uncivilest persons, and all that, in the whole world, 'y gad: 'y gad, there's no living with 'em. I have written, Mr. Johnson, I do verily believe, a whole cart-load of things every whit as good as this; 45 and yet, I vow to gad, these insolent rascals have turned 'em all back upon my hands again.
JOHNSON. Strange fellows, indeed.
SMITH. But pray, Mr. Bayes, how came these
|two kings to know of this whisper? for, as I re||50|
BAYES. No, but that's the actors' fault, and not mine; for the two kings should (a pox take 'em) have popped both their heads in at the door, just as the
|other went off.||55|
SMITH. That, indeed, would ha' done it.
BAYES. Done it! Aye, 'y 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||60|
|love to his mistress, which, you know, was a||65|
Enter PRINCE PRETTY-MAN.4
PRETTY-MAN. 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?
|-- But here she comes.||5|
BAYES. Blazing comet! mark that. 'Y gad, very fine.
PRETTY-MAN. But I am so surprised with sleep I can
|not speak the rest. (Sleeps.)||10|
BAYES. Does not that, now, surprise you, to fall asleep in the nick? His spirits exhale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and -- swop! falls asleep, as you see. Now, here, she must make a sim
SMITH. Where's the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes?
BAYES. Because she's surprised. That's a general rule -- you must ever make a simile when you are surprised,5 'tis the new way of writing.
T'have stood the rage of many a boist'rous wind, Feeling without, that flames within do play
CLORIS. As some tall pine, which we, on Etna, find 20
Which would consume his root and sap away,
He spreads his worsted arms unto the skies,
So, shrouded up, your bright eye disappears. Break forth, bright scorching sun, and dry my tears.6
Silently grieves, all pale, repines and dies: 25
*JOHNSON. Mr. Bayes, methinks this simile wants a little application, too.
*BAYES. No, faith; for it alludes to passion, to 30 consuming, to dying, and all that; which, you know, are the natural effects of an amour. But I'm afraid this scene has made you sad; for, I must confess, when I writ it, I wept myself.
SMITH. No, truly, sir, my spirits are almost 35 exhaled too, and I am likelier to fall asleep.
(PRINCE PRETTY-MAN starts up, and says)
PRETTY-MAN. It is resolved. Exit.
*BAYES. That's all.
SMITH. Mr. Bayes, may one be so bold as to ask
|you a question now, and you not be angry?||40|
BAYES. O Lord, sir, you may ask me anything -- what you please -- I vow to gad, you do me a great deal of honor: you do not know me if you say that, sir.
|SMITH. Then, pray, sir, what is it that this||45|
BAYES. Why, I must confess, that question is well enough asked for one that is not acquainted with this new way of writing. But you must know, sir,
|that, to outdo all my fellow-writers, whereas||50|
SMITH. Begin the play and end it, without ever opening the plot at all?
BAYES. I do so; that's the very plain troth 55 on't. Ha, ha, ha! I do, 'y gad. If they cannot find it out themselves, e'en let 'em alone for Bayes, I warrant you. But here, now, is a scene of business. Pray observe it, for I dare say you'll think it no un
|wise discourse this, nor ill argued. To tell you||60|
Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician.
USHER. Come, sir; let's state the matter of fact, and lay our heads together.____________________
As some fair tulip, by a storm oppressed,
Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest;
And, bending to the blast, all pale and dead,
Hears from within the wind sing round its head;
So, shrouded up, your beauty disappears:
Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears.