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.

And is that all your reason for it, Mr. Bayes?

No, Sir; I have a precedent for it too. 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 belong'd to a Funeral, as any man in England, I gad.

Nay, if that be so, you are safe.

I gad, but I have another device, a frolick, which I think yet better than all this; not for the Plot or Characters, (for, in my Heroick Plays, I make no difference, as to those matters) but for another contrivance.

What is that, I pray?

Why, I have design'd a Conquest, that cannot possibly, I gad, be acted in less than a whole week: and I'l speak a bold word, it shall Drum, Trumpet, Shout and Battel, I gad, with any the most warlike Tragoedy we have, either ancient or modern.

I marry, Sir; there you say something.

And pray, Sir, how have you order'd this same frolick of yours?

Faith, Sir, by the Rule or Romance. For example: they divide 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.

That is my sence. And therefore, Sir, whereas every one makes five Acts to one Play, what do me I, but make five Plays to one Plot: by which means the Auditors have every day a new thing.

Most admirably good, i'faith! and must certainly take, because it is not tedious.

I, 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.

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

And when comes in your share, pray Sir?

The third week.

I vow, you'l get a world of money.

Why, faith, a man must live: and if you don't, thus, pitch upon some new device, I gad, you'l never do it, for this Age (take it o' my word) is somewhat hard to please. There is one prettie odd passage, in the last of these Plays, which may be executed to several ways, wherein I'ld have your opinion, Gentlemen.

Well, what is't?

Why, Sir, I make a Male person to be in Love with a Female.

Do you mean that, Mr. Bayes, for a new thing?

Yes, Sir, as I have order'd it. You shall hear. He having passionately lov'd her through my five whole Plays, finding at last that she consents to his love, just after that his Mother had appear'd 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 lov'd her, she kills her self. Now my question is, which of these two persons should suffer upon this occasion?

By my troth, it is a very hard case to decide.

Why, truly, Mr. Bayes, if it might stand with your justice, I should now spare 'em both.

I gad, and I think —ha— why then, I'l make him hinder her from killing her self. Ay, it shall be so. Come, come, bring in the Funeral. Enter a Funeral, with the two Vsurpers and Attendants. Lay it down there: no, here, Sir. So, now speak.

Is not that good language now? is not that elevate? It's my non ultra, I gad. You must know they were both in love with her.

With her? with whom?

Why, this is Lardella's Funeral.

Lardella! I, who is she?

Why, Sir, the Sister of Drawcansir. A Ladie that was drown'd at Sea, and had a wave for her winding-sheet.

Ay, I gad, but you will not have patience; honest Mr. —a— you will not have patience.

Pray, Mr. Bayes, who is that Drawcansir?

Why, Sir, a fierce Hero, that frights his Mistriss, snubs up Kings, baffles Armies, and does what he will, without regard to good manners, justice or numbers.

A very prettie Character.

Yes, they have been so; but, for my part, I prefer that one quality of singly beating of whole Armies, above all your moral vertues put together, I gad. You shall see him come in presently. Zookers, why don't you read the papyr?

O, cry you mercie. Goes to take the papyr.

Pish! nay you are such a fumbler. Come, I'l read it my self. Takes a papyr from off the coffin. Stay, it's an ill hand, I must use my Spectacles. This, now, is a Copie of Verses, which I make Lardella compose, just as she is dying, with design to have it pin'd on her Coffin, and so read by one of the Usurpers, who is her Cousin.

A very shrewd design that, upon my word, Mr. Bayes.

And what do you think I fancie her to make Love like, here, in the papyr?

Like a woman: what should she make Love like?

O'my word you are out though, Sir; I gad you are.

What then? like a man?

No, Sir; like a Humble Bee.

I confess, that I should not have fancy'd.

It may be so, Sir. But it is, though, in order to the opinion of some of your ancient Philosophers, who held the transmigration of the soul.

Very fine.

I'l read the Title. To my dear Couz, King Phys.

That's a little too familiar with a King, though, Sir, by your favour, for a Humble Bee.

Mr. Smith, for other things, I grant your knowledge may be above me; but, as for Poetry, give me leave to say, I understand that better: it has been longer my practice; it has indeed, Sir.

Your servant, Sir.

After a pause. Admirable!

O rare! it is the most natural, refin'd fancie this, that ever I heard, I'l swear.

Yes, I think, for a dead person, it is a good enough way of making love: for being divested of her Terrestrial part, and all that, she is only capable of these little, pretty, amorous designs that are innocent, and yet passionate. Come, draw your swords.

Now it's out. This is the very Funeral of the fair person which Volscius sent word was dead, and Pallas, you see, has turn'd it into a Banquet.

By my troth, now, that is new, and more than I expected.

Yes, I knew this would please you: for the chief Art in Poetry is to elevate your expectation, and then bring you off some extraordinary way.

That is as much as to say, that though he would rather die than not drink, yet he would fain drink for all that too.

Is not that now like a well-bred person, I gad? So modest, so gent!

O, very like.

I suppose, Mr. Bayes, this is the fierce Hero you spoke of.

Yes; but this is nothing: you shall see him, in the last Act, win above a dozen battels, one after another, I gad, as fast as they can possibly be represented.

That will be a sight worth seeing, indeed.

But pray, Mr. Bayes, why do you make the Kings let him use 'em so scurvily?

Phoo! that is to raise the character of Drawcansir.

O' my word, that was well thought on.

Now, Sir, I'l shew you a Scene indeed; or rather, indeed, the Scene of Scenes. 'Tis an Heroick Scene.

And pray, Sir, what is your design in this Scene?

Why, Sir, my design is Roman Cloaths, guilded Truncheons, forc'd conceipt, smooth Verse, and a Rant: In fine, if this Scene does not take, I gad, I'l write no more. Come, come in, Mr. — a — nay, come in as many as you can. Gentlemen, I must desire you to remove a little, for I must fill the Stage.

Why fill the Stage?

O, Sir, because your Heroick Verse never sounds well, but when the Stage is full.

Not in love? you mean, I suppose, because they are in love, Mr. Bayes?

No, Sir; I say not in love: there's a new conceipt for you. Now speak.

Yes; but as far a fetch'd fancie, though, I gad, as ever you saw.

There's a bold flight for you now! 'Sdeath, I have lost my peruke. Well, Gentlemen, this is that I never yet saw any one could write, but my self. Here's true spirit and flame all through, I gad. So, So; pray clear the Stage.

But, Mr. Bayes, pray why is this Scene all in Verse?

O, Sir, the subject is too great for Prose.

Well said, i'faith; I'l give thee a pot of Ale for that answer: 'tis well worth it.

NOw, Gentlemen, I will be bold to say, I'l shew you the greatest Scene that ever England saw: I mean not for words, for those I do not value; but for state, shew, and magnificence. In fine, I'l justifie it to be as grand to the eye every whit, I gad, as that great Scene in Harry the Eight, and grander too, I gad; for, instead of two Bishops, I have brought in two other Cardinals.

Mr. Bayes, pray what is the reason that two of the Cardinals are in Hats, and the other in Caps?

Why, Sir, because— By gad, I won't tell you.

I ask your pardon, Sir.

Now, Sir, to the business of the day.

Dread Soveraign Lords, my zeal to you, must not invade my duty to your Son; let me intreat that great Prince Pretty-man first do speak: whose high preheminence, in all things that do bear the name of good, may justly claim that priviledge.

Yes, Sir; and we are very much beholden to you for that discovery.

That preference is only due to Amarillis, Sir.

I'l make her speak very well, by and by, you shall see.

Invincible Soveraigns— Soft Musick.

But stay, what sound is this invades our ears?

Sure 'tis the Musick of the moving Spheres.

Look you now, did not I tell you that this would be as easie a turn as the other?

Yes, faith, you did so; though, I confess, I could not believe you; but you have brought it about, I see.

Now, because the two Right Kings descend from above, I make 'em sing to the Tune and Stile of our modern Spirits.

Haste, brother King, we are sent from above.

No Coranto quoth a! that's a good one, with all my heart. Come, sing on.

He's here with a whoop, and gone with a holla. This, Sir, you must know, I thought once to have brought in with a Conjurer.

I, that would have been better.

No, faith, not when you consider it: for thus 'tis more compendious, and does the thing every whit as well.

Thing! what thing?

Why, bring 'em down again into the Throne, Sir; what thing would you have?

Well; but, methinks, the Sence of this Song is not very plain.

Plain? why, did you ever hear any people in Clouds speak plain? They must be all for flight of fancie, at its full range, without the least check, or controul upon it. When once you tye up spirits, and people in Clouds to speak plain, you spoil all.

Bless me, what a Monster's this!

Come, now to serious counsel we'l advance.

I do agree; but first, let's have a Dance.

Right. You did that very well, Mr. Cartwright. But first, let's have a Dance. Pray remember that; be sure you do it always just so: for it must be done as if it were the effect of thought, and premeditation. But first, let's have a Dance. Pray remember that.

Well▪ I can hold no longer, I must gag this rogue; there's no induring of him.

No, pr'ythee make use of thy patience a little longer: let's see the end of him now.

This, now, is an ancient Dance, of right belonging to the Kings of Brentford; and since deriv'd, with a little alteration, to the Inns of Court.

What sawcie Groom molests our privacies?

Ay, Sir, for fear the Usurpers might discover them that went out but just now.

Why, what if they had discover'd them?

Why then they had broke this design.

That's true, indeed. I did not think of that.

Here, take five Guineys for those warlike men.

And here's five more; that makes the sum just ten.

We have not seen so much the Lord knows when.

Speak on, brave Amarillis.

But, Mr. Bayes, did not you promise us, just now, to make Amarillis speak very well?

How, Sir? whether you would or no?

Ay, Sir; the Plot lay so that, I vow to gad, it was not to be avoided.

Marry, that was hard.

But, pray, who hinder'd her?

Why, the battel, Sir, that's just coming in at door. And I'l tell you now a strange thing: though I don't pretend to do more than other men, I gad, I'l give you both a whole week to ghess how I'l represent this Battel.

I had rather be bound to fight your Battel, Sir, I assure you.

Why, there's it now: fight a Battel? there's the common error. I knew presently where I should have you. Why, pray, Sir, do but tell me this one thing, Can you think it a decent thing, in a battel before Ladies, to have men run their Swords through one another, and all that?

No, faith, 'tis not civil.

On the other side; to have a long relation of Squadrons here, and Squadrons there: what is that but a dull prolixity?

Excellently reason'd, by my troth!

Wherefore, Sir, to avoid both those Indecorums, I sum up my whole battel in the representation of two persons only, no more: and yet so lively, that, I vow to gad, you would swear ten thousand men were at it, really engag'd. Do you mark me?

Yes, Sir; but I think I should hardly swear, though, for all that.

By my troth, Sir, but you would, though, when you fee it: for I make 'em both come out in Armor, Cap-a-pea, with their Swords drawn, and hung, with a scarlet Ribbon at their wrists, (which, you know, represents fighting enough) each of 'em holding a Lute in his hand.

How, Sir, instead of a Buckler?

I, what would you have more? he were a Devil that would not be satisfi'd with that.

I confess, Sir, you stupifie me.

You shall see.

But, Mr. Bayes, might not we have a little fighting for I love those Plays, where they cut and slash one another, upon the Stage, for a whole hour together.

Why, then, to tell you true, I have contriv'd it both ways. But you shall have my Recitativo first.

This, now, is not improper, I think, because the Spectators know all these Towns, and may easily conceive them to be within the Dominions of the two Kings of Brentford.

Most exceeding well design'd!

How do you think I have contriv'd to give a stop to this battel?

How?

By an Eclipse: Which, let me tell you, is a kind of fancie that was yet never so much as thought of, but by my self, and one person more, that shall be nameless. Come, come in, Mr. —a—.

This is an admirable representation of a Battel, as ever I saw.

I, Sir. But how would you fancie now to represent an Eclipse?

Why, that's to be suppos'd.

Suppos'd! Ay, you are ever at your suppose: ha, ha, ha. Why, you may as well suppose the whole Play. No, it must come in upon the Stage, that's certain; but in some odd way, that may delight, amuse, and all that. I have a conceipt for't, that I am sure is new, and, I believe, to the purpose.

How's that?

Why, the truth is, I took the first hint of this out of a Dialogue, between Phoebus and Aurora, in the Slighted Maid: which, by my troth, was very pretty; though, I think, you'l confess this is a little better.

No doubt on't, Mr. Bayes.

But, Sir, you have heard, I suppose, that your Eclipse of the Moon, is nothing else, but an interposition of the Earth, between the Sun and Moon: as likewise your Eclipse of the Sun is caus'd by an interlocation of the Moon, betwixt the Earth and Sun?

I have heard so, indeed.

Well, Sir; what do me I, but make the Earth, Sun, and Moon, come out upon the Stage, and dance the Hey: hum? And, of necessity, by the very nature of this Dance, the Earth must be sometimes between the Sun and the Moon, and the Moon between the Earth and Sun; and there you have both your Eclipses. That is new, I gad, ha?

That must needs be very fine, truly.

Yes, there is some fancie in't. And then, Sir, that there may be something in it of a Joque, I make the Moon sell the Earth a Bargain. Come, come out Eclipse, to the Tune of Tom Tyler.

So, now, vanish Eclipse, and enter t'other Battel, and fight. Here now, if I am not mistaken, you will see fighting enough.

There's a brave fellow for you now, Sirs. I have read of your Hector, your Achilles, and a hundred more; but I defie all your Histories, and your Romances too, I gad, to shew me one such Conqueror, as this Drawcansir.

I swear, I think you may.

But, Mr. Bayes, how shall all these dead men go off? for I see none alive to help 'em.

Go off! why, as they came on; upon their legs: how should they go off? Why, do you think the people do not know they are not dead? He is mighty ignorant, poor man; your friend here is very silly, Mr. Iohnson, I gad; he is. Come, Sir, I'l show you go off. Rise, Sirs, land go about your business. There's go off for you. Hark you, Mr. Ivory. Gentlemen, I'l be with you presently. Exit.

Will you so? then we'l be gone.

I, pr'ythee let's go, that we may preserve our hearing. One Battel more would take mine quite away.

Where are the Gentlemen?

They are gone, Sir.

Gone! 'Sdeath, this last Act is best of all. I'l go fetch 'em again. Exit.

Stay, here's a foul piece of papyr of his. Let's see what 'tis.

The Argument of the Fifth Act.

Cloris, at length, being sensible of Prince Pretty-man's passion, consents to marry him; but, just as they are going to Church, Prince Pretty-man meeting, by chance, with old Ioan the Chandlers widow, and remembring it was she that first brought him acquainted with Cloris: out of a high point of honour, break off his match with Cloris, and marries old Ioan. Upon which, Cloris, in despair, drowns her self: and Prince Pretty-man, discontentedly, walks by the River side.

Pox on't, this will never do: 'tis just like the rest. Come, let's be gone. Exeunt.

A plague on 'em both for me, they have made me sweat, to run after 'em. A couple of senceless rascals, that had rather go to dinner, than see this Play out, with a pox to 'em. What comfort has a man to write for such dull rogues? Come Mr.— a — Where are you, Sir? come away quick, quick.

Sir, they are gone to dinner.

Yes, I know the Gentlemen are gone; but I ask for the Players.

Why, an't please your worship, Sir, the Players are gone to dinner too.

How! are the Players gone to Dinner? 'Tis impossible: the Players gone to dinner! I gad, if they are, I'l make 'em know what it is to injure a person that does 'em the honour to write for 'em, and all that. A company of proud, conceited, humorous, cross-grain'd persons, and all that. I gad, I'l make 'em the most contemptible, despicable, inconsiderable persons, and all that, in the whole world, for this trick. I gad, I'l be reveng'd on 'em; I'l sell this Play to the other House.

Nay, good, Sir, don't take away the Book; you'l disappoint the Town, that comes to see it acted here, this afternoon.

That's all one. I must reserve this comfort to my self, my Book and I will go together, we will not part, indeed, Sir. The Town! why, what care I for the Town? I gad, the Town has us'd me as scurvily, as the Players have done: but I'l be reveng'd on them too; I will both Lampoon and print 'em too, I gad. Since they will not admit of my Plays, they shall know what a Satyrist I am. And so farewel to this Stage for ever, I gad. Exit.

What shall we do now?

I am of your opinion. But, before we go, let's see Haynes and Shirley practise the last Dance; for that may serve for another Play.

I'l call 'em: I think they are in the Trying-room.

Come, come; let's go away to dinner.