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Show •;2 The R E H E A R S A L/ *; zo you'll fpoil all m y Play. V/hy, Sir, 'tis impof-iible to anfwer every impertinent Queftion you ask. Smith. Cry you mercy, Sir. Cor. His Highnefs, Sirs, commanded m e to tell you, That the fair Perfon w h o m you both do know, Defpairing of Forgivenefs for her Fault, In a deep Sorrow, twice fhe did attempt on her precious Life ; but, by the Care C f Standers-by, prevented was. Smith. S'heart, what fluff's here ? ( or. At laft, Volfcius the Great this dire Refolve embrae'd : His Servants he into the Country fent, And he himre!f to Piccadilly went : Where he's inform'd by Letters that fhe's dead. Vfh. Dead ! is that poffible ? Dead ! Phyf. O ye Gods ! [Exeunt. B„y:s. There's a fmart Expreffion of a Paflion •. Oye Gods! That's one of m y bold Strokes, I'gad. Smith. Yes; but who's the fair Perfon that's dead ? Bayes, rI hat you fhall know anon, Sir. Smith. Nay, if w e know at all, 'tis well enough. Bayes. Perhaps you m a y find too, by and by, for all this that's fhe's not dead neither. Smith. Marry, that's good N e w s indeed : I am glad of that with all m y heart. Bayes. N o w here's the M a n brought in, that is fuppofed to have kill'd her. [Jgreat Shout within. SCENE III. Enter Amaryllis, with a Book in her Hand and Attendants. Ama. \ \ 7 H A T Shout triumphant's that ? \\ Enter a Soldier. Sold. Shy Maid, upon the River-brink, near T-iuunam Town, the falfe Affafhnate is ta'en. Ama. Thanks to the Powers above for this Deliverance. I hope, Its flow Beginning will portend A forward Exit to all future End. M Bayes. Fifth, there you are out; to all future End! No, ' The R E H E A R S A L ; 33 no ; to all future End ! You muft lay the Accent upon. End, or elfe you lofe the Conceit. Smith. I fee you*are very perfect in thefe Matters. Bayes. Ay, Sir, I have been long enough at it one would think, to know fomething. Enter Soldiers dragging in an old Fifherman. Ama. Villain, what Monfter did corrupt thy Mind T' attack the nobleft Soul of H u m a n Kind ? Tell m e who fet thee on. Fifh. Prince Pretty man. A*na. T o kill w h o m ? Fifh. Prince Pretty-man. Ama. What did Prince Pretty-man hire you to kill Prince Pretty-man ? Fifh. No, Prince Volfcius. Ama. To kill whom? Fifh. Prince Volfcius. Ama. What ! did Prince Volfcius hire you to kill Prince Volfcius ? Fifh. No, Prince Pretty-man. Ama. So drag him hence, Till Torture of the Rack produce his Senfe. [Exemit. Bayes. Mark how I make the Horror of his Guilt confound his Intellects : for he's out at one and t'other : and that's the Defign of this Scene. Smith. I fee, Sir, you have a feveral Defign for every Scene. Baves. Ay, that's m y way of writing: and fo, Sir, I can difpatch you a whole Play, before another M a n , I'gad, can make an end of his Plot. SCENE IV. S O now enter Prince Pretty-man in a Rage. Where the Devil is he ? W h y , Pretty-man ? W h y when, I fay ? O fie, fie, fie, fie ! all's marr'd, I v ow to gad, quite marr'd. Enter Pretty-man. Phoo, pox ! you are come too late, Sir, now you m ay go out again if you pleafe. I vow to gad, Mr.----a- I would not give a Button for m y Play, now vou have done this. Pret. What, Sir? Bayes. What, Sir ! 'flife, Sir, you fhould have come out B S in |