Bayes. How! are the players gone to dinner? "Tis impoffible: The players gone to dinner! I'gad, if they are, I'll make 'em know what it is to injure a perfon that does them the honour to write for 'em, and all that. A company of proud conceited, humorous, crofs-grain'd perfons, and all that. I'gad I'll make 'em the most contemptible, despicable, inconfiderable perfons, and all that, in the whole world, for this trick. P'gad I'll be reveng'd on 'em; I'll fell this play to the other house.

Stage. Nay, good Sir, don't take away the book; you'll disappoint the company that comes to fee it acted this afternoon,

Bayes. That's all one. I must reserve this comfort to myself, my play and I fhall go together, we will not part indeed, Sir.

Stage. But what will the town fay?

Bayes. The town! why, what care I for the town? I'gad the town has us'd me as scurvily as the players have done: but I'll be reveng'd on them too; for I'll lampoon them all. And fince they will not admit of my plays, they fhall know what a fatyrift I am. And fo farewel to this ftage, I'gad, for ever.

[Exit Bayes. Enter

Enter Players.

1 Play. Come, then, let's fet up bills for another play.

2 Play. Ay, ay; we fhall lofe nothing by this, I warrant you.

1 Play. I am of your opinion: but, before we go, let's fee Haynes and Shirley practise the laft dance; for that may serve us another time.

2 Play. I'll call 'em in: I think they are but in the tiring-room. [The dance done. Play. Come, come; let's go away to dinner.

THE

HE play is at an end, but where's the plot? That circumstance the poet Bayes forgot.

And we can boaft, tho' 'tis a plotting age,
No place is freer from it than the stage.
The ancients plotted tho', and ftrove to please,
With sense that might be understood with ease:
They ev'ry scene with fo much wit did store,
That who brought any in, went out with more.
But this new way of wit does fo furprize,
Men lose their wits in wondering where it lies.
If it be true that monftrous births prefage,
The following mifchiefs that afflict the age;
And fad difafters to the ftate proclaim:

Plays, without head or tail, may do the same.
Wherefore for ours, and for the kingdom's peace,
May this prodigious way of writing cease,
Let's have, at least, once in our lives, a time,
When we may hear some reason, not all rhyme ;
We have this ten years felt its influence;
Pray, let this prove a year of profe and fenfe.

THE

CHANCES.

A

COMEDY.