# The Rehearsal/Act 3-2

SCÆNA II.
Enter the two Usurpers, hand in hand.
Ush.But what's become of Volscius the great?
His presence has not grac'd our Court of late.
Phys. I fear some ill, from emulation sprung,
Has from us that Illustrious Hero wrung.
Bayes. Is not that Majestical?
Smi. Yes, but who a Devil is that Volscius?
​Bayes. Why, that's a Prince I make in love with Parthenope.
Smi. I thank you, Sir.
Enter Cordelio.
Cor. My Leiges, news from Volscius the Prince.
Ush. His news is welcome, whatsoe'er it be.
Smi. How, Sir, do you mean that? whether it be good or bad?
Bayes. Nay, pray, Sir, have a little patience: Godsookers you'l spoil all my Play. Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to answer every impertinent question you ask.
Smi. Cry you mercie, Sir.
Cor. His Highness Sirs, commanded me to tell you,
That the fair person whom you both do know,
Despairing of forgiveness for her fault,
In a deep sorrow, twice she did attempt
Upon her precious life; but, by the care
Of standers-by, prevented was.
Smi. 'Sheart, what stuff's here!
Cor. At last,
Volscius the great this dire resolve embrac'd:
His servants he into the Country sent,
And he himself to Piccadillè went.
Where he's inform'd, by Letters, that she's dead.
Ush. Dead! is that possible? Dead!
Phys. O ye Gods! [Exeunt.
Bayes. There's a smart expression of a passion; O ye Gods! That's one of my bold strokes, a gad.
Smi. Yes; but who is the fair person that's dead?
Bayes. That you shall know anon.
Smi. Nay, if we know it 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: I am glad of that with all my heart.
Bayes. Now, here's the man brought in that is suppos'd to have kill'd her. [A great shout within.
Enter Amarillis with a Book in her hand and Attendants.
Ama. What shout Triumphant's that?
Enter a Souldier.
Sol. Shie maid, upon the River brink, near Twick'nam Town, the assassinate is tane.
Ama. Thanks to the Powers above, for this deliverance.
I hope its slow 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 conceipt.
Johns. Indeed the alteration of that accent does a great deal, Mr. Bayes.
Bayes, O, all in all, Sir: they are these little things that mar, or set you off a Play.
Smi. I see you are very perfect in these matters.
Bayes. I, Sir; I have been long enough at it to know something.
Enter Souldiers dragging in an old Fisherman.
Ama. Villain, what Monster did corrupt thy mind
T'attaque the noblest soul of humane kind?
Tell me who set 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 Volscius.
Ama. To kill whom?
Fish. Prince Volscius.
Ama. What, did Prince Volscius hire you to kill Prince Volscius?
Fish. No; Prince Pretty-man.
Ama. So, drag him hence,
Till torture of the Rack produce his sence. [Exeunt.
Bayes. Mark how I make the horror of his guilt confound his intellects; for that's the design of this Scene.
​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?
Pret. Although a Fisherman, he is my Father,
Pret. Was ever Son, yet, brought to this distress,
Pret. To be, for being a Son, made fatherless?
Pret. Oh, you just Gods, rob me not of a Father.
Pret. 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. Stay, let me see; taken: O 'tis true. Why, Sir, as I was going to say, his Highness here, the Prince, was taken in a Cradle by a Fisherman, and brought up as his Child.
Smi. Indeed?
Bayes. Nay, pr'ythee hold thy peace. And so, Sir, this murder being committed by the River-side, the Fisherman, upon suspicion, was seiz'd; and thereupon the Prince grew angry.
Smi. So, so; now 'tis very plain.
Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, is not that some disparagement to a Prince, to pass for a Fishermans Son? Have a care of that, I pray.
Bayes. No, no, no; not at all; for 'tis but for a while: I shall fetch him off again, presently, you shall see.
Enter Pretty-man and Thimble.
Pret. By all the Gods, I'l set the world on fire
Pret. Rather than let 'em ravish hence my Sire.
Thim. Brave Pretty-man, it is at length reveal'd,
Thim. That he is not thy Sire who thee conceal'd.
Bayes. Lo' you now, there he's off again.
Johns. Admirably done i'faith.
Bayes. Ay, now the Plot thickens very much upon us.
Pret. What Oracle this darkness can evince?
Pret. Sometimes a Fishers Son, sometimes a Prince.
Pret. It is a secret, great as is the world;
Pret. In which, I, like the soul, am toss'd and hurl'd.
Pret. The blackest Ink of Fate, sure, was my Lot.
Pret. And, when she writ my name, she made a blot. [Exit.
Bayes. There's a blust'ring verse for you now.
Smi. Yes, Sir; but pray, why is he so mightily troubled to find he is not a Fishermans Son?
Bayes. Phoo! that is not because he has a mind to be his Son, but for fear he should be thought to be nobodies Son at all.
Smi. I, that would trouble a man, indeed.
​Bayes. So, let me see. Enter Prince Volscius, going out of Town.
Smi. I thought he had been gone to Piccadillé.
Bayes. Yes, he gave out so; but that was onely to cover his design.
Johns. What design?
Bayes. Why, to head the Army, that lies conceal'd for him in Knights-bridge.
Johns. I see here is a great deal of Plot, Mr. Bayes.
Bayes. Yes, now it begins to break; but we shall have a world of more business anon.
Enter Prince Volscius, Cloris, Amarillis, and Harry with a Riding-Cloak and Boots.
Ama. Sir, you are cruel, thus to leave the Town,
And to retire to Country solitude.
Clo. We hop'd this Summer that we should at least
Have held the honour of your company.
Bayes. Held the honour of your Company! prettily exprest! Held the honour of your company! Godsookers, these fellows will never take notice of any thing.
Johns. I assure you, Sir, I admire it extreamly; I don't know what he does.
Bayes. I, I, he's a little envious; but 'tis no great matter. Come.
Ama. Pray let us two this single boon obtain,
Ama. That you will here with poor us still remain.
Ama. Before your Horses come pronounce our fate,
Ama. For then, alas, I fear 'twill be too late.
Bayes. Sad!
Vols. Harry, my Boots; for I'l go rage among
My Blades encamp'd, and quit this Urban throng.
Smi. But pray, Mr. Bayes, is not this a little difficult, that you were saying e'en now, to keep an Army thus conceal'd in Knights-bridge.
Bayes. In Knights-bridge? stay.
Johns. No, not if the Inn-keepers be his friends.
​Bayes. His friends! Ay, Sir, his intimate acquaintance; or else, indeed, I grant it could not be.
Smi. Yes, faith, so it might be very easily.
Bayes. Nay, if I do not make all things easie, I gad, I'l give you leave to hang me. Now you would think that he is going out of Town; but you shall see how prettily I have contriv'd to stop him presently.
Smi. By my troth, Sir, you have so amaz'd me, I know not what to think.
Enter Parthenope.
Vols. Bless me! how frail are all my best resolves!
Vols. How, in a moment, is my purpose chang'd!
Vols. Too soon I thought my self secure from Love.
Vols. Fair Madam, give me leave to ask her name
Vols. Who does so gently rob me of my fame?
Vols. For I should meet the Army out of Town,
Vols. And, if I fail, must hazard my renown.
Par. My Mother, Sir, sells Ale by the Town-walls,
Par. And me her dear Parthenope she calls.
Vols. Can vulgar Vestments high-born beauty shrowd?
Vols. Thou bring'st the Morning pictur'd in a Cloud.
Bayes. The Morning pictur'd in a Cloud! A, Gadsookers, what a conceipt is there!
Par. Give you good Ev'n, Sir. [Exit.
Vols. O inauspicious Stars! that I was born
Vols. To sudden love, and to more sudden scorn!
Ama. Cloris. How! Prince Volscius in love? Ha, ha, ha. [Exeunt laughing.
Smi. Sure, Mr. Bayes, we have lost some jest here, that they laugh at so.
Bayes. Why did you not observe? He first resolves to go out of Town, and then, as he is pulling on his Boots, falls in love. Ha, ha, ha.
Smi. O, I did not observe: that, indeed, is a very good jest.
Bayes. Here, now, you shall see a combat betwixt Love and Honour. And ancient Author has made a whole Play on't; ​but I have dispatch'd it all in his Scene.
Volscius sits down.
Vols. How has my passion made me Cupid's scoff!
Vols. This hasty Boot is on, the other off,
Vols. And sullen lyes, with amorous design
Vols. To quit loud fame, and make that Beauty mine.
Vols. My Legs, the Emblem of my various thought,
Vols. Shew to what sad distraction I am brought.
Vols. Sometimes, with stubborn Honour, like this Boot,
Vols. My mind is guarded, and resolv'd to do't:
Vols. Sometimes, again, that very mind, by Love
Vols. Disarmed, like this other Leg does prove.
Johns. What pains Mr. Bayes takes to act this speech himself!
Smi. I, the fool, I see, is mightily transported with it.
Vols. Shall I to Honour or to Love give way?
Vols. Go on, cryes Honour; tender Love says, nay:
Vols. Honour, aloud, commands, pluck both boots on;
Vols. But softer Love does whisper, put on none.
Vols. What shall I do? what conduct shall I find
Vols. To lead me through this twy-light of my mind?
Vols. For as bright Day with black approach of Night
Vols. Contending, makes a doubtful puzzling light;
Vols. So does my Honour and my Love together
Vols. Puzzle me so, I can resolve for neither.
Exit with one Boot on, and the other off.
Johns. By my troth, Sir, this is as difficult a Combat as ever I saw, and as equal; for 'tis determin'd on neither side.
Bayes. Ay, is't not, I gad, ha? For, to go off hip hop, hip hop, upon this occasion, is a thousand times better than any conclusion in the world, I gad. But, Sirs, you cannot make any judgement of this Play, because we are come but to the end of the second Act. Come, the Dance. Dance. Well, Gentlemen, you'l see this Dance, if I am not mistaken, take very well upon the Stage, when they are perfect in their motions, and all that.
​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.