University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

Enter Bayes, and Gentlemen, as before.
Bayes.

Come, Gentlemen, now you shall have my
t'other Walk, and so we'll conclude honourably;
which Walk I must tell ye, before-hand,
will cause some Alterations in
your Tempers, for 'twill raise both Terrour and Pity, the
two great Incidents of a good Tragedy.

John.

Neither in me, I'll give my word before-hand.

Bayes.

Oh! I'll venture it—Come, where's Mischief-plotter,
where's Thimblessa?—The Flask of Poison I'm
sure is order'd now. And Fleabitten—where's she now?—
Oh here they are—pray speak.

Enter Thimblessa and Fleabitten.
Thimb.
Like sullen Spider in his Web, that lies
Watching how he may catch and poison Flies:
So have I waited for this Interview.
You told me, when we lately eas'd our Bosoms,
Of a rare Drugg was given you by a Wizzard,
That would outdo ev'n Hecate's Composition,
To rid us from those Letts of hopeful Greatness,
And long'd for Love—give—give it me with Speed,
I long to be in Action.

Bayes.
Blank Verse, observe, by way of Variety;

Flea.
'Tis forth coming—and of so mortal, and so fell a Nature,
'Twill seise on all the innate Intellects,
As soon as taken down.

Thimb.
Oonz—let me have it.

John.

Oh rare Maudlin—Sure this Gentlewoman has taken
another sort of Dose—by her swearing.

Smith.

She's in a plaguy Passion, you must suppose.

Chant.

Oh—Love and Ambition work in her like Aquafortis.

Bayes.

Passion—why the subtle Creature has found out
now, that the two Queens, as well as Parthenope, are in
Love with her Prince. Zoons, would not that make one
Swear? besides, you know, she's but of poor Extraction, a
Sempstress.

Chant.
Nay, then, she may swear as she pleases.

John.
Oh—like any drunken Carter in Thames-street.

Thimb.
Deliver me the hellish Cordial straight;
I'll do the Deed; this is the Hand of Fate:
Keep you the Secret close, we'll both be great.

[Exeunt.
Chant.

Why these are two dreadful Creatures, indeed,
Mr. Bayes.

Bayes.

Hum—Why, Sir, it may be they are, and it
may be they are not—Come, proceed.

Enter Armorillis and Parthenope.
Parth.

Is Prettiman then false—Oh dismal Fate:

Arm.

Are all my Hopes to be a Queen, too late?

[Bayes mimicks 'em.
Parth.

I'm sick and tortur'd with the horrid News.

Arm.

Ambition, Fever-like, my Life pursues.

Parth.

Oh, that a Cordial some kind God would give!

Arm.

A Crown's the only Cordial I would have.

Bayes.

Plaguy restless, damnably uneasy, at the Turn of
State: Here comes the two Queens—they're fall'n very sick too.

John.

Of a Fever, Sir!

Bayes.

A Fever, Sir,—O Lord! O Lord! there he
is agen—D'ye hear, Gentlemen, the Devil take him, he
puzzles me so, I don't know what I do or say.

Smith.

Nay, prithee, Johnson, this is barbarous.

Chant.

At the end of a Play, too, when Business comes
on thick.

Bayes.

No, let him go on, I shall have it again in spite of
him. A Fever!—no, Sir, they are sick for fear of being beheaded;
you may well think they're in some Danger.—Ha,
ha, ha; poor Creature, he has quite forgot what's past.—
Come, pray come in, Queens—and very sick, d'ye hear?

Enter Queens.
1 Queen.
No Comfort yet, oh! who will be so kind
To ease my fearful Sickness of the Mind?
As th'tim'rous Hare that in the open Grounds
Close in her Form, hears the ill-boding Hounds,
So every Word brings Fear, and Fear my Breast surrounds.

Bayes.
And Fear my Breast surrounds—in Verse again.
Sad, but smooth as the downy plumage Swans do wear.

[Repeating.
John.
Or Storm opposing Fur of Russian Bear.

Bayes.
Ay, what you will, Sir; what you will—go on.

Smith., Chant.
Ha, ha, ha.

2 Queen.
Guilt's fulsom Diet do's my Stomach pall,
And ah! to whom shall I for Succour call,
That can with Cordial Skill my Pain asswage,
And quell my Royal angry Husband's Rage?

Bayes.
Now mind.

Enter Thimblessa with a Flask.
Thim.
They're here, and all, as to my Purpose, met
Like Partridge-Covey, ready for the Net;
[Aside.
I come, great Queens, to pity your fall'n State.

[To them.
1 Queen.
What News abroad?

2 Queen.
What says the Voice of Fate?

Thim.
The King do's still persist in Rage and Hate;
Sharp Knives, and Axes, and such Butcher's Words,
Are all the Matter their Discourse affords.

1 Queen.
I may well believe we are undone.

2 Queen.
There is, alas! no way for us but one.

Bayes.

No way for us but one. [Mimicking.]
Hold, hold,
now supposing her self in fear of Execution, and resolving
to suffer mildly, here must be a topping Simile.

Smith.

Is that absolutely necessary, Sir?

Bayes.

Yes, Sir, 'tis always counted a mighty Ornament;
a noted Bard lately, at the end of an Act, to embellish the
Work, made his Heroine compare her self to a Bull just going
to be knock'd o'th' Head.—Now mine here, I think,
is a more soft and natural Fancy by much; for I compare
my Queen, to shew her Humility, to a meek, lowly Country
Cook-maid, who is just designing to stick a Pig.

John.
A Pig, that's lowly and condescending indeed.

Bayes
reads.
Thus do's the tuneful Pig in Fotis's Arms.

Smith.
The tuneful Pig!

Bayes.
Ay, Sir, with Wick, Wick, Wick, deplore ensuing Harms;
Mouth stop'd, and Limbs extended snowy white,
Like tender Virgin on her Bridal Night;
Yield to the Knife which thro' its Gullet goes,
Whilst gushing Purple down the Bowl exuberantly flows.
Ah, Gadzooks, match that Simile, Mr. Critick, if you can.

Smith.

Nay, Faith, Johnson, here I think Mr. Bayes has
Nonplus'd ye.

Omnes.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Bayes.

Nonplus'd 'em, ha, ha, ha.—Come, go on.

Parth.

But of the Princes what do's Fame relate?

Thim.

There's Gibbets rais'd for them at the Court Gate.

Bayes.

A bloody Character hers.—You must know, as
these for Pity, so I made hers to cause Terror; besides, being
all her Rivals, the subtle Queen tells this Lye, that so by
driving 'em to Despair, she may make 'em readier for her
Revenge.

1 Queen.
What's to be done?

2 Queen.
Since of all Hope bereft?

Thim.
Take Heart, oh Queens, some Comfort yet is left.
[Shews the Flask.
This happy Flask a Cordial Draught contains,
Compos'd to ease th'afflicted of their Pains:
Not Gallick Nantz, nor fam'd Hibernian Juice,
Nor what the noble Clary do's produce,
Can half so much revive.—Drink and don't spare,
It is the sovereign Antidote of Care.

[Gives it the 1s t Queen.
1 Queen.
Thou'rt kind—I'll try—'tis good.

[Drinks and gives it the 2d Queen.
2 Queen.
None better found.

[Drinks and gives it Arm.
Arm.
Most excellent.

[Gives it Parthenope.
Parth.
Divine,—let it go round.

[All drink.
Bayes.

If this is not a barbarous Devil, I don't know
where you will find one.—This Scene too will make
some People be afraid of being too eager for a Dram of the
Bottle.

Thim.
So, now to your Repose with Pleasure go,
[Exeunt all but Thimblessa.
What Comforts will attend, you soon will know.

'Tis done to my Wish, and I shall fear none of these Rivals
hereafter.—Now for my t'other Fool, Fleabitten; to stop
her Tale-telling I'll go to the Kings and accuse her presently.

The Flask they have with 'em, which being known to be
hers, will do her Business effectually.

[Exit.
Chant.

Oh! this Catastrophe will be too bloody, Mr.
Bayes.

Bayes.

This, nay there's more yet.—The Princes are to
take the same Dose too.—Come, quick, Prince Volcius;
pray, Sir, come and poyson your self.

Enter Princes.
P. Vol.
What have they done, ye Gods! what is't I see!

P. Pret.
Oh! dreadful Sight! dead my Parthenope!
[They go in and bring out the Flask.
'Tis so, and done by this, of which I'm th'Cause.

P. Vol.
Since too, we've lost the Crown, why do we Pause?
Let's follow strait to the Elisian Shade.

P. Prett.
Which was for all such wretched Lovers made.

[They drink and Exeunt.
Smith.
Oh! horrible.

Bayes.

Nay prithee, dear Smith, have Patience. I know
these tragick Actions must needs touch thee, as they will the
rest of the Audience; but prithee let the Play conclude. I
tell thee still thou hast not my Head.—Come, now draw
the dead Scene there, and shew them all, and then enter the
two Kings hastily.

Scene draws, and the two Queens, Prince Volcius, Prince Prettiman, Armorillis and Parthenope, appear sitting in Chairs all a-row, as dead.

So; now I'll be bold to say, this excels the most famous
dead Scene that ever was shewn in Tragedy.

Enter Kings, with Thimblessa and Fleabitten guarded.
1 King.
Oh! baleful Sight; oh! wretched Royalty,
That cannot this amend, and yet can see.

2 King.
We were resolv'd Love shou'd again take place,
And all be pardon'd by an Act of Grace.

1 King.
Faithful Thimblessa, thy Preferment shall
Equal thy Loyalty, which we extol.

2 King.
But for this bloody Trait'ress—let her feel
The sharpest Pangs on the tormenting Wheel.

Flea.
Barbarian! will you serve me thus?

[To Thimblessa.
Thim.
Lay hold, and bind her.

[The Guards are going to bind her.
Flea.
Nay then, I'll play my Card.
Kings—they are all alive, take off your Guard.

Both Kings.
Alive,—how can that be?

Smith.
Ay, how indeed?
I'm sure we saw 'em poyson themselves fairly.

John.
Ay, and they must be dead too, what a Pox!

Bayes.

Oh! you shall see that presently.—D'ye hear, all
of ye, are ye dead or no?

Omnes.

No, no.

Bayes.

Look'e there, I hope you'll take their Words.

Chant.

Well; but how is this natural, Mr. Bayes?

Bayes.

Why thus, Sir; I have told ye agen and agen, that
the Audience, as well as your selves, shall always be surpriz'd
with my Plots; so what you think will end one way,
I ever design another: And this, Sir, I affirm, no Poet
breathing has Wit enough to do but my self.

Smith.

Ay, but a little plainer, pray, Mr. Bayes.

Bayes.

Why then plainly, you must know, Sir, that this
Fleabitten, a better Head-piece than t'other, and a great deal
honester, finding the vicious and vindictive Nature of Thimblessa,
resolv'd to try her by a piece of Cunning; and so told
her she had that mortal Poyson, already mention'd, which
she, wanting it to dispatch her Rivals, greedily begs, and t'other
as readily seems to grant, but instead of it only gives her
a Flask fill'd with Sack, with an Opiate in't, which in few
Minutes would lose its quality, and render 'em as well as
ever.—And now, pray, Sir, have you my Head or no?—
Ha, ha, ha.—Go on, dear Fleabitten.

Smith.

This is better than I expected, Johnson.

Flea.

Within ten Minutes she my Guilt shall clear, and
prove who did the Deed.

Kings.

Then seize on her.

[Guards go to seize her, and she turns mad and raves
Thim.

Burn, burn my Chariot.

Bayes.

See, see another Turn, her Guilt has crack'd her
Brain, and she runs mad o'th' sudden.

Thim.
Burn, burn my Chariot, I am Phaeton,
I guide the flaming Horses of the Sun;
Or rather, I'm his Spouse—Cynthia the Moon:
The Stars are all my Pages, see how they glitter,
Each in his Golden Coat made up of Atoms.
Their Food Coffee-Berries scorch'd by Lightning,
That burns the Souls of Monarchs into Crust;
Mingling in melted Vows instead of Water.
You Kings are my Gallants.—Come let's to bed;
But you're so old—you cough, and snore, and spit.
Royalty's rotten.—Give me sound Heart of Oak.
[Looking on P. Prettiman.

I shake your Leaves off. [Shakes 'em.]
But there's a Pine, hah.
Oh, ye Gods!—he's crooked, grow straight, for Shame;
stand firmly like a Cedar—I heard him breathe, he plays Dogsleep
to balk me.—If so, I'll dive and get a Lobster's Claw,
alive I'll get one; and so pinch his Nose, I'll make him roar
'till he leave off dissembling.—Ha, ha, ha, ha, he's mounting,
and Vapour like, see he's exhal'd on high:—I'll follow
and pursue him through the Sky.

Ride on a Whirlwind, make proud Jove obey:
I come, I come, ye Clods of Earth, give way.

[Rushes thro' the Guards, throws some down and Exit.
Bayes.

Oh! rarely acted, finely perform'd, egad, Mrs.—
This, Gentlemen, is a Trick, you must know, often us'd by
some very great Authors; who when they don't know what
to do with a Character in their Plays, they make it, to amuse
the Audience, run stark mad; which do's the Business rarely.
—But now for their Majesties Act of Grace in Conclusion,
and then all shall end merrily.

John.
So, that's well.

1 King.
If Goddess Juno would my Spouse restore,
I would forgive, and doat on her once more.

2 King.
And I be fonder than I was before.

1 King.
These Princes, tho' disloyal, pardon too,
And in a friendly Dance new Joys pursue.

Flea.
Sound Musick there, see, they begin to wake.

The Tune of a Dance is plaid, the first Queen yawns, rises slowly up, makes a Curtesy, and takes the first King, who smiling kisses it.
1 Queen.
A Dance—nay then this Hand I humbly take.

2 Queen.
I this, and hope I shall Atonement make.

[Takes the second King's Hand.
P. Vol.
Then this is mine.

[Takes Armorillis.
Arm.
This mine.

P. Pret.
This mine.

[Takes Parthenope.
Parth.
This mine.

Omnes.
And all with Thanks in the Diversion join.

Here they all Dance with hugging and kissing, inspir'd by Cupid and Venus descending from the Clouds.
Bayes.

Now here's the finest Dance in the World—
There's for ye now, egad, I can't forbear saluting 'em my
self in this Dance; and to make 'em finish the Play in Joy
and Peace, is beyond all other Conclusions in the World,
I think.

John.

Be the rest of the Play what it will, the Conclusion
of it, by Jove, is good.—Hark'e, Friend, [To a Scene-keeper.]

prithee try if thou can'st get me a Dram of something.

Smith.

I can't conclude sure 'till that Gentlewoman
[Fleabitten]
is rewarded.

Chant.

Ay, that indeed must be thought on, and then all's
in order.

Bayes.

Why then she shall be rewarded, Sir, if you'll have
Patience. The Queens, you see, are just going to complement
her; look'e there, [The Queens go and make Curtesies,

and Whisper Fleabitten.]
she's happier than the Poet is, she's
to have a considerable Place at Court.

John.

What, without being sent to learn Spanish?

Bayes.

Ay, Sir, without being sent to learn Spanish, good
Mr. Biter; are you let into that Secret!—Well, thus far
I think we are right.—Now for the last vocal Entertainment,
and then you're welcome, Gentlemen.

John.

Egad, the Entertainment must stay for me, my Stomach
wambles so, I must go and look after my Dram.

Smith.

Why Faith, I think a Dram, as he says, will be
no false Latin, and then we'll come and hear the Conclusion.

Bayes.

Let 'em go, the Jest is coming to Discovery. [Exit

Johnson and Smith]
And now we are alone, my Friend, I
give ye Thanks for your Share in't.

Chant.

I think I han't been wanting to humour Matters as
you order'd me; and if your comical Action, lately rehears'd,
has been a Bite upon our Criticks, Smith and Johnson yonder,
but especially the last, I shall find my self very well diverted
with the Pleasure of turning the Jest upon him; not

only by shewing your superior Talent of Understanding,
which he now very much doubts; but also by their finding
the Drama here, which he has all along ridicul'd, to be essentially
proper in its self, and writ on purpose in this manner
for the Town's Diversion.

Bayes.

The ill Nature of Criticism is grown to so monstrous
a Degree, and the Wits of that kind are so plung'd in
their own Self-opinions, that for the mere sake of condemning
a whole Piece, they shall negligently overlook several
Beauties in it that deserve Applause; of this inveterate kind
is Johnson, whom, by ridiculing my self in Action, I and
my Piece here have banter'd all this while; and who, for all
his boasted Learning and Judgment, do's not enter into the
Merit of my Cause.

Chant.

There lies the Marrow of the Jest, I shall laugh at
him egregiously when we bring him to own his Mistake; I
have lent him the Book you gave me, your Remarks on human
Learning.

Bayes.

I heard so, and that it has the Luck even to controul
his Criticism, for they say he commends it to the
Skies.

Chant.

He's ravisht with't, calls it, The Wonderful;—
swears Aristotle and Pliny were mere Dunces to the Author
of that, which makes our Design the more pleasant still.

Bayes.

Through all my Piece, hitherto, it has seem'd a
Banter upon Poets and Poetry; now 'tis high time to let the
Satyr turn upon the Criticks, and by proving the subject Matter
only spurious, shew the Excellence of that charming Mystery,
and curb the Rashness of those who suppose themselves
Judges of Wit and Writings, and yet in reality come
very short of the Matter: But here they are again,—now for
the Musick, and then we shall hear the Sentence.—Come,
Gentlemen.

Enter Johnson and Smith.

And now to entertain you, Sir, particularly, [To Johnson.]

I have contriv'd another Opera Rarity. It has always
been a great Beauty in 'em to get a Lyon, or a Bear
in, to put one of the chief Actors in Distress; who being very
outragious upon the poor Fellow that was cover'd in the
Monster's Shape, and to shew his extreme Valour, has often
beat and bruised him most unmercifully. Now to shew
a little more Decency, and save the Scene-keeper, who generally

had not above half a Crown a time for having his
Bones broke, I have contriv'd something, for I confess I
would have a Lyon if possible.

Smith.

Oh! nothing more natural in an Opera than a Lyon,
Mr. Bayes.

John.

Ay, or the Creature that goes about with long Ears
would do very well.

Chant.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Bayes.

Well, well, for all that, this is purposely presented
to your Parts, Faith, Mr. Johnson. Now my Contrivance
is this,—I bring my Hero, who must be a fine Singer,
you must know, upon the Stage; the seeming Lyon attacks
him;—but here's the Turn now—the Opposer is only a Scotch
Conjurer, or Magician, who puts himself into a Lyon's
Shape to destroy the Hero, who is one of King George's Officers,
and was singing in a Wood near the Camp there;
but hearing his melodious and delicate Trillo, is so charm'd,
that after two or three Flourishes and slight Buffets receiv'd,
he sings the Bass part in a Dialogue with him, and afterwards
a Scotch Song; where giving him the Victory, he saves the
Breath of the one, and the Bones of the other—Ha, ha, ha.

Smith.

Admirably well contriv'd, Sir.

Bayes.

Well, if you like it, Gentlemen, I'll crowd it
somewhere amongst the rest. Come, enter Hero, his Sword
drawn for the Combat, and let the Lyon be ready to answer
and sing the Scotch Song.

Enter Hero and Lyon.
Hero
sings in Recitative.
Alas, alas, alas, what ails me,
Methinks my Strength and Courage fails me;
'Tis so, and if Fate don't restore me,
This horrid Monster may devour me:
Yet I've a Musick Spell, a Sybil gave me,
Is Sovereign, and perhaps may save me.
Air.
Oh! Musick that with moving Art,
Inspires the Brain and charms the Heart,
In gentle Numbers now infuse
Such Strains to the harmonious Muse,
As may with Joy to Mortals shew
All they can prove Divine below.

Lyon
sings in Recitative.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, I've lost all Power.

Bayes.

Egad, so methinks; is that like the roar of a Lyon,
Sir? You should roar out, Oh, oh, as if you were to
be heard all over the Forest.—Prithee, Jack what d'ye call'm,
do't agen, for Shame.

Lyon.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, I've lost all Power,
My Charm's out-done, and at this Hour
I cannot leap, nor lash, nor roar.

Hero.
What art thou, in the name of Wonder,
With Lyon Shape, and Voice of Thunder?
Some grand Inchanter's Fiend, or what;
A Beast, a Devil, or a Scot?

Lyon.
Hear but my Air
All will appear.

Sings a Scotch Song.

Hero
in Recitative.
Victoria, Victoria; vive le Roy, vive le Roy; Victoria.
Since Fate alone this Deed has done,
I must Affairs to Orders bring;
And wish the King's vile Enemies,
That ever dare against him rise
All ty'd in such a String.
[Fetches a Cord and puts about the Lyon's Neck.
Air.
Just as my Musick conquer'd thee,
So will the King each Enemy,
'Twill be but vain opposing:
Ye ragged Loons that won't obey,
And have in Hopes a smiling Day,
'Ware, 'ware the fatal closing.

[Leads out the Lyon by the Halter.
Bayes.

So, so; why there's the Lyon conquer'd now, and
the Ladies not frighted at all with a bloody Battle. The
rest of the Entertainment, Gentlemen, are three several sorts
of Humourists that make their Court to a Lady; who is so
modest she receives all with Indifference. The first is an honest
jolly Country Gentleman, that she refuses for Toping,
and who resolves not to leave his Bottle for any Beauty in
Christendom.

Enter Gentlemen.
SONG here.

Smith.

Ha, ha, ha,—This is a very jolly Fellow indeed.

Bayes.

Well, now, Gentlemen, you shall see the Lady
and her most favour'd Gallant, who is a little upon the
Grumble—You shall hear. Come, Courtier like, a fine Air
now.

Enter well Drest Gentleman and Lady.
He sings.

Bayes.

Well said, you see he deals like a Man of Honour,
he tells her his Mind—But now you shall hear what
the Lady says.

Smith.

Ay that, pray, Sir.

Lady sings.

Bayes.

There, there; ha, ha, ha, I think she has given
him his own agen—with Interest, egad.

Chant.

She's even with him—indeed, Sir, that must be
owned.

John.

Ay, very well, so this is the last, is it?

Bayes.

No, Sir, not yet—The Lady is not so ill belov'd—
but there's a mad Fool that follows her, amongst the
rest,—And now prepare your selves—for I intend to shew
the very Quintiscence of Humour that can be in Song—
Come, dear, dear, Mr. a—Enter, and as mad as a March
Hare, be sure.

Enter Madman.
Sings.
From deep Avernus, which some call the Grave,
Blasted with Care and Pain,
By scornful Beauty slain,
O'er Lethe's Flood, and many a horrid Wave,
I now ascend to Plains of Light again.
I'll mount where the Celestial Signs
Are all in lofty Skies appearing,
Where Musick every Sphere refines,
And makes it worth Apollo's hearing.
Can be my dear;
I've rang'd, I've sought her, far and near!
My Flames can tell,
She's not in Hell,
And too Divine,
On Earth to shine:
No, no, 'tis so, she must be there.
And see where Berenice is frowning,
Her brown dishevel'd Locks disowning;
When she displays her Silver Hair,
And whilst her Brow's divinely fair,
Bright Ariadne too is crowning,
She sits in State, in Casiopea's Chair.
Oh, help, ye Powers, that Lovers sway,
Help, help, some lovesick God;
Her lovely Bosom shews the milky way,
And we can never, never miss the Road.
The Giants of old,
Made with Deities bold,
Set Hills upon Hills,
By their Force and their Skills:
My Zeal is as strong,
And I'll do so e'er long,
On high Penmen-mawr,
Raise like Babel a Tower.
But if human Art, cannot add to my Force,
I'll fly like a Dove, by a far better Course;
For my Friends the mad Muses will lend me their Horse.
But if, &c.

Bayes.

Ah, mighty, mighty,—well, my dear Friend,
go, go, prithee make hast in, and get one of the young Girls
to rub ye down, for thou art in a plaguy Sweat, I find;
go, go. Well, Gentlemen, what say ye, is not this conclusion
fine?

[Exit Madman.
Chant.

Very entertaining, certainly, Mr. Bayes.

Smith.

Ay, ay,—the Songs are all, no doubt on't, very
well.

Bayes.

And now, pray, Sir, your Judgment of the whole
candidly.

John.

Why, Sir, as to the Musical part, I have little to carp
at; but if you ask my Opinion candidly of the whole, I must
be so free to tell ye,—that you design some Scenes here for
serious Tragedy, that are strange stuff to me.

Smith.

There wants, indeed, a little Elevation, Mr. Bayes,
Ha, ha, ha.

Bayes.

Bite: Ha, ha, ha, faith, you shall give me leave
now, Sir, to laugh in my turn; Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Chant.

And I too, faith,—Ha, ha, ha, ha,—for with your
Severity's Leave, my Friend Critick, he can shew very sound
Reasons for what is past: And I have been all along concern'd
in the Secret, to put the Trick upon ye, and brought
ye hither this Morning for that Design. In short, the piece
was writ thus humourously on purpose; and what you suppos'd
intended serious Tragedy was done in ridicule to banter
the Criticks; so faith Johnson your censorious Sword has
had no edge to wound any thing here, if you consider wisely
of the matter.

John.

Nay, if 'tis really so, I confess Smith and I are
both banter'd; but however, I can't help saying, a Poet for
this sort of writing cannot be preferr'd by me; if he could
come up to such a thing as this now [pulls out a Book]

Remarks on human Learning, if he could write such a Book
instead of Criticising, I should adore him.

Chant.

Why then to confound that inveterate Humour of
thine, all at once know, that this individual Person is the
very worthy Author of that Book you value so, and now I
hope you will knock under.

John.

Why art thou in earnest—Did you write this Book,
Sir?—

Bayes.

If it could speak, Sir, I believe it would answer in
the affirmative.

John.

Why then, Sir, with much Veneration, and more
Shame, for my Mistake of you and your Writings, I humbeg
your Pardon; and for your sake resolve hereafter to
judge of Authors, and each particular Genius, with more
Candor than formerly. And, Sir, to make some amends, I
do also confess, that there is a natural Self-Conceit, in most
that would be thought Criticks, that infinitely sway above
their Design of doing Justice, which has made me disallow
several sprightly Thoughts and Fancies, especially in your
vocal Part: To conclude, I am now of another Opinion,
and shall be proud of your instructive Conversation.

Smith.

And I, Sir; you having now ingeniously taught
us to acknowledge that we have been severe upon our selves,
not you all this while, and only begging your comical Epilogue,
which you gave us a hint of, we desire to begin a
strict Obligation of Friendship over a Bottle.

Bayes.

With all my Heart, Gentlemen.

Chant.

Then, Johnson, you can't help confessing the Musical
Part here is well enough?

John.

Yes, for English, but I could not help thinking it
was not elevate, like the Italian Artists: Oh! one Seraphick
Trillo of the Signiors. I like th'insipid Town Thought beyond—

Chant.

Beyond all the good Sense in the World, Hah!

Bayes.

Now, Gentlemen, you must know, that this Epilogue
has a Whim in't, as well as the Prologue, it is a Trialogue,
and to be perform'd between Sol, Rain, and Boreas.

Smith.

Oh! for Heaven's sake let's have it.

Bayes.

On Condition that you will henceforth be reconcil'd
to Plays and Stage-Poetry, you shall—always considering
the Design is for specular Instruction, as I could shew
you in a Piece of my own; but since that looks like Vanity,
I will borrow a Piece of a Country Friend of my Acquaintance,
and conclude with a Parallel.