My death's bruise pray think you gave me, tho' a fall

Did give it me more, from the top of a wall; For then if the moat, on her mud would first lay,

And after, before you my body convey :

The blue on my breast when you happen to fee, You'll fay, with a figh, there's a true blue

for me.

Ha, rogues! when I am merry, I write these things as faft as hops, l'gad; for you must know I am as pleasant a debauchee as ever you faw, I am i'faith.

Smi. But, Mr. Bayes, how comes this fong in here for, methinks, there is no great occafion for it.

Bayes. Alack, Sir, you know nothing, you must ever interlard your plays with songs, ghosts, and dances, if you mean to---a--

Johns. * Pit, box, and gallery it, Mr. Bayes. Bayes. I'gad and you have nick'd it. Hark you, Mr. Johnfon, you know I don't flatter; I'gad you have a great deal of wit.

* Pit, box, and gallery it, Mr. Bayes.] Mr. Edward Howard's cant-words. See note upon p. 10.

Johnf. Olord, Sir, you do me too much honour. Bayes. Nay, nay, come, come, Mr. Johnson, 'faith, this muft not be faid amongst us that have it. I know you have wit by the judgment you make of this play; for that's the measure I go by; my play is my touchstone. When a man tells me fuch a one is a perfon of parts! Is he fo, fays I? What do I do, but bring him presently to fee this play; if he likes it, I know what to think of him; if not, your must humble fervant, Sir; I'll no more of him, upon my word, I thank you. I am Clara voyant, l'gad. Now, here we go on to our business.

Enter the two ufurpers, hand in hand.

Ub. But what's become of Volfcius the great? His prefence has not grac'd our court of late. Phyf. I fear fome ill, from emulation sprung,

Has from us that illustrious hero wrung.

Bayes. Is not that majestical?

Smi. Yes, but who the devil is this Volfcius ?

Bayes. Why, that's a prince I make in love with Parthenope.

Smi. I thank you, Sir.

Enter

Enter Cordelio.

*Cor. My lieges, news from Volfcius the prince. Ub. His news is welcome, whatfoe'er it be. Smi. How, Sir, do you mean whether it be good or bad?

Bayes. Nay, pray, Sir, have a little patience : gadzookers, you'll fpoil all my play. Why, Sir, 'tis impoffible to answer every impertinent queftion you afk.

Smi. Cry you mercy, Sir.

Cor. His highness, Sirs, commanded me to

tell you,

That the fair person whom you both do know,
Despairing of forgivenefs for her fault,

In a deep forrow, twice the did attempt
Upon her precious life; but, by the care
Of ftanders-by prevented was.

Smi. 'Sheart, what ftuff's here?
Cor. At laft,

* Cor. My lieges, news from Volfcius the prince. Ufh. His news is welcome, whatfoe'er it be.] "Albert. Curtius, I've fomething to deliver to your ear. "Curt. Any thing from Alberto is welcome."

Amorous Prince, p. 39.

Volfcius

Volfcius the great this dire refolve embrac'd:
His fervants he into the country fent,

And he himfelf to Peccadilla went,

Where he's inform'd, by letters, that he's dead. Ub. Dead! is that poffible? Dead!

Phyf. O ye gods!

Bayes. There's a smart expreflion of a paffion; O ye gods! That's one of my bold ftrokes, I'gad. Smi. Yes; who is the fair person that's dead? Bayes. That you fhall know anon, Sir! Smi. Nay, if we know at all, 'tis well enough. Bayes. Perhaps you may find too, by and by, for all this, that she's not dead neither.

Smi. Marry, that's good news indeed: I am glad of that with all my heart.

Bayes. Now, here's the man brought in that is supposed to have kill'd her. [A great fhout within.

Enter Amaryllis, with a book in her hand, and attendants.

Ama. What fhout triumphant's that?

Enter a Soldier.

Sol. Shy maid, upon the river brink, near Twic'nam town, the false affaffinate is ta'en.

Ama.

Ama. Thanks to the powers above, for this deliverance. I hope,

Its flow beginning will portend

A forward exit to all future end.

Bayes. Pish, there you are out; to all future end? No, no; to all future end! You must lay the accent upon end, or else you lose the conceit. Smi. I fee you are very perfect in these matters. Bayes. Ay, Sir, I have been long enough at it, one would think, to know fomething.

Enter Soldiers, dragging an old fisherman. Ama. Villain, what monfter did corrupt thy mind,

T'attack the nobleft foul of human kind; 'Tell me who fet thee on.

Fish. Prince Pretty-man.

Ama. To kill whom?

Fish. Prince Pretty-man.

Ama. What, did Prince Pretty-man hire you to

kill Prince Pretty-man?

Fish. No; Prince Volfcius.

Ama. To kill whom?

Fish. Prince Volfcius.

Ama. What, did Prince Volfcius hire you to

kill Prince Volfcius ?