SCENE IV.

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

_Enter_ PRETTYMAN.

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

_Pret._ What, sir?

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

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

_Smith._ I am not of your opinion.

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

_Pret._[27]Bring in my father: why d'ye keep him from me? Altho' a fisherman, he is my father: Was ever son yet brought to this distress, To be, for being a son, made fatherless! Ah! you just gods, rob me not of a father: The being of a son take from me rather. [_Exit._

_Smith._ Well, Ned, what think you now?

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

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

_Smith._ How, sir, taken prisoner?

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

_Johns._ Nay, Heaven knows: I cannot imagine.

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

_Smith._ Indeed!

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

_Smith._ So, so; now 'tis very plain.

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

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

_Enter_ PRETTYMAN _and_ THIMBLE.

_Pret._ By all the gods, I'll set the world on fire, Rather than let 'em ravish hence my sire.

_Thim._ Brave Prettyman, it is at length reveal'd, That he is not thy sire who thee conceal'd.

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

_Johns._ Admirably done, i'faith!

_Bayes._ Ay, now the plot thickens very much upon us.

_Pret._ What oracle this darkness can evince! Sometimes a fisher's son, sometimes a prince. It is a secret, great as is the world; In which I, like the soul, am toss'd and hurl'd, The blackest ink of Fate sure was my lot, And when she writ my name, she made a blot. [_Exit._

_Bayes._ There's a blustering verse for you now.

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

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

_Smith._ Nay, that would trouble a man, indeed.

_Bayes._ So, let me see.