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 pr'ythee, 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 out here for thyself, trow?

Bayes. Good.

Thim. Why, an't please your highness, if I cann't make up all the work I cut out, I sha'n't want journeymen enough to help me, I warrant you. Bayes. Good again.

Pret. I am afraid thy journeymen, though, Tom, won't work by the day, but by the night. Bayes. Good still.

Thim. However, if my wife sits but cross-legg'd, 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 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.

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.

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.

Bayes. Admirable, before gad!

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. O! you did not do that half enough. John. Methinks he does it admirably. Bayes. Ay, pretty well; but he does not hit me in't; he does not top his part.

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 bored through you. [Exeunt. Bayes. Ha! there he has hit it up to the hilts, 'egad! How do you like it now, gentlemen? Is not this purc wit?

Smi. '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? Smi. Yes, but the plot stands still. Bayes. Plot stands still! Why, what a devil is the plot good for, but to bring in fine things? Smi. O! 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.

John. '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 'em 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 writ ten: you must know, it was made by Tom Thimble's first wife after she was dead!

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

John. Say? Why, nothing: he were a devil that had any thing to say to that. Bayes. Right.

Smi: How did she come to die, pray, sir?

Bayes. Pho! that's no matter:-by a fall: but here's the conceit, that, upon his knowing she was killed by an accident, he supposes, with a sigh,

that she died for love of him.

John. 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.

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 debauchee as ever you saw;
I am, i'faith.

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

Bayes. A-lack, sir, you know nothing: you must ever interlard your plays with songs, ghosts, and dances, if you mean to -a

John. Pit, box, and gallery, 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.

John. 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 I go by: my play is my touchstone. When a man tells me such a one is a person of parts; is he so, says I? What do I do, but bring him presently to see

Cor. My lieges, news from Volscius the prince. Gent.-Ush. His news is welcome, whatsoe'er it be.

Smi. 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.

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 Piccadilly went,

Where he's informed, bý letters, that she's dead.
Gent.-Ush. Dead! is that possible? Dead!
Phy. O, ye gods!

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.

Smi. 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.

Smi. 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, ina rage.—Where the devil is he? Why, Prettyman? why, when, I say? O fie, fie, fie, fie! all's marred, I vow to

Enter PRETTYMAN.

[A great shout within.

SCENE III.

Enter AMARILLIS, with a book in her hand, and

Attendants.

Ama. What shout triumphant's that?

Enter a Soldier.

Sol. Shy maid, upon the river brink, near Twick'n'am town, the false assassinate is ta'en. VOL. III.

Pho! 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?

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

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

sir.

Smi. I am not of your opinion.
Bayes. Pish! Come, let's hear your part,
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?

P

[Exit.

Par. Give you good even, sir. Vol. O, inauspicious stars! that I was born To sudden love, and to more sudden scorn! Ama. How! Prince Volscius in love? Ha, Clo. ha, ha! [Exeunt, laughing. Smi. 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 is pulling on his boots, falls in love with her; ha, ha, ha! Smi. Well, and where lies the jest of that? Bayes, Ha! [Turns to JOHN. John. Why, in the boots: where should the jest lie?

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

Smi. 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, but I have dispatched 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.

Vol. How is my passion made a 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. Smi. Pr'ythee mark what pains Mr Bayes takes to act this speech himself.

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

Vol My legs, the emblem of my various thought, Shew 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. 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.

[Goes out hopping, with one boot on, and the other off.

John. By my troth, sir, this is as difficult a combat as ever I saw, and as equal; for 'tis determined 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.

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

Bayes. O, 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 belly-ache.

Smi. Pray, how was that, sir?

Buyes. Why, sir, I contrived 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.

John. God's my life! that was a notable contrivance indeed.

Smi. Ay, but, Mr Bayes, how could you contrive the belly-ache?

Bayes. The easiest i' the world, 'egad : I'll tell you how:-I made the prince sit down upon the petticoat, no more than so, and pretend to his father that he had just then got the belly-ache; whereupon, his father went out to call a physi cian, and his man run away with the petticoat. Smi. Well, and what followed upon that? Bayes. Nothing, no earthly thing, I vow to gad. John. O' 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 'em all talk bawdry; ha, ha, ha! beastly, downright bawdry, upon the stage, 'egad; ha, ha, ha! but with an infinite deal of wit, that 1 must say.

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

Bayes. No, 'egad, cann't it.-Come, bring in the dance. [Exit, to call the players. Smi. Now, the devil 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 'em out with teaching 'em.

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

Smi. 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.

Smi. 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 filled with wine?
Play. Sir, 'tis just now a-doing.
Bayes. Stay, then, I'll do it myself.
Smi. Come, let's go with him.

Bayes. A match. But, Mr Johnson, 'cgad, I am not like other persons; they care not what becomes of their things, so they can but get money

SCENE I.

BAYES and 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.

Smi. 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; and he was one (let me tell you) that knew as well what belonged to a funeral as any man in England, 'egad.

John. 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.

Smi. What is that, I pray?

Bayes. Why, I have designed 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.

John. Ay, marry, sir, there you say something. Smi. And pray, sir, how have you ordered this same frolic of yours?

Bayes. Faith, sir, by the rule of romance. For example: They divided 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. Nay, if you should not be a 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 fiye 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.

John. 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.

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

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

Bayes. The third week.

[Exeunt.

John. I'll 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's one pretty odd passage in the last of these plays, which may be executed two several ways, wherein I'd have your opinion, gentlemen. John. What is't, sir?

Bayes. 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?

Bayes. 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. 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?

Smi. 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.

K. Ush. Set down the funeral pile, and let our grief Receive, from its embraces, some relief.

K. Phy. 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.

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.

Smi. With her! With whom?
Bayes. Why, this is Lardella's funeral.
Smi. Lardella! Ay, who is she?

Bayes. Why, sir, the sister of Drawcansir; a lady that was drowned at sea, and had a wave for her winding-sheet.