SCENE V.

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

_1st Sold._ Stand. Who goes there?

_2nd Sold._ A friend.

_1st Sold._ What friend?

_2nd Sold._ A friend to the house.

_1st Sold._ Fall on! [_They all kill one another._ [_Music strikes._

_Bayes._ Hold, hold. [_To the music. It ceases._ Now, here's an odd surprise: all these dead men you shall see rise up presently, at a certain note that I have, in _effaut flat_, and fall a-dancing. Do you hear, dead men? remember your note in _effaut flat_. Play on. [_To the music._ Now, now, now! [_The music plays his note, and the dead men rise; but cannot get in order._ O Lord! O Lord! Out, out, out! did ever men spoil a good thing so! no figure, no ear, no time, nothing. Udzookers, you dance worse than the angels in "Harry the Eighth," or the fat spirits in the "Tempest," egad.

_1st Sold._ Why, sir, 'tis impossible to do anything in time, to this tune.

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

[_Lies down flat upon his face._

Now mark my note _effaut flat_. Strike up, music. Now. [_As he rises up hastily, he falls down again._ Ah, gadzookers! I have broke my nose.

_Johns._ By my troth, Mr. Bayes, this is a very unfortunate note of yours, in _effaut_.

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

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

_2nd Sold._ Sir, I'll go get you some within presently.

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

[_Exit_ BAYES.

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

_They dance the dance, but can make nothing of it._

_1st Sold._ A devil! let's try this no longer. Play my dance that Mr. Bayes found fault with so. [_Dance, and Exeunt._

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

_Johns._ Prithee let's go see. [_Exeunt._

* * * * *