SCENE V.

_Enter_ PRINCE VOLSCIUS, _going out of town._

_Smith._ I thought he had been gone to Piccadilly.

_Bayes._ Yes, he gave it out so; but that was only to cover his design.

_Johns._ What design?

_Bayes._ Why, to head the army that lies conceal'd for him at Knightsbridge.

_Johns._ I see here's a great deal of plot, Mr. Bayes.

_Bayes._ Yes, now it begins to break: but we shall have a world of more business anon.

_Enter_ PRINCE VOLSCIUS, CLORIS, AMARYLLIS, _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 hop'd this summer that we should at least Have held the honour of your company.

_Bayes._ Held the honour of your company; prettily express'd: held the honour of your company! gadzookers, these fellows will never take notice of anything.

_Johns._ I assure you, sir, I admire it extremely; I don't know what he does.

_Bayes._ Ay, ay, 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.

_Bayes._ Sad! Harry, my boots; for I'll go range among!

_Vols._ My blades encamp'd, and quit this urban throng.[28]

_Smith._ But pray, Mr. Bayes, is not this a little difficult, that you were saying e'en now, to keep an army thus conceal'd in Knightsbridge?

_Bayes._ In Knightsbridge? stay.

_Johns._ No, not if the inn-keepers be his friends.

_Bayes._ His friends! ay, sir, his intimate acquaintance; or else indeed I grant it could not be.

_Smith._ Yes, faith, so it might be very easy.

_Bayes._ Nay, if I do not make all things easy, egad, I'll give you leave to hang me. Now you would think that he's going out of town: but you shall see how prettily I have contriv'd to stop him presently.

_Smith._ By my troth, sir, you have so amaz'd me, that 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 chang'd! Too soon I thought myself secure from love. Fair madam, give me leave to ask her name,[29] 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.

_Bayes._ Now that's the Parthenope I told you of.

_Johns._ Ay, ay, egad, you are very right.

_Vols._ Can vulgar vestments high-born beauty shroud? Thou bring'st the morning pictur'd in a cloud.[30]

_Bayes._ The morning pictur'd in a cloud! ah, gadzookers, 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._ } How! Prince Volscius in love? ha, ha, ha![31] _Clo._ } [_Exeunt laughing._

_Smith._ 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's pulling on his boots, falls in love with her; ha, ha, ha!

_Smith._ Well, and where lies the jest of that?

_Bayes._ Ha? [_Turns to_ JOHNS.

_Johns._ Why, in the boots: where should the jest lie?

_Bayes._ Egad, you are in the right: it does lie in the boots---- [_Turns to_ SMITH. Your friend and I know where a good jest lies, though you don't, sir.

_Smith._ 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;[32] but I have dispatch'd 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._

_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.

_Smith._ Prithee, mark what pains Mr. Bayes takes to act this speech himself!

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

_Vols._ 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 resolv'd to do't: Sometimes again, that very mind, by love Disarméd, like this other leg does prove. Shall I to honour or to love give way? Go on, cries honour;[33] 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 thro' 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 t'other off._

_Johns._ By my troth, sir, this is as difficult a combat as ever I saw, and as equal; for 'tis determin'd 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.

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

_Bayes._ Oh, 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 gripes.[34]

_Smith._ Pray how was that, sir?

_Bayes._ Why, sir, I contriv'd 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.

_Johns._ By-my-life, that was a notable contrivance indeed.

_Smith._ Ay, but Mr. Bayes, how could you contrive the stomach-ache?

_Bayes._ The easiest i' th' world, egad: I'll tell you how. I made the prince sit down upon the petticoat, no more than so, and pretended to his father that he had just then got the gripes: whereupon his father went out to call a physician, and his man ran away with the petticoat.

_Smith._ Well, and what follow'd upon that?

_Bayes._ Nothing, no earthly thing, I vow to gad.

_Johns._ On 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 them all talk beastly: ha, ha, ha, beastly! downright beastly upon the stage, egad, ha, ha, ha! but with an infinite deal of wit, that I must say.

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

_Bayes._ No, egad, can't it. Come, bring in the dance.

[_Exit to call the Players._

_Smith._ Now, the plague 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 them out with teaching them._

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

_Smith._ 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.

_Smith._ 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 fill'd with wine?

_Play._ Sir, 'tis just now a-doing.

_Bayes._ Stay, then, I'll do it myself.

_Smith._ Come, let's go with him.

_Bayes._ A match. But, Mr. Johnson, egad, I am not like other persons; they care not what becomes of their things, so they can but get money for 'em: now, egad, when I write, if it be not just as it should be in every circumstance, to every particular, egad, I am no more 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 money? I write for reputation.

[_Exeunt._

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