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Smi. I don't know 'twill take, Sir; but I am sure you sweat hard for't.
Bayes. Ay, Sir, it costs me more pains, and trouble, to do these things, than almost the things are worth.
Smi. By my troth, I think so, Sir.
Bayes. Not for the things themselves, for I could write you, Sir, forty of 'em in a day; but, I gad, these Players are such dull persons, that, if a man be not by upon every point, and at every turn, I gad, they'l mistake you, Sir, and spoil all.
Enter a Player.
What, is the Funeral ready?
Play. Yes, Sir.
Bayes. And is the Lance fill'd with Wine?
Play. Sir, 'tis just now a doing.
Bayes. Stay then; I'l do it my self.
Smi. Come, let's go with him.
Bayes. A match. But, Mr. Johnson, I gad, I am not like other persons; they care not what becomes of their things, so they can but get money for 'em: now, I gad, when I write, if it be not just as it should be, in every circumstance, to every particular, I gad, I am not able to endure it, I am not my self, I'm out of my wits, and all that, I'm the strangest person in the whole world. For what care I for my money? I gad, I write for Fame and Reputation. [Exeunt.
Finis Actus Tertii.
