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Bayes. O Lord, O Lord! instead of a Buckler? Pray, Sir, do you ask no more questions. I make 'em, Sir, play the battel in Recitativo. And here's the conceipt. Just at the very same instant that one sings, the other, Sir, recovers you his Sword, and puts himself in a warlike posture: so that you have at once your ear entertain'd with Musick, and good Language; and your eye satisfi'd with the garb, and accoutrements of war. Is not that well?
Johns. I, what would you have more? he were a Devil that would not be satisfi'd with that.
Smi. I confess, Sir, you stupifie me.
Bayes. You shall see.
Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, might not we have a little fighting for I love those Plays, where they cut and slash one another, upon the Stage, for a whole hour together.
Bayes. Why, then, to tell you true, I have contriv'd it both ways. But you shall have my Recitativo first.
Enter, at several doors, the General, and Lieutenant General, arm'd Cap-a-pea, with each of them a Lute in his hand, and his sword drawn, and hung, with a scarlet Ribbon at his wrist.
Lieut. Gen. Villain, thou lyest.
Gen. Arm, arm, Gonsalvo, arm; what ho?
The lye no flesh can brook, I trow.
Lieut. Gen. Advance, from Acton, with the Musquetiers.
Gen. Draw down the Chelsey Curiasiers.
Lieut. Gen. The Band you boast of, Chelsey Curiasiers,
Shall, in my Putney Pikes, now meet their Peers.
Gen. Chiswickians, aged, and renown'd in fight,
Joyn with the Hammersmith Brigade.
Lieut. Gen. You'l find my Mortlake Boys will do them right,
Unless by Fulham numbers over-laid.
Gen. Let the left-wing of Twick'nam foot advance,
And line that Eastern hedge.
Lieut. Gen. The Horse I rais'd in Petty-France
Shall try their chance.
And scowr the Medows, over-grown with Sedge.
Gen.
