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Johns. 'Tis a sad fate, I must confess: but you write on still?
Bayes. Write on? I, I gad, I warrant you. 'Tis not their talk shall stop me: if they catch me at that lock, I'l give 'em leave to hang me. As long as I know my things to be good, what care I what they say? What, they are gone, and forgot the Song!
Smi. They have done very well, methinks, here's no need of one.
Bayes. Alack, Sir, you know nothing: you must ever interlard your Plays with Songs, Ghosts and Idols, if you mean to ——— a ———
Johns. Pit, Box and Gallery, Mr. Bayes.
Bayes. I gad, Sir, and you have nick'd it. Hark you, Mr. Johnson, you know I don't flatter, a gad, you have a great deal of Wit.
Johns. O Lord, Sir, you do me too much honour.
Bayes. Nay, nay, come, come, Mr. Johnson, Ifacks this must not be said, amongst us that have it. I know you have wit by the judgement you make of this Play; for that's the measure I go by: my Play is my Touch-stone. When a man tells me such a one is a person of parts; is he so, say I? what do I do, but bring him presently to see this Play: If he likes it. I know what to think of him; if not, your most humble Servant, Sir, I'l no more of him upon my word, I thank you. I am Clara voyant, a gad. Now here we go on to our business.
SCÆNA II.
Enter the two Usurpers, hand in hand.
Ush.But what's become of Volscius the great?
His presence has not grac'd our Court of late.
Phys. I fear some ill, from emulation sprung,
Has from us that Illustrious Hero wrung.
Bayes. Is not that Majestical?
Smi. Yes, but who a Devil is that Volscius?
Bayes.
