with Cloves, as for conceit. Come, where are you? This Scene will make you die with laughing, if it be well acted: it is a Scene of sheer Wit, without any mixture in the world, I gad. Reads—  Enter Prince Pretty-man, and Tom Thimble his Tailor. 
This, Sirs, might properly enough be called a prize of Wit; for you shall see 'em come in upon one another snip snap, hit for hit, as fast as can be. First one speaks, then presently tother's upon him slap, with a Repartee; then he at him again, dash with a new conceit: and so eternally, eternally, I gad, till they go quite off the Stage.  Goes to call the Players. Smi. 
What a plague, does this Fop mean by his snip snap, hit for hit, and dash?  john's. 
Mean? why, he never meant any thing in's life: what dost talk of meaning for?  Enter Bayes. Bays. 
Why don't you come in?  Enter Prince Pretty-man and Tom. Thimble. Pret. 
But prithee, Tom Thimble, why wilt thou needs marry? If nine Tailors make but one man; and one woman cannot be satisfied with nine men: what work art thou cutting our here for thyself, trow we?  Bays. 
Good.  t'him. 
Why, an't please your Highness, if I can't make up all the work I cut out, I shan't want Journeymen to help me, I warrant you.  Bays. 
Good again.  Pret. 
I am afraid thy Journeymen, though, Tom, won't work by the day, but by the night.  Bays. 
Good still.  t'him. 
However, if my wife sits but crosslegged, as I do, there will be no great danger: not half so much as when I trusted you for your Coronation-suit.  Bays. 
Very good, i'faith.  Pret. 
Why, the times then lived 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.  Bays. 
Right.  t'him. 
I'm sure, Sir, I made your cloth in the Court-fashion, for you never paid me yet.  Bays. 
There's a bob for the Court.  Pret. 
Why, Tom, thou art a sharp rogue when thou art angry, I see: thou payest me now, methinks.  t'him. 
ay, Sir, in your own coin: you give me nothing but words.  Bays. 
Admirable, before gad.  Pret. 
Well, Tom, I hope shortly I shall have another coin for thee; for now the Wars come on, I shall grow to be a man of metal.  Bays. 
O, you did not do that half enough.  john's. 
Methinks he does it admirably.  Bays. 
ay, pretty well; but he does not hit me in't: he does not top his part.  t'him. 
That's the way to be stamped yourself, Sir. I shall see you come home, like an Angel for the Kings-evil, with a hole bored through you. Exeunt.  Bays. 
That's very good, i'faith: ha, ha, ha. Ha, there he has hit it up to the hilts, I gad. How do you like it now, Gentlemen? is not this pure Wit?  Smi. 
'Tis snip snap, Sir, as you say; but, methinks, not pleasant, nor to the purpose, for the Play does not go on.  Bays. 
Play does not go on? I don't know what you mean: why, is not this part of the Play?  Smi. 
Yes, but the Plot stands still.  Bays. 
Plot stand still! why, what a Devil is the Plot good for, but to bring in fine things?  Smi. 
O, I did not know that before.  Bays. 
No, I think you did not: nor many things more, that I am Master of. Now, Sir, I gad, this is the bane of all us Writers: let us soar never so little above the common pitch, I gad, all's spoiled; for the vulgar never understand us, they can never conceive you, Sir, the excellency of these things.  john's. 
'Tis a sad fate, I must confess: but you write on still?  Bays. 
Write on? ay, I gad, I warrant you. 'Tis not their talk shall stop me: if they catch me at that lock, I'll give 'em leave to hang me. As long as I know my things to be good, what care I what they say? What, they are gone, and forgot the Song!  Smi. 
They have done very well, methinks, here's no need of one.  Bays. 
Alack, Sir, you know nothing: you must ever interlard your Plays with Songs, Ghosts and Idols, if you mean to— a—  john's. 
Pit, Box and Gallery, Mr. Bayes.  Bays. 
I gad, Sir, and you have nicked it. Hark you, Mr. johnson, you know I don't flatter, a gad, you have a great deal of Wit..  john's. 
O Lord, Sir, you do me too much honour.  Bays. 
Nay, nay, come, come, Mr. johnson, Ifacks this must not be said, amongst us that have it. I know you have wit by the judgement you make of this Play; for that's the measure I 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, a gad. Now here we go on to our business.   

SCAENA II.  Enter the two Usurpers, hand in hand. Vsh. 
BUt what's become of Volscius the great?  
His presence has not graced our Court of late.  Phys. 
I fear some ill, from emulation sprung,  
Has from us that Illustrious Hero wrung.  Bays. 
Is not that Majestical?  Smi. 
Yes, but who a Devil is that Volscius?  Bays. 
Why, that's a Prince I make in love with Parthenope.  Smi. 
I thank you, Sir.  Enter Cordelio. Cor. 
My Liege's, news from Volscius the Prince.  Vsh. 
His news is welcome, whatsoe'er it be.  Smi. 
How, Sir, do you mean that? whether it be good or bad?  Bays. 
Nay, pray, Sir, have a little patience: Godsookers you'll spoil all my Play. Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to answer every impertinent question you ask.  Smi. 
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.  Smi. 
'Sheart, what stuff's here!  Cor. 
At last,  
Volscius the great this dire resolve embraced:  
His servants he into the Country sent,  
And he himself to Piccadillè went.  
Where he's informed, by Letters, that she's dead.  Vsh. 
Dead! is that possible? Dead!  Phys. 
O ye Gods! Exeunt.  Bays. 
There's a smart expression of a passion; O ye Gods!  
That's one of my bold strokes, a gad.  Smi. 
Yes; but who is the fair person that's dead?  Bays. 
That you shall know anon.  Smi. 
Nay, if we know it at all, 'tis well enough.  Bays. 
Perhaps you may find too, by and by, for all this, that she's not dead neither.  Smi. 
Marry, that's good news: I am glad of that with all my heart.  Bays. 
Now, here's the man brought in that is supposed to have killed her. A great shout within.  Enter Amarillis with a Book in her hand and Attendants. Ama. 
What shout Triumphant's that?  Enter a Soldier. Sol. 
Shie maid, upon the River brink, near Twick'nam Town, the 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.  Bays. 
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.  john's. 
Indeed the alteration of that accent does a great deal, Mr. Bayes.  Bays, 
O, all in all, Sir: they are these little things that mar, or set you off a Play.  Smi. 
I see you are very perfect in these matters.  Bays. 
ay, Sir; I have been long enough at it to know something.  Enter Soldiers dragging in an old Fisherman. Ama. 
Villain, what Monster did corrupt thy mind  
T'attaque the noblest soul of humane kind?  
Tell me who set thee on.  Fish. 
Prince Pretty-man.  Ama. 
To kill whom?  Fish. 
Prince Pretty-man.  Ama. 
What, did Prince Pretty-man hire you to kill Prince Pretty-man?  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 Pretty-man.  Ama. 
So, drag him hence,  
Till torture of the Rack produce his sense. Exeunt.  Bays. 
Mark how I make the horror of his guilt confound his intellects; for that's the design of this Scene.  Smi. 
I see, Sir, you have a several design for every Scene.  Bays. 
I; that's my way of writing: and so I can dispatch you, Sir, a whole Play, before another man, I gad, can make an end of his Plot. So, now enter Prince Pretty-man in a rage. Where the Devil is he? Why Pretty-man? why when, I say? O fie, fie, fie, fie; all's marred, I vow to gad, quite marred. Enter Pretty-man. Phoo, pox! 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?  Bays. 
What, Sir? 'Slife, Sir, you should have come out in choler, rous upon the Stage, just as the other went off. Must a man be eternally telling you of these things?  john's. 
Sure this must be some very notable matter that he's so angry at.  Smi. 
I am not of your opinion.  Bays. 
Pish! come, let's hear your Part, Sir.  Pret. 
Bring in my Father, why d'ye keep him from me?  
Although a Fisherman, he is my Father,  
Was ever Son, yet, brought to this distress,  
To be, for being a Son, made fatherless?  
Oh, you just Gods, rob me not of a Father.  
The being of a Son take from me rather. Exit.  Smi. 
Well, Ned, what think you now?  john's. 
A Devil, this is worst of all. Pray, Mr. Bayes, what's the meaning of this Scene?  Bays. 
O, cry you mercy, Sir: I purtest 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.  Smi. 
How, Sir, taken Prisoner?  Bays. 
Taken Prisoner! O Lord, what a question's there! did ever any man ask such a question? Taken Prisoner! Godsookers, he has put the Plot quite out of my head, with this damned question. What was I going to say?  john's. 
Nay, the Lord knows: I cannot imagine.  Bays. 
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.  Smi. 
Indeed?  Bays. 
Nay, prithee hold thy peace. And so, Sir, this murder being committed by the Riverside, the Fisherman, upon suspicion, was seized; and thereupon the Prince grew angry.  Smi. 
So, so; now 'tis very plain.  john's. 
But, Mr. Bayes, is not that some disparagement to a Prince, to pass for a fisherman's Son? Have a care of that, I pray.  Bays. 
No, no, no; not at all; for 'tis but for a while: I shall fetch him off again, presently, you shall see.  Enter Pretty-man and Thimble. Pret. 
By all the Gods, I'll set the world on fire  
Rather than let 'em ravish hence my Sire.  t'him. 
Brave Pretty-man, it is at length revealed,  
That he is not thy Sire who thee concealed.  Bays. 
Lo ' you now, there he's off again.  john's. 
Admirably done i'faith.  Bays. 
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 tossed and hurled.  
The blackest Ink of Fate, sure, was my Lot.  
And, when she writ my name, she made a blot.  Exit. Bays. 
There's a blust'ring verse for you now.  Smi. 
Yes, Sir; but pray, why is he so mightily troubled to find he is not a fisherman's Son?  Bays. 
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.  Smi. 
ay, that would trouble a man, indeed.  Bays. 
So, let me see. Enter Prince Volscius, going out of Town.  Smi. 
I thought he had been gone to Piccadillé.  Bays. 
Yes, he gave out so; but that was only to cover his design.  john's. 
What design?  Bays. 
Why, to head the Army, that lies concealed for him in Knightsbridge.  john's. 
I see here is a great deal of Plot, Mr. Bayes.  Bays. 
Yes, now it begins to break; but we shall have a world of more business anon.  Enter Prince Volscius, Cloris, Amarillis, 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 hoped this Summer that we should at least  
Have held the honour of your company.  Bays. 
Held the honour of your Company! prettily expressed! Held the honour of your company! Godsookers, these fellows will never take notice of any thing.  john's. 
I assure you, Sir, I admire it extremely; I don't know what he does.  Bays. 
ay, I, 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.  Bays. 
Sad!  Vols. 
Harry, my Boots; for I'll go rage among  
My Blades encamped, and quit this urban throng.  Smi. 
But pray, Mr. Bayes, is not this a little difficult, that you were saying e'en now, to keep an Army thus concealed in Knightsbridge.  Bays. 
In Knightsbridge? stay.  john's. 
No, not if the Innkeepers be his friends.  Bays. 
His friends! Ay, Sir, his intimate acquaintance; or else, indeed, I grant it could not be.  Smi. 
Yes, faith, so it might be very easily.  Bays. 
Nay, if I do not make all things easy, I gad, I'll give you leave to hang me. Now you would think that he is going out of Town; but you shall see how prettily I have contrived to stop him presently.  Smi. 
By my troth, Sir, you have so amazed me, 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 changed!  
Too soon I thought myself secure from Love.  
Fair Madam, give me leave to ask her name  
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.  Vols. 
Can vulgar Vestments high-born beauty shroud?  
Thou bring'st the Morning pictured in a Cloud.  Bays. 
The Morning pictured in a Cloud! A, Gadsookers, 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. Cloris. 
How! Prince Volscius in love? Ha, ha, ha.  Exeunt laughing. Smi. 
Sure, Mr. Bayes, we have lost some jest here, that they laugh at so.  Bays. 
Why did you not observe? He first resolves to go out of Town, and then, as he is pulling on his Boots, falls in love. Ha, ha, ha.  Smi. 
O, I did not observe: that, indeed, is a very good jest.  Bays. 
Here, now, you shall see a combat betwixt Love and Honour. And ancient Author has made a whole Play on't; but I have dispatched it all in his Scene.  Volscius sits down. 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.  
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 resolved to do't:  
Sometimes, again, that very mind, by Love  
Disarmed, like this other Leg does prove.  john's. 
What pains Mr. Bayes takes to act this speech himself!  Smi. 
ay, the fool, I see, is mightily transported with it.  Vols. 
Shall I to Honour or to Love give way?  
Go on, cries Honour; 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 through 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.  Exit with one Boot on, and the other off. john's. 
By my troth, Sir, this is as difficult a Combat as ever I saw, and as equal; for 'tis determined on neither side.  Bays. 
Ay, is't not, I gad, ha? For, to go off hip hop, hip hop, upon this occasion, is a thousand times better than any conclusion in the world, I gad. But, Sirs, you cannot make any judgement of this Play, because we are come but to the end of the second Act. Come, the Dance. Dance. Well, Gentlemen, you'll see this Dance, if I am not mistaken, take very well upon the Stage, when they are perfect in their motions, and all that.  Smi. 
I don't know 'twill take, Sir; but I am sure you sweat hard for't.  Bays. 
Ay, Sir, it costs me more pains, and trouble, to do these things, than almost the things are worth.  Smi. 
By my troth, I think so, Sir.  Bays. 
Not for the things themselves, for I could write you, Sir, forty of 'em in a day; but, I gad, these Players are such dull persons, that, if a man be not by upon every point, and at every turn, I gad, they'll mistake you, Sir, and spoil all. Enter a Player. What, is the Funeral ready?  Play. 
Yes, Sir.  Bays. 
And is the Lance filled with Wine?  Play. 
Sir, 'tis just now a doing.  Bays. 
Stay then; I'll do it myself.  Smi. 
Come, let's go with him.  Bays. 
A match. But, Mr. johnson, I gad, I am not like other persons; they care not what becomes of their things, so they can but get money for 'em: now, I gad, when I write, if it be not just as it should be, in every circumstance, to every particular, I gad, I am not 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 my money? I gad, I write for Fame and Reputation. Exeunt.   
Finis Actus Tertii.   

ACTUS IV.  

SCAENA I.  Bays, and the two Gentlemen. Bays. 
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.  Smi. 
And is that all your reason for it, Mr. Bayes?  Bays. 
No, Sir; I have a precedent for it too. A person of Honour, and a Scholar, brought in his Funeral just so: and he was one (let me tell you) that knew as well what belonged to a Funeral, as any man in England, I gad.  john's. 
Nay, if that be so, you are safe.  Bays. 
I gad, 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.  Smi. 
What is that, I pray?  Bays. 
Why, I have designed a Conquest, that cannot possibly, I gad, be acted in less than a whole week: and I'll speak a bold word, it shall Drum, Trumpet, Shout and Battle, I gad, with any the most warlike Tragedy we have, either ancient or modern.  john's. 
I marry, Sir; there you say something.  Smi. 
And pray, Sir, how have you ordered this same frolic of yours?  Bays. 
Faith, Sir, by the Rule or 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.  john's. 
Nay, if you should not be Master of your own works, 'tis very hard.  Bays. 
That is my sense. And therefore, Sir, whereas every one makes five Acts to one Play, what do me I, but make five Plays to one Plot: by which means the Auditors have every day a new thing.  john's. 
Most admirably good, i'faith! and must certainly take, because it is not tedious.  Bays. 
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.  john's. 
That consideration, Mr. Bayes, indeed, I think, will be very necessary.  Smi. 
And when comes in your share, pray Sir?  Bays. 
The third week.  john's. 
I vow, you'll get a world of money.  Bays. 
Why, faith, a man must live: and if you done't, thus, pitch upon some new device, I gad, you'll never do it, for this Age (take it o' my word) is somewhat hard to please. There is one pretty odd passage, in the last of these Plays, which may be executed to several ways, wherein I'd have your opinion, Gentlemen.  john's. 
Well, what is't?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, I make a Male person to be in Love with a Female.  Smi. 
Do you mean that, Mr. Bayes, for a new thing?  Bays. 
Yes, Sir, as I have ordered it. You shall hear. He having passionately loved her through my five whole Plays, finding at last that she consents to his love, just after that his Mother had appeared 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 loved her, she kills herself. Now my question is, which of these two persons should suffer upon this occasion?  john's. 
By my troth, it is a very hard case to decide.  Bays. 
The hardest in the world, I gad; and has puzzled this pate very much. What say you, Mr. Smith?  Smi. 
Why, truly, Mr. Bayes, if it might stand with your justice, I should now spare 'em both.  Bays. 
I gad, 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, here, Sir. So, now speak.  K. Vsh. 
Set down the Funeral Pile, and let our grief  
Receive, from its embraces, some relief.  K. Phys. 
Was't not unjust to ravish hence her breath,  
And, in life's stead, to leave us nought but death?  
The world discovers now its emptiness,  
And, by her loss, demonstrates we have less.  Bays. 
Is not that good language now? is not that elevate? It's my non ultra, I gad. You must know they were both in love with her.  Smi. 
With her? with whom?  Bays. 
Why, this is Lardella's Funeral.  Smi. 
Lardella! ay, who is she?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, the Sister of Drawcansir. A Lady that was drowned at Sea, and had a wave for her winding-sheet.  K. Vsh. 
Lardella, O Lardella, from above,  
Behold the Tragic issue of our Love.  
Pity us, sinking under grief and pain,  
For thy being cast away upon the Main.  Bays. 
Look you now, you see I told you true.  Smi. 
ay, Sir, and I thank you for it, very kindly.  Bays. 
Ay, I gad, but you will not have patience; honest Mr.— a— you will not have patience.  john's. 
Pray, Mr. Bayes, who is that Drawcansir?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, a fierce Hero, that frights his Mistress, snubs up Kings, baffles Armies, and does what he will, without regard to good manners, justice or numbers.  john's. 
A very pretty Character.  Smi. 
But, Mr. Bayes, I thought your Heroes had ever been men of great humanity and justice.  Bays. 
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, I gad. You shall see him come in presently. Zookers, why don't you read the papyr?  To the Players. K. Phys. 
O, cry you mercy. Goes to take the papyr.  Bays. 
Pish! nay you are such a fumbler. Come, I'll read it myself. Takes a papyr 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 pined on her Coffin, and so read by one of the Usurpers, who is her Cousin.  Smi. 
A very shrewd design that, upon my word, Mr. Bayes.  Bays. 
And what do you think I fancy her to make Love like, here, in the papyr?  Smi. 
Like a woman: what should she make Love like?  Bays. 
O'my word you are out though, Sir; I gad you are.  Smi. 
What then? like a man?  Bays. 
No, Sir; like a Humble Bee.  Smi. 
I confess, that I should not have fancied.  Bays. 
It may be so, Sir. But it is, though, in order to the opinion of some of your ancient Philosophers, who held the transmigration of the soul.  Smi. 
Very fine.  Bays. 
I'll read the Title. To my dear Cousin, King Phys.  Smi. 
That's a little too familiar with a King, though, Sir, by your favour, for a Humble Bee.  Bays. 
Mr. Smith, for 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.  Smi. 
Your servant, Sir.  Bays. 
Pray mark it.  
Since death my earthly part will thus remove Reads.  
I'll come a Humble Bee to your chaste love.  
With silent wings I'll follow you, dear Cousin;  
Or else, before you, in the Sunbeams buzz.  
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.  Smi. 
After a pause. Admirable!  Bays. 
At night, into your bosom I will creep,  
And Buzz 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.  john's. 
By my troth, that's a very great promise.  Smi. 
Yes, and a most extraordinary comfort to boot.  Bays. 
Your bed of Love, from dangers I will free;  
But most, from love of any future Bee.  
And when, with pity, you heartstrings shall crack,  
With empty arms I'll bear you on my back.  Smi. 
A pick-a-pack, a pick-a-pack.  Bays. 
Ay, I gad, but is not that tuant now, ha? is it not tuant? Here's the end.  
Then, at your birth of immortality,  
Like any winged Archer, hence I'll fly,  
And teach you your first fluttering in the Sky.  john's. 
O rare! it is the most natural, refined fancy this, that ever I heard, I'll swear.  Bays. 
Yes, I think, for a dead person, it is a good enough way 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 sheathe thyself within this breast,  
That only in Lardella's Tomb can rest.  K. Vsh. 
Come, dagger, come, and penetrate this heart,  
Which cannot from Lardella's Love depart.  Enter Pallas. Pal. 
Hold, stop your murdering hands  
At Pallases commands:  
For the supposed 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. Bays. 
Now it's 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.  john's. 
By my troth, now, that is new, and more than I expected.  Bays. 
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.  K. Vsh. 
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. Vsh. 
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. Vanish Pallas.  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  john's. 
That is as much as to say, that though he would rather die than not drink, yet he would fain drink for all that too.  Bays. 
Right; that's the conceit on't.  john's. 
'Tis a marvelous good one, I swear.  K. Vsh. 
Sir, if you please, we should be glad to know  
How long you here will stay, how soon you'll go.  Bays. 
Is not that now like a well-bred person, I gad? So modest, so gent!  Smi. 
O, very like.  Draw. 
You shall not know how long I here will stay;  
But you shall know I'll take my Bowls away.  Snatches the Bowls out of the King's hands, and drinks 'em off. Smi. 
But, Mr. Bayes, is that (too) modest and gent?  Bays. 
No, I glad, Sir, but it's great.  K. Vsh. 
Though, Brother, this grum stranger be a Clown,  
He'll leave us, sure, a little to gulp down.  Draw. 
Who e'er to gulp one drop of this dares think  
I'll stare away his very power to drink.  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. Exit.  Smi. 
I suppose, Mr. Bayes, this is the fierce Hero you spoke of.  Bays. 
Yes; but this is nothing: you shall see him, in the last Act, win above a dozen battles, one after another, I gad, as fast as they can possibly be represented.  john's. 
That will be a sight worth seeing, indeed.  Smi. 
But pray, Mr. Bayes, why do you make the Kings let him use 'em so scurvily?  Bays. 
Phoo! that is to raise the character of Drawcansir.  john's. 
O' my word, that was well thought on.  Bays. 
Now, Sir, I'll show you a Scene indeed; or rather, indeed, the Scene of Scenes. 'Tis an Heroic Scene.  Smi. 
And pray, Sir, what is your design in this Scene?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, my design is Roman clothes, guilded Truncheons, forced conceit, smooth Verse, and a Rant: In fine, if this Scene does not take, I gad, 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.  Smi. 
Why fill the Stage?  Bays. 
O, Sir, because your Heroic Verse never sounds well, but when the Stage is full.   

SCAENA II.  Enter Prince Pretty-man, 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.  Smi. 
Not in love? you mean, I suppose, because they are in love, Mr. Bayes?  Bays. 
No, Sir; I say not in love: there's a new conceit for you. Now speak.  Pret. 
Since fate, Prince Volscius, has found out the way  
For our so longed-for meeting here this day,  
Lend thy attention to my grand concern.  Vols. 
I gladly would that story of thee learn;  
But thou to love dost, Pretty-man, incline:  
Yet love in thy breast is not love in mine.  Bays. 
Antithesis! thine and mine.  Pret. 
Since love itself's the same, why should it be  
Differing in you from what it is in me?  Bays. 
Reasoning; I gad, I love reasoning in verse.  Vols. 
Love takes, Chameleonlike, a various die  
From every Plant on which itself does 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?  Bays. 
There's a great Verse!  Vols. 
If Incense thou wilt offer at the Shrine  
Of mighty Love, burn it to none but mine.  
Her Rosie-lips eternal sweets exhale;  
And her bright flames make all flames else look pale.  Bays. 
I gad, that is right.  Pret. 
Perhaps dull Incense may thy love suffice;  
But mine must be adored 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 makes 'em in fire survive.  Bays. 
That is as well as I can do.  Vols. 
Let my Parthenope at length prevail.  Bays. 
Civil, I gad.  Pret. 
I'll sooner have a passion for a Whale:  
In whose vast bulk, though store of Oil doth lie,  
We find more shape more beauty in a Fly.  Smi. 
That's uncivil, I gad.  Bays. 
Yes; but as far a fetched fancy, though, I gad, as ever you saw.  Vols. 
Soft, Pretty-man, let not thy vain pretence  
Of perfect love, defame loves excellence.  
Parthenope is sure as far above  
All other loves, as above all is Love.  Bays. 
Ah! I gad, that strikes me.  Pret. 
To blame my Cloris, Gods would not pretend.  Bays. 
Now mark.  Vols. 
Were all Gods joined, they could not hope to mend  
My better choice: for fair Parthenope,  
Gods would, themselves, un-god themselves to see.  Bays. 
Now the Rant's a coming.  Pret. 
Durst any of the Gods be so uncivil,  
I'd make that God subscribe himself a Devil.  Bays. 
Ah, Godsookers, that's well writ!  Vols. 
Couldst thou that God from Heaven to Earth translate,  
He could not fear to want a Heavenly State.  
Parthenope, on Earth, can Heaven create.  Pret. 
Cloris does Heaven itself so far excel,  
She can transcend the joys of Heaven in Hell.  Bays. 
There's a bold flight for you now! 'Sdeath, I have lost my peruke. Well, Gentlemen, this is that I never yet saw any one could write, but myself. Here's true spirit and flame all through, I gad. So, So; pray clear the Stage.  He puts 'em off the Stage. john's. 
But, Mr. Bayes, pray why is this Scene all in Verse?  Bays. 
O, Sir, the subject is too great for Prose.  Smi. 
Well said, i'faith; I'll give thee a pot of Ale for that answer: 'tis well worth it.  Bays. 
Come, with all my heart.  
I'll make that God subscribe himself a Devil.  
That single line, I gad, is worth all that my brother Poets ever writ. So, now let down the Curtain. Exeunt.   
Finis Actus Quarti.   

ACTUS V.  

SCAENA I.  Bays, and the two Gentlemen. Bays. 
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 do not value; but for state, show, and magnificence. In fine, I'll justify it to be as grand to the eye every whit, I gad, as that great Scene in Harry the Eight, and grander too, I gad; for, instead of two Bishops, I have brought in two other Cardinals.  The Curtain is drawn up, and the two usurping Kings appear in State, with the four Cardinals, Prince Pretty-man, Prince Volscius, Amarillis, Cloris, Parthenope, etc. before them, Herald's and Sergeants at Arms with Maces. Smi. 
Mr. Bays, pray what is the reason that two of the Cardinals are in Hats, and the other in Caps?  Bays. 
Why, Sir, because— By gad, I won't tell you.  Smi. 
I ask your pardon, Sir.  K. Vsh. 
Now, Sir, to the business of the day.  Vols. 
Dread Sovereign Lords, my zeal to you, must not invade my duty to your Son; let me entreat that great Prince Pretty-man first do speak: whose high pre-eminence, in all things that do bear the name of good, may justly claim that privilege.  Pret. 
Royal Father, upon my knees I beg  
That the Illustrious Volscius first be heard.  Bays. 
Here it begins to unfold: you may perceive, now, that he is his Son.  john's. 
Yes, Sir; and we are very much beholden to you for that discovery.  Vols. 
That preference is only due to Amarillis, Sir.  Bays. 
I'll make her speak very well, by and by, you shall see.  Ama. 
Invincible Sovereigns— Soft Music.  K. Vsh. 
But stay, what sound is this invades our ears?  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 Carr:  
In which, our two right Kings sit one by one,  
With Virgin Vests, and Laurel Garlands on.  K. Vsh. 
Then, Brother Phys ', 'tis time that we were gone.  The two Usurpers steal out of the Throne, and go away. Bays. 
Look you now, did not I tell you that this would be as easy a turn as the other?  Smi. 
Yes, faith, you did so; though, 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. Bays. 
Now, because the two Right Kings descend from above, I make 'em sing to the Tune and Style of our modern Spirits.  1 King. 
Haste, brother King, we are sent from above.  2 King. 
Let us move, let us move:  
Move to remove the Fate  
Of Brentfords' long united State.  1 King. 
Tara, tara, tara, full East and by South,  2 King. 
We sail with Thunder in our mouth,  
In scorching noonday, whilst the traveller stays,  
Busy, busy, busy, busy, we bustle along.  
Mounted upon warm Phoebus his Rays,  
Through the Heavenly throng,  
Haste to those  
Who will feast us, at night, with a Pig's Petty-toes.  1 King. 
And we'll fall with our pate  
In an Ollio of hate.  2 King. 
But now supper's done, the Servitors try,  
Like Soldiers, to storm a whole half-moon-pye.  1 King. 
They gather, they gather hot Custard in spoons,  
Alas, I must leave these halfmoons,  
And repair to my trusty Dragoons.  2 King. 
O 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,  
We'll firk in our shell,  
And farewell.  1 King. 
But the Ladies have all inclination to dance,  
And the green Frogs croak out a Coranto of France.  Bays. 
Is not that pretty, now? The Fiddlers are all in green.  Smi. 
ay, but they play no Coranto.  john's. 
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.  2 King. 
Now Mortals that hear  
How we Tilt and Carrier,  
With wonder will fear  
The event of such things as shall never appear.  1 King. 
Stay you to fulfil what the Gods have decreed.  2 King. 
Then call me to help you, if there shall be need.  1 King. 
So firmly resolved is a true Brentford King  
To save the distressed, and help to 'em bring,  
That ere a Full-pot of good Ale you can swallow,  
He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla.  Bayes phillip's his finger, and sings after 'em. Bays. 
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 Conjurer.  john's. 
ay, that would have been better.  Bays. 
No, faith, not when you consider it: for thus 'tis more compendious, and does the thing every whit as well.  Smi. 
Thing! what thing?  Bays. 
Why, bring 'em down again into the Throne, Sir; what thing would you have?  Smi. 
Well; but, methinks, the Sense of this Song is not very plain.  Bays. 
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.  Smi. 
Bless me, what a Monster's this!  The two Kings light out of the Clouds, and step into the Throne. 1 King. 
Come, now to serious counsel we'll advance.  2 King. 
I do agree; but first, let's have a Dance.  Bays. 
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.  Smi. 
Well▪ I can hold no longer, I must gag this rogue; there's no enduring of him.  john's. 
No, prithee make use of thy patience a little longer: let's see the end of him now.  Dance a grand Dance. Bays. 
This, now, is an ancient Dance, of right belonging to the Kings of Brentford; and since derived, with a little alteration, to the Inns of Court.  An Alarm. Enter two Heralds. 1 King. 
What saucy Groom molests our privacies?  1 Her. 
The Army's at the door, and in disguise,  
Desires a word with both your Majesties:  2 Her. 
Having, from Knightsbridge, hither marched by stealth.  2 King. 
Bid 'em attend a while, and drink our health.  Smi. 
How, Mr. Bayes, the Army in disguise?  Bays. 
Ay, Sir, for fear the Usurpers might discover them that went out but just now.  Smi. 
Why, what if they had discovered them?  Bays. 
Why then they had broke this design.  Smi. 
That's true, indeed. I did not think of that.  1 King. 
Here, take five Guineas for those warlike men.  2 King. 
And here's five more; that makes the sum just ten.  1 Her. 
We have not seen so much the Lord knows when.  Exeunt Heralds. 1 King. 
Speak on, brave Amarillis.  Ama. 
Invincible Sovereigns, blame not my modesty,  
If at this grand conjuncture—  Drum beats behind the Stage. 1 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:  
The Army, wrangling for the gold you gave,  
First fell to words, and then to handy-blows. Exit.  2 King. 
O dangerous estate of Sovereign power!  
Obnoxious to the change of every hour.  1 King. 
Let us for shelter in our Cabinet stay:  
Perhaps these threat'ning storms may pass away.  Exeunt. john's. 
But, Mr. Bayes, did not you promise us, just now, to make Amarillis speak very well?  Bays. 
Ay, and so she would have done, but that they hindered her.  Smi. 
How, Sir? whether you would or no?  Bays. 
Ay, Sir; the Plot lay so that, I vow to gad, it was not to be avoided.  Smi. 
Marry, that was hard.  john. 
But, pray, who hindered her?  Bays. 
Why, the battle, Sir, that's just coming in at door. And I'll tell you now a strange thing: though I don't pretend to do more than other men, I gad, I'll give you both a whole week to guess how I'll represent this Battle.  Smi. 
I had rather be bound to fight your Battle, Sir, I assure you.  Bays. 
Why, 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 through one another, and all that?  john's. 
No, faith, 'tis not civil.  Bays. 
On the other side; to have a long relation of Squadrons here, and Squadrons there: what is that but a dull prolixity?  john's. 
Excellently reasoned, by my troth!  Bays. 
Wherefore, Sir, to avoid both those Indecorums, I sum up my 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 engaged. Do you mark me?  Smi. 
Yes, Sir; but I think I should hardly swear, though, for all that.  Bays. 
By my troth, Sir, but you would, though, when you fee it: for I make 'em both come out in Armour, Cap-a-pe, with their Swords drawn, and hung, with a scarlet Ribbon at their wrists, (which, you know, represents fighting enough) each of 'em holding a Lute in his hand.  Smi. 
How, Sir, instead of a Buckler?  Bays. 
O Lord, O Lord! instead of a Buckler? Pray, Sir, do you ask no more questions. I make 'em, Sir, 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 in a warlike posture: so that you have at once your ear entertained with Music, and good Language; and your eye satisfied with the garb, and accoutrements of war. Is not that well?  john's. 
ay, what would you have more? he were a Devil that would not be satisfied with that.  Smi. 
I confess, Sir, you stupefy me.  Bays. 
You shall see.  john's. 
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.  Bays. 
Why, then, to tell you true, I have contrived it both ways. But you shall have my Recitativo first.  Enter, at several doors, the General, and Lieutenant General, armed Cap-a-pe, with each of them a Lute in his hand, and his sword drawn, and hung, with a scarlet Ribbon at his wrist. Lieut. Gen. 
Villain, thou liest.  Gen. 
Arm, arm, Gonsalvo, arm; what ho?  
The lie no flesh can brook, I trow.  Lieut. Gen. 
Advance, from Acton, with the Musquetiers.  Gen. 
Draw down the Chelsey Curiasiers.  Lieut. Gen. 
The Band you boast of, Chelsey Curiasiers,  
Shall, in my Putney Pikes, now meet their Peers.  Gen. 
Chiswickians, aged, and renowned 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 raised 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.  Gen. 
Pursue, pursue; they fly  
That first did give the lie. Exeunt.  Bays. 
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.  john's. 
Most exceeding well designed!  Bays. 
How do you think I have contrived to give a stop to this battle?  Smi. 
How?  Bays. 
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. Come, come in, Mr.— a—.  Enter Lieutenant General. Lieut. Gen. 
What midnight darkness does invade the day,  
And snatch the Victor from his conquered prey?  
Is the Sun weary of this bloody sight,  
And winks upon us with his 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 haste done;  
My brighter honour had Eclipsed the Sun:  
But now behold Eclipses two in one. Exit.  john's. 
This is an admirable representation of a Battle, as ever I saw.  Bays. 
ay, Sir. But how would you fancy now to represent an Eclipse?  Smi. 
Why, that's to be supposed.  Bays. 
Supposed! 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.  john's. 
How's that?  Bays. 
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; though, I think, you'll confess this is a little better.  john's. 
No doubt on't, Mr. Bayes.  Bays. 
But, 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 caused by an interlocation of the Moon, betwixt the Earth and Sun?  Smi. 
I have heard so, indeed.  Bays. 
Well, Sir; what do me 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 your Eclipses. That is new, I gad, ha?  john's. 
That must needs be very fine, truly.  Bays. 
Yes, there is some fancy in't. And then, Sir, that there may be something in it of a Joque, I make the Moon sell the Earth a Bargain. Come, come out Eclipse, to the Tune of Tom Tyler.  Enter Luna. Luna. 
Orbis, O Orbis,  
Come to me thou little rogue Orbis.  Enter the Earth. Orb. 
What calls Terra firmà, pray?  Luna. 
Luna that ne'er shines by day.  Orb. 
What means Luna in a veil?  Luna. 
Luna means to show her tail,  Enter Sol. Sol. 
Fie, Sister, fie; thou mak'st me muse,  
Dery, dery down,  
To see thee Orb abuse.  Luna. 
I hope his anger 'twill not move;  
Since I did it out of love:  
hay down, dery down.  Orb. 
Where shall I thy true love know,  
Thou pretty, pretty Moon?  Luna. 
To morrow soon, ere it be noon,  
On Mount Vesuvio. Bis.  Sol. 
Then I will shine.  Orb. 
And I will be fine.  Luna. 
And we will drink nothing but Lipary wine.  Omnes. 
And we, etc.  Bays. 
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 'em all on both sides: All this 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 e'er I come, I slay both friend and foe.  
The swiftest Horsemen 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.  Bays. 
There's a brave fellow for you now, Sirs. I have read of your Hector, your Achilles, and a hundred more; but I defy all your Histories, and your Romances too, I gad, to show me one such Conqueror, as this Drawcansir.  john's. 
I swear, I think you may.  Smi. 
But, Mr. Bayes, how shall all these dead men go off? for I see none alive to help 'em.  Bays. 
Go off! why, as they came on; upon their legs: how should they go off? Why, do you think the people do not know they are not dead? He is mighty ignorant, poor man; your friend here is very silly, Mr. johnson, I gad; he is. Come, Sir, I'll show you go off. Rise, Sirs, land go about your business. There's go off for you. Hark you, Mr. Ivory. Gentlemen, I'll be with you presently. Exit.  john's. 
Will you so? then we'll be gone.  Smi. 
ay, prithee let's go, that we may preserve our hearing. One Battle more would take mine quite away.  Exeunt. Enter Bayes and Players. Bays. 
Where are the Gentlemen?  1 Play. 
They are gone, Sir.  Bays. 
Gone! 'Sdeath, this last Act is best of all. I'll go fetch 'em again. Exit.  3 Play. 
Stay, here's a foul piece of papyr of his. Let's see what 'tis.  Reads. 
The Argument of the Fifth Act.  
Cloris, at length, being sensible of Prince Pretty-man's passion, consents to marry him; but, just as they are going to Church, Prince Pretty-man 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, break off his match with Cloris, and marries old joan. Upon which, Cloris, in despair, drowns herself: and Prince Pretty-man, discontentedly, walks by the River side.  1 Play. 
Pox on't, this will never do: 'tis just like the rest. Come, let's be gone. Exeunt.  Enter Bayes. Bays. 
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 pox 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 Player's again. Play. 
Sir, they are gone to dinner.  Bays. 
Yes, I know the Gentlemen are gone; but I ask for the Players.  Play. 
Why, an't please your worship, Sir, the Players are gone to dinner too.  Bays. 
How! are the Players gone to Dinner? 'Tis impossible: the Players gone to dinner! I gad, if they are, I'll make 'em know what it is to injure a person that does 'em the honour to write for 'em, and all that. A company of proud, conceited, humorous, cross-grained persons, and all that. I gad, I'll make 'em the most contemptible, despicable, inconsiderable persons, and all that, in the whole world, for this trick. I gad, I'll be revenged on 'em; I'll sell this Play to the other House.  Play. 
Nay, good, Sir, don't take away the Book; you'll disappoint the Town, that comes to see it acted here, this afternoon.  Bays. 
That's all one. I must reserve this comfort to myself, my Book and I will go together, we will not part, indeed, Sir. The Town! why, what care I for the Town? I gad, the Town has used me as scurvily, as the Players have done: but I'll be revenged on them too; I will both Lampoon and print 'em too, I gad. Since they will not admit of my Plays, they shall know what a Satirist I am. And so farewell to this Stage for ever, I gad. Exit.  1 Play. 
What shall we do now?  2 Play. 
Come then, let's set up Bills for another Play: We shall lose nothing by this, I warrant you.  1 Play. 
I am of your opinion. But, before we go, let's see Haynes and Shirley practise the last Dance; for that may serve for another Play.  2 Bays. 
I'll call 'em: I think they are in the Trying-room.  The Dance done. 1 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 Bays forgot,  
And we can boast, though 'tis a plotting Age,  
No place is freer from it than the Stage.  
The Ancients Plotted, though, 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 wondering where it lies.  
If it be true, that Monstrous births presage  
The following mischiefs that afflicts 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 these ten years felt its Influence;  
Pray let this prove a year of Prose and Sense.  
FINIS.