Mr. _Prais._ 'Tis hard tho' one can't speak a Word to a Lady without being over-heard.

_Mar._ Come Mr. _Aw'dwell_, sit down, I am oblig'd to you for what you have done, but this Fellow may make a Party for me at the Coffee-house; therefore prithee let him alone, tho' I believe my Play won't want it.--Now clear the Stage; Prompter give me the Book! Oh, Mr. _Powell_, you must stay, I shall want your Advice; I'll tell ye time enough for your Entrance.

Mr. _Pow._ Madam, give me leave to take a Gla.s.s of Sack, I am qualmish.

_Mars._ Oh! Fie, Mr. _Powell_, we'll have Sack here; d'ye see Ladies, you have teaz'd Mr. _Powell_ sick: Well, Impertinence, in a Woman is the Devil!

Mrs. _Wellf._ Shall we stay to be affronted?

_Calista._ Prithee let's stay, and laugh at her _Opera_, as she calls it, for I hear 'tis a very foolish one.

_Mar._ Come Prologue-Speakers! Prologue Speakers! Where are you? I shall want Sack my self, by and by, I believe.

_Enter Two Men with Whiskers, large Truncheons, Drest strangely._

_Mar._ Lord, Mr. _Powell_, these Men are not half tall enough, nor half big enough! What shall I do for a larger sort of Men?

Mr. _Pow._ Faith, Madam, I can't tell, they say the Race diminishes every Day.

_Mar._ Ay, so they do with a witness, Mr. _Powell_. Oh, these puny Fellows will spoil the Design of my Prologue! Hark ye! Mr. _Powell_, you know the huge tall Monster, that comes in one Play, which was taken Originally from _Bartholomew-fair_ Against this, is spoke Publickly; cou'd not we contrive to dress up two such things, twou'd set the Upper-Gallery a Clapping like mad? And let me tell you, Mr. _Powell_, that's a Clapping not to be despis'd.

Mr. _Pow._ We'll see what may be done; But, Madam, you had as good hear these speak it now.

_Mar._ Well, Sheep-biters, begin!

_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here!

_Mars._ Ah! And t'other looks no more like a Monster than I do; speak it fuller in the Mouth Dunce. Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?

_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here?

_2d._----I come to put the Criticks in a mortal Fear.

_Mars._ O Heav'ns! You shou'd have every thing that is terrible in that Line! You shou'd speak it like a Ghost, like a Giant, like a Mandrake, and you speak it like a Mouse.

Mr. _Pow._ Madam, if you won't let 'em proceed, we shan't do the first Act this Morning.

_Mar._ I have no Patience! I wish you wou'd be a Monster, Mr. _Powell_, for once, but then I cou'd not match you neither.

Mr. _Pow._ I thank you Madam, come, these will mend with Practice.

_Mar._----Come begin then, and go thro' with it roundly.

_1st._----Well, Brother Monster, what do you do here_?_

_2d._----I come to put the Critticks in a mortal Fear.

_1st._----I'm also sent upon the same Design.

_2d._----Then let's our heavy Trunchions shake and joyn.

_Mar._ Ah! The Devil take thee, for a squeaking Treble_!_ D'ye mention shaking your Trunchions, and not so much as stir 'em, Block! By my hopes of _Cataline_, you shall never speak it, give me the Papers quickly.

[_Throws their Trunchions down._

_1st._----Here's mine.

_2d._----And mine, and I'm glad on't.

_Mar._ Out of my Sight, begone I say! [_Pushes 'em off._ Lord! Lord! I shan't recover my Humour again, this half Hour!

Mr. _Pow._ Why do you vex your self, so much, Madam?

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Poetry ought to be for the use of the Mind, and for the Diversion of the Writer, as well as the Spectator; but to you, sure Madam, it proves only a Fatigue and Toyl.

_Mar._ Pray, Mr. _Aw'dwell_, don't come here to make your Remarks; what, I shan't have the Priviledge to be in a Pa.s.sion for you! Shall I; how dare you contradict me?

Mr. _Prais._ But you shall be in a Pa.s.sion, if you have a mind to it, by the Clubb of _Hercules_. Ah! Madam, if we had but _Hercules_, _Hercules_ and his Clubb wou'd ha' done rarely: Dear Madam! Let 'em have Clubbs next time, do Madam, let 'em ha' Clubbs; let it be my Thought.

_Mar._ What, for you to brag on't all the Town over! No, they shan't have Clubbs, tho' I like Clubbs better my self too.

Mr. _Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done.

_Mar._ O Heav'ns! Now I have lost Mr. _Powell_, with your Nonsensical Clubbs, wou'd there was a l.u.s.ty one about your empty Pate.

Mr. _Prais._ I ha' done, I ha' done, Madam.

_Mar._ Mr. _Powell_! Mr. _Powell_!

_Scene-Keeper_--He's gone out of the House, Madam.

_Mar._ Oh the Devil! Sure I shall go distracted! Where's this Book? Come we'll begin the Play: Call my Lady _Loveall_, and _Betty Useful_ her Maid: Pray keep a clear Stage. Now look you, Mr. _Praiseall_, 'thas been the receiv'd Opinion, and Practice in all your late _Operas_ to take care of the Songish part, as I may call it, after a great Man; and for the Play, it might be the History of _Tom Thumb_; no matter how, I have done just contrary, took care of the Language and Plot; and for the Musick, they that don't like it, may go whistle.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ Why wou'd you chuse to call it an _Opera_ then?

_Mar._ Lord! Mr. _Aw'dwell_, I han't time to answer every impertinent Question.

Mr. _Prais._ No Sir! We han't time, it was the Ladys Will, and that's Allmighty Reason.

Mr. _Aw'dw._ I shall have an Opportunity to Kick that Fellow.

_Mar._ I wonder my Lord Duke's not come, nor Sir _Thomas_. Bless me!

What a Disorder my dress is in? Oh! These People will give me the Spleen intollerablly! Do they design ever to enter or no? My Spirits are quite gone! They may do e'en what they will.

Mrs. _Wellf._ They are entring, Madam.

_Mars._ Mrs. _Wellfed_, you know where to get good Wine; pray speak for some, then perhaps we shall keep Mr. _Powell_.