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Smi. I see, Sir, you have a several design for every Scene.
Bayes. I; that's my way of writing: and so I can dispatch you, Sir, a whole Play, before another man, I gad, can make an end of his Plot. So, now enter Prince Pretty-man in a rage. Where the Devil is he? Why Pretty-man? why when, I say? O fie, fie, fie, fie; all's marr'd, I vow to gad, quite marr'd.
Enter Pretty-man.
Phoo, pox! you are come too late, Sir: now you may go out again, if you please. I vow to gad Mr. ——— a ——— I would not give a button for my Play, now you have done this.
Pret. What, Sir?
Bayes. What, Sir? 'Slife, Sir, you should have come out in choler, rous upon the Stage, just as the other went off. Must a man be eternally telling you of these things?
Johns. Sure this must be some very notable matter that he's so angry at.
Smi. I am not of your opinion.
Bayes. Pish! come, let's hear your Part, Sir.
Pret. Bring in my Father, why d'ye keep him from me?
Although a Fisherman, he is my Father,
Was ever Son, yet, brought to this distress,
To be, for being a Son, made fatherless?
Oh, you just Gods, rob me not of a Father.
The being of a Son take from me rather. [Exit.
Smi. Well, Ned, what think you now?
Johns. A Devil, this is worst of all. Pray, Mr. Bayes, what's the meaning of this Scene?
Bayes. O, cry you mercie, Sir: I purtest I had forgot to tell you. Why, Sir, you must know, that, long before the beginning of this Play, this Prince was taken by a Fisherman.
Smi. How, Sir, taken Prisoner?
Bayes. Taken Prisoner! O Lord, what a question's there! did ever any man ask such a question? Taken Prisoner! Godsookers, he has put the Plot quite out of my head, with this damn'd question. What was I going to say?
Johns. Nay, the Lord knows: I cannot imagine.
Bayes.
