John. Do with thyself! no; I wonder how thou canst make a shift to hold out at this rate. Bayes. O, devil! I can toil like a horse; only sometimes it makes me melancholy; and then, I vow to gad, for a whole day together, I am not able to say you one good thing, if it were to save my life.

Smi. That we do verily believe, Mr Bayes. Bayes. And that's the only thing, 'egad, which mads me in my amours; for I'll tell you, as a friend, Mr Johnson, my acquaintances, I hear, begin to give out that I am dull: now I am the furthest from it in the world, 'egad; but only, forsooth, they think I am so, because I can say nothing.

John. Pho! pox! That's ill-natur'dly done of 'em.

Bayes. Ay, gad, there's no trusting o' these rogues; but-a-Come, let's sit down.-Look you, sirs, the chief hinge of this play, upon which the whole plot moves and turns, and that causes the variety of all the several accidents, which, you know, are the things in nature that makes up the grand refinement of a play, is, that I suppose two kings of the same place, as, for example, at Brentford; for I love to write familiarly: now the people having the same relations to 'em both, the same affections, the same duty, the same obedience, and all that, are divided amongst themselves in point of devoir and interest, how to behave themselves equally between 'em, the kings differing sometimes in particular, though in the main they agree. (I know not whether I make myself well understood.)

John. I did not observe you, sir; pray say that again.

two ways of making very good prologues. The one is by civility, by insinuation, good language, and all that,-a-in a manner, steal your plaudit from the courtesy of the auditors; the other, by making use of some certain personal things, which may keep a hank upon such censuring persons as cannot otherways, 'egad, in nature, be hindered from being too free with their tongues. To which end, my first prologue is, that I come -out in a long black veil, and a great huge hangman behind me, with a furred cap, and his sword drawn; and there tell 'em plainly, that if, out of good nature, they will not like my play, 'egad, I'll e'en kneel down, and he shall cut my head off. Whereupon they, all clapping,—a—

Smi. Ay, but suppose they don't.

Bayes. Suppose! sir; you may suppose what you please; I have nothing to do with your suppose, sir, nor am not at all mortified at it; not at all, sir, 'egad, not one jot, sir. Suppose, quoth-a! -ha, ha, ha! [Walks away.

John. Pho! pr'ythec, Bayes, don't mind what he says, he is a fellow newly come out of the country; he knows nothing of what's the relish here of the town.

Bayes. If I writ, sir, to please the country, I should have followed the old plain way; but I write for some persons of quality, and peculiar friends of mine, that understand what flame and power in writing is: and they do me right, sir, to approve of what I do.

John. Ay, ay, they will clap, I warrant you; never fear it.

Bayes. I'm sure the design's good, that cannot be denied. And then for language, 'egad, I defy 'em all, in nature, to mend it. Besides, sir, I have printed above a hundred sheets of paper, to insinuate the plot into the boxes, and, withal, have appointed two or three dozen of my friends to be ready in the pit, who, I am sure, will clap, and so the rest, you know, must follow; and then, pray, sir, what becomes of your suppose?

Enter BAYES.

Bayes. Now, gentlemen, I would fain ask your opinion of one thing. I have made a prologue and an epilogue, which may both serve for either; that is, the prologue for the epilogue, or the epilogue for the prologue; (do you mark ?) nay, they may both serve, too, 'egad, for any other play as well as this.

Šmi. Very well. That's indeed artificial.

Bayes. And I would fain ask your judgments, now, which of them would do best for the prologue; for you must know there is in nature but

John. Nay, if the business be so well laid, it cannot miss.

Bayes. I think so, sir, and therefore would chuse this to be the prologue; for if I could engage 'em to clap before they see the play, you know it would be so much the better; because then they were engaged; for let a man write never so well, there are, now-a-days, a sort of persons they call critics, that, 'egad, have no more wit in them than so many hobby-horses; but they'll laugh at you, sir, and find fault, and censure things, that, 'egad, I'm sure they are not able to do themselves: a sort of envious persons, that emulate the glories of persons of parts, and think to build their fame by calumniation of persons, that, e'gad, to my knowledge, of all persons in the world, are, in nature, the persons that do as much despise all that, as- -a—In fine, I'll say no more of 'em.

John. Nay, you have said enough of 'em, in

all conscience, I'm sure more than they'll e'er be able to answer.

Bayes. Why, I'll tell you, sir, sincerely, and bona fide; were it not for the sake of some ingenious persons, and choice females pirits, that have a vnlue for me, I would see 'ein all hang'd, 'egad, see 'em all hang'd, before I would e'er set pen to paper, but let 'em live in ignorance, like ingrates. John. Ay, marry! that were a way to be revenged of 'em indeed; and if I were in your place now, I would do so.

Bayes. No, sir; there are certain ties upon me, that I cannot be disengaged from; otherwise, I would. But pray, sir, how do you like my hangman?

Smi. By my troth, sir, I should like him very well. Bayes. But how do you like it, sir? (for I see you can judge:) would you have it for a prologue, or the epilogue?

John. Faith, sir, 'tis so good, let it e'en serve for both.

Bayes. No, no, that won't do. Besides, I have made another.

John. What other, sir?

Bayes. Why, sir, my other is Thunder and Lightning.

John. That's greater; I'd rather stick to that. Bayes. Do you think so? I'll tell you, then, though there have been many witty prologues written of late, yet I think you'll say this is a non pareillo: I'm sure nobody has hit upon it yet; for here, sir, I make my prologue to be a dialogue; and as in my first, you see, I strive to oblige the auditors by civility, by good nature, good language, and all that; so in this, by the other way, in terrorem, I chuse for the persons Thunder and Lightning. Do you apprehend the conceit ?

John. Pho! pox! then you have it cock sure. They'll be hang'd before they'll dare affront an author that has 'em at that lock.

Bayes. I have made, too, one of the most delicate, dainty similies in the whole world, 'egad, if I knew how to apply it.

Smi. Let's hear it, I pray you.
Bayes. 'Tis an allusion of love.

So boar and sow, when any storm is nigh,
Snuff up, and smell it gathering in the sky;
Boar beckons sow to trot in chesnut groves,
And there consummate their unfinished loves :

SCENE I.

Pensive in mud they wallow all alone,
And snore and gruntle to each other's moan!
How do you like it now? ha!

John. Faith, 'tis extraordinary fine, and very applicable to Thunder and Lightning, methinks, because it speaks of a storm.

Bayes. 'Egad, and so it does, now I think on't. Mr Johnson, I thank you; and I put it in profecto.-Come out, Thunder and Lightning.

Enter THUNDER and LIGHTNING.
Thun. I am the bold Thunder.

Bayes. Mr Cartwright, pr'ythee speak that a little louder, and with a hoarse voice.-I'm the bold Thunder!-Psha! speak it in a voice that thunders it out indeed.—I am the bold Thunder. Thun. I am the bold Thunder. Light. The brisk Lightning I.

Bayes. Nay, but you must be quick and nimble. -The brisk Lightning I.-That's my meaning. Thun. I am the bravest Hector of the sky. Light. And I fair Helen, that made Hector die. Thun. I strike men down.

Light. I fire the town.

Thun. Let critics take heed how they grumble, For then I begin for to rumble.

Light. Let the ladies allow us their graces,
Or I'll blast all the paint on their faces,
And dry up their peter to soot.

Thun. Let the critics look to't.
Light. Let the ladies look to't.
Thun. For Thunder will do't.
Light. For Lightning will shoot.
Thun. I'll give you dash for dash.
Light. I'll give you flash for flash.
Gallants I'll singe your feather.

Thun. I'll Thunder you together.

Both. Look to't, look to't; we'll do't, we'll do't; look to't; we'll do't. [Twice or thrice repeated. [Exeunt ambo. Bayes. There's no more. 'Tis but a flash of a prologue, a droll.

Smi. Yes, 'tis short indeed, but very terrible. Bayes. Ay, when the simile's in, it will do to a miracle, 'egad.-Come, come, begin the play. Enter First Player.

1st Play. Sir, Mr Ivory is not come yet, but he'll be here presently; he's but two doors off. Bayes. Come then, gentlemen, let's go out, and take a pipe of tobacco. [Exeunt.

BAYES, JOHNSON, and SMITH. Bayes. Now, sir, because I'll do nothing here that ever was done before, instead of beginning with a scene that discovers something of the plot, I begin this play with a whisper.

Smi. Umph! very new indeed.

Bayes. Come, take your seats.—Begin, sirs. Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician. Phy. Sir, by your habit, I should guess you to be the gentleman-usher of this sumptuous place.

Gent.-Ush. And, by your gait and fashion, I should almost suspect you rule the healths of both our noble kings, under the notion of physician.

Phy. You hit my function right.
Gent-Ush. And you mine.
Phy. Then let's embrace.
Gent.-Ush. Come.
Phy. Come.

John. Pray, sir, who are those so very civil persons?

Buyes. Why, sir, the gentleman-usher and physician of the two kings of Brentford.

John. But pray, then, how comes it to pass that they know one another no better?

isages. Pho! that's for the better carrying on of the plot.

John. Very well.

Phy. Sir, to conclude.

Si. What, before he begins?

Bayes. No, sir, you must know they had been a-talking of this a pretty while without. Smi. Where? in the tyring-room? Bayes. Why, ay, sir. He's so dull !-Come, speak again.

Phy. Sir, to conclude:-the place you fill has more than amply exacted the talents of a wary pilot; and all these threatening storms, which, like impregnate clouds, hover o'er our heads, will (when they once are grasped but by the eye of reason) melt into fruitful showers of blessings on the people.

Bayes. Pray mark that allegory. Is not that good?

John. Yes, that grasping of a storm with the eye is admirable.

Phu. But yet some rumours great are stirring; and if Lorenzo should prove false, (which none but the gods can tell,) you then, perhaps, would find that[Whispers.

Bayes. Now he whispers.
Gent.-Ush. Alone, do you say?

Phu. No, attended with the noble-[Whispers.
Bayes. Again.

Gent.-Ush. Who? he in gray?
Phy. Yes, and at the head of-

Bayes. Pray mark.

[Whispers.

Gent.-Ush. Then, sir, most certain, 'twill in

Gent,-Ush. Thirdly, and lastly, both he and

Bayes. Now they both whisper.

[Whispers.

[Exeunt whispering. Now, gentlemen, pray tell me true, and without flattery, is not this a very odd beginning of a play?

John. In troth, I think it is, sir. But why two kings of the same place?

Bayes. Why, because it's new; and that's it I aim at. I despise your Johnson and Beaumont, that borrow'd all they writ from nature; I am for fetching it purely out of my own fancy, I. Smi. But what think you of Sir John Suckling?

Bayes. By gad, I am a better poet than he. Smi. Well, sir, but pray why all this whispering? Bayes. Why, sir, (besides that it is new, as I told you before,) because they are supposed to be politicians, and matters of state ought not to be divulged.

Smi. But then, sir, why

Bayes. Sir, if you'll but respite your curiosity till the end of the fifth act, you'll find it a piece of patience not ill recompenc'd.

[Goes to the door. John. How dost thou like this, Frank? Is it not just as I told thee?

Smi. Why, I did never before this see any thing in nature, and all that, (as Mr Bayes says,) so foolish, but I could give some guess at what moved the fop to do it; but this, I confess, does go beyond my reach.

John. It is all alike :-Mr Wintershall has informed me of this play already. And I'll tell thee, Frank, thou shalt not see one scene here worth one farthing, or like any thing thou canst imagine has ever been the practice of the world. And then, when he comes to what he calls good language, it is, as I told thee, very fantastical, most abominably dull, and not one word to the purpose.

Smi. It does surprise me, I'm sure, very much. John. Ay, but it won't do so long; by that time thou hast seen a play or two, that I'll shew thee, thou wilt be pretty well acquainted with this new kind of foppery.

Smi. Pox on't, but there's no pleasure in him; he's too gross a fool to be laugh'd at.

Enter BAYES.

John. I'll swear, Mr Baycs, you have done this scene most admirably, tho', I must tell you, sir, it is a very difficult matter to pen a whisper well.

Bayes. Ay, gentlemen, when you come to write yourselves, o' my word, you'll find it so.

John. Have a care of what you say, Mr Bayes; for Mr Smith there, I assure you, has written a great many fine things already.

Bayes. Has he? i'fackins! Why, then, pray, sir, how do you do, when you write?

Smi. Faith, sir, for the most part, I am in pretty good health.

Bayes. Ay, but I mean, what do you do, when you write?

Smi. I take pen, ink, and paper, and sit down. Bayes. Now, I write standing; that's one thing: and then another thing is, with what dɔ you prepare yourself?

Smi. Prepare myself! what the devil does the fool mean?

Bayes. Why, I'll tell you now what I do. If I am to write familiar things, as sonnets to Armida, and the like, I make use of stew'd prunes only; but when I have a grand design in hand, I ever take physic, and let blood; for when you would have pure swiftness of thought, and fiery flights of fancy, you must have a care of the pensive part in fine, you must purge the belly.

Enter the two Kings, hand in hand. Bayes. Oh! these are now the two kings of Brentford: take notice of their style; 'twas never yet upon the stage; but, if you like it, I could make a shift, perhaps, to shew you a whole play, writ all just so.

1st King. Did you observe their whispers, brother king?

24 King. I did, and heard, besides, a grave bird sing,

That they intend, sweetheart, to play us pranks. Bayes. This is, now, familiar; because they are both persons of the same quality.

Smi. 'Sdeath! this would make a man speak
1st King. If that design appears,

I'll lug them by the ears,
Until I make 'em crack.

2d King. And so will I, i'fack.
1st King. You must begin, mon foi.
2d King. Sweet sir, purdonnez moi.

Bayes. Mark that: I make 'em both speak French, to shew their breeding.

John. O, 'tis extraordinary fine!

2d King. Then, spite of fate, we'll thus combined stand,

And, like true brothers, walk still hand in hand. [Exeunt Reges.

John. This is a majestic scene indeed. Bayes. Ay, 'tis a crust, a lasting crust or your rogue critics, 'egad; I would fain see the proudest of 'em all but dare to nibble at this; 'egad, if they do, this shall rub their gums for 'em, I promise you. It was I, you must know, that have written a whole play just in this very same style: it was never acted yet.

Bayes. Rude! Ay, 'egad, they are the rudest, uncivilest persons, and all that, in the whole world, 'egad; 'egad, there's no living with 'em : I have written, Mr Johnson, I do verily believe, a whole cart-load of things, every whit as good as this, and yet, I vow to gad, these insolent rascals have turn'd'em all back upon my hands again. John. Strange fellows indeed!

Smi. But pray, Mr Bayes, how came these two kings to know of this whisper; for, as I remember, they were not at it?

Bayes. No, but that's the actors' fault, and not mine; for the two kings should (a pox take 'em!) have popp'd both their heads in at the door, just as the other went off.

Smi. That, indeed, would ha' done it.

Bayes. Done it! ay, 'egad, these fellows are able to spoil the best things in Christendom. I'll tell you, Mr Johnson, I vow to gad, I have been so highly disobliged by the peremptoriness of these fellows, that I am resolv'd hereafter to bend my thoughts wholly for the service of the nursery, and mump your proud players, 'egad. --So, now Prince Pretty man comes in, and falls asleep, making love to his mistress, which, you know, was a grand intrigue in a late play, written by a very honest gentleman,-by a knight.

SCENE III.

Enter Prince PRETTYMAN.

Pret. How strange a captive am I grown of late! Shall I accuse my love, or blame my fate? My love I cannot, that is too divine, And against Fate what mortal dares repine?

Enter CLORIS.

But here she comes.

Sure 'tis some blazing comet! Is it not?

[Lies down. Bayes. Blazing comet! mark that; 'egad, very fine!

Pret. But I am so surpris'd with sleep, I cannot speak the rest. [Sleeps.

Bayes. Does not that now surprise you,-to fall asleep in the nick? His spirits exhale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and swop falls asleep, as you see.-Now, here she must make a simile.

Smi. Where's the necessity of that, Mr Bayes? Bayes. Because she's surpris'd. That's a general rule; you must ever make a simile when you are surpris'd; 'tis a new way of writing.

Clo. As some tall pine, which we on Etna find T'have stood the rage of many a boist'rous wind, Feeling withou that flames within do play, Which would consume his root and sap away, He spreads his worsted arms unto the skies, Silently grieves, all pale, repines, and dies: So, shrouded up, your bright eye disappears. Break forth, bright scorching sun, and dry my tears! [Exit. John. Mr Bayes, methinks this simile wants a little application too.

Bayes. No, faith, for it alludes to passion, to consuming, to dying, and all that, which, you know, are the natural effects of an amour. But I'm afraid this scene has made you sad; for, 1 must confess, when I writ it, I wept myself.

Smi. No, truly, sir; my spirits are almost exhal'd too, and I am likelier to fall asleep.

Prince PRETTYMAN starts up, and says— It is resolv'd.

Bayes. That's all.

[Exit.

Smi. Mr Bayes, may one be so bold as to ask you one question now, and you not be angry?

Bayes. O Lord, sir, you may ask me any thing, what you please; I vow to gad, you do me a great deal of honour; you do not know me if you say that, sir.

Smi. Then, pray, sir, what is that this prince here has resolved in his sleep?

Bayes. Why, I must confess, that question is well enough ask'd for one that is not acquainted with this new way of writing: but you must know, sir, that, to out-do all my fellow-writers, whereas they keep their intrigo secret till the very last scene, before the dance, I, now, sir, (do you mark?)-a

Smi. Begin the play, and end it, without ever opening the plot at all?

Bayes. I do so; that's the very plain troth on't, ha, ha, ha! I do, 'egad. If they cannot find it out themselves, e'en let 'em alone for Bayes, I warrant you. But here, now, is a scene of business; pray observe it; for I dare say you'll think it no unwise discourse this, nor ill argued. To tell you true, 'tis a discourse I overheard once betwixt two grand, sober, governing persons.

SCENE IV.

Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician. Gent.-Ush. Come, sir, let's state the matter of fact, and lay our heads together.

Phy. Right, lay our heads together. I love to be merry sometimes, but when knotty points come, I lay my head close to it, with a snuff-box in my hand, and then I fegue it away, i’'faith.

Bayes. I do just so, 'egad, always. Gent.-Ush. The grand question is, whether they heard us whisper? which I divide thus.

Phy. Yes, it must be divided so, indeed. Smi. That's very complaisant, I swear, Mr Bayes, to be of another man's opinion, before he knows what it is.

Bayes. Nay, I bring in none here but wellbred persons, I assure you.

Gent.-Ush. I divide the question into-when they heard, what they heard, and whether they heard or no.

John. Most admirably divided, I swear!

Gent.-Ush. As to the when, you say just now; so that is answered: then, as for what, why, what answers itself; for what could they hear, but what we talk'd of? So that, naturally, and of necessity, we come to the last question, viz. whether they heard or no?

Smi. This is a very wise scene, Mr Bayes. Bayes. Ay, you have it right; they are both politicians.

Gent.-Ush. Pray then, to proceed in method, let me ask you that question.

Phy. No, you'll answer better, pray let me ask it you.

Gent.-Ush. Your will must be a law.

Phy. Come then, what is't I must ask? Sini. This politician, I perceive, Mr Bayes, has somewhat a short memory.

Bayes. Why, sir, you must know, that t'other is the main politician, and this is but his pupil. Gent. Ush. You must ask me whether they heard us whisper.

Phy. Well, I do so.

Gent.-Ush. Say it then.

Smi. Hey-day! here's the bravest work that ever I saw.

John. This is mighty methodical!

Bayes. Ay, sir, that's the way, 'tis the way of art; there is no other way, 'egad, in business. Phy. Did they hear us whisper?

Gent.-Ush. Why, truly, I cann't tell; there's much to be said upon the word whisper:-to whisper in Latin is susurrare, which is as much as to say, to speak softly; now, if they heard us speak softly, they heard us whisper; but then comes in the quomodo, the how, how did they hear us whisper? Why, as to that, there are two ways, the one by chance or accident, the other on purpose; that is, with design to hear us whisper.

Phy. Nay, if they heard us that way, I'll never give 'em physic more.

Gent.-Ush. Nor I e'er more will walk abroad before 'em.

Bayes. Pray mark this; for a great deal depends upon it, towards the latter end of the play. Smi. I suppose that's the reason why you brought in this scene, Mr Bayes.

Bayes. Partly it was, sir; but I confess I was not unwilling, besides, to shew the world a pattern, here, how men should talk of business.

John. You have done it exceeding well indeed. Bayes. Yes, I think this will do.

Phy. Well, if they heard us whisper, they'il turn us out, and nobody else will take us. Smi. Not for politicians, I dare answer for it. Phy. Let's then no more ourselves in vain be

moan:

We are not safe until we them unthrone.
Gent.-Ush. 'Tis right:

And, since occasion now seems debonair,
I'll seize on this, and you shall take that chair.
[They draw their swords, and sit in the two great
chairs upon the stage.

Bayes. There's, now, an odd surprise; the whole state's turn'd quite topsy-turvy, without any pother or stir in the whole world, 'egad.

John. A very silent change of government, truly, as ever I heard of.

Bayes. It is so. And yet you shall see me bring 'em in again, by and by, in as odd a way every jot. [The usurpers march out, flourishing their swords.