SCÆNA II.
Enter Prince Pretty-man, and Prince Volscius.
Nay, hold, hold; pray by your leave a little. Look you, Sir, the drift of this Scene is somewhat more than ordinary: for I make 'em both fall out because they are not in love with the same woman.
Smi. Not in love? you mean, I suppose, because they are in love, Mr. Bayes?
Bayes. No, Sir; I say not in love: there's a new conceipt for you. Now speak.
Pret. Since fate, Prince Volscius, has found out the way
For our so long'd-for meeting here this day,
Lend thy attention to my grand concern.
Vols. I gladly would that story of thee learn;
But thou to love dost, Pretty-man, incline:
Yet love in thy breast is not love in mine.
Bayes. Antithesis! thine and mine.
Pret. Since love it self's the same, why should it be
Diff'ring in you from what it is in me?
Bayes. Reasoning; I gad, I love reasoning in verse.
Vols. Love takes, Cameleon-like, a various dye
From every Plant on which it self does lye.
Bayes. Simile!
Pret. Let not thy love the course of Nature fright:
Nature does most in harmony delight.
Vols. How weak a Deity would Nature prove
Contending with the pow'rful God of Love?
Vols. If Incense thou wilt offer at the Shrine
Of mighty Love, burn it to none but mine.
Her Rosie-lips eternal sweets exhale;
And her bright flames make all flames else look pale.
Bayes. I gad, that is right.
Pret. Perhaps dull Incense may thy love suffice;
But mine must be ador'd with Sacrifice.
All hearts turn ashes which her eyes controul:
The Body they consume as well as Soul.
Vols. My love has yet a power more Divine;
Victims her Altars burn not, but refine:
Amid'st the flames they ne'er give up the Ghost,
But, with her looks, revive still as they roast.
In spite of pain and death, they're kept alive:
Her fiery eyes makes 'em in fire survive.
Bayes. That is as well as I can do.
Vols. Let my Parthenope at length prevail.
Bayes. Civil, I gad.
Pret. I'l sooner have a passion for a Whale:
In whose vast bulk, though store of Oyl doth lye,
We find more shape more beauty in a Fly.
Smi. That's uncivil, I gad.
Bayes. Yes; but as far a fetch'd fancie, though, I gad, as ever you saw.
Vols. Soft, Pretty-man, let not thy vain pretence
Of perfect love, defame loves excellence.
Parthenope is sure as far above
All other loves, as above all is Love.
Bayes. Ah! I gad, that strikes me.
Pret. To blame my Cloris, Gods would not pretend.
Bayes. Now mark.
Vols. Were all Gods joyn'd, they could not hope to mend
My better choice: for fair Parthenope,
Gods would, themselves, un-god themselves to see.
Bayes. Now the Rant's a coming.
Pret. Durst any of the Gods be so uncivil,
I'ld make that God subscribe himself a Devil.
Bayes. Ah, Godsookers, that's well writ!
Vols. Could'st thou that God from Heav'n to Earth translate,
He could not fear to want a Heav'nly State.
Parthenope, on Earth, can Heav'n create.
Pret. Cloris does Heav'n it self so far excel,
She can transcend the joys of Heav'n in Hell.
Bayes. There's a bold flight for you now! 'Sdeath, I have lost my peruke. Well, Gentlemen, this is that I never yet saw any one could write, but my self. Here's true spirit and flame all through, I gad. So, So; pray clear the Stage. [He puts 'em off the Stage.
Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, pray why is this Scene all in Verse?
Bayes. O, Sir, the subject is too great for Prose.
Smi. Well said, i'faith; I'l give thee a pot of Ale for that answer: 'tis well worth it.
Bayes. Come, with all my heart.
I'l make that God subscribe himself a Devil.
That single line, I gad, is worth all that my brother Poets ever writ. So, now let down the Curtain. [Exeunt.
Finis Actus Quarti.