13

For (changing rules, of late, as if men writ
In spite of reason, nature, art, and wit),
Our poets make us laugh at tragedy,
And with their comedies they make us cry.
Now, critics, do your worst, that here are met;
For, like a rook,2 I have hedged in my bet.
If you approve, I shall assume the state
Of those high-flyers whom I imitate;
And justly too, for I will show you more
Than ever they vouchsafed to show before:
I will both represent the feats they do, 21
And give you all their reasons for 'em too.
Some honor to me will from this arise;
But if, by my endeavors, you grow wise,
And what was once so praised you now de-

Enter JOHNSON and SMITH

JOHNSON. Honest Frank! I'm glad to see thee with all my heart: how long hast thou been in town?

SMITH. Faith, not above an hour: and, if I had not met you here, I had gone to look you out; for I long to talk with you freely, of all the strange new things we have heard in the country.

JOHNSON. And, by my troth, I have longed as much to laugh with you, at all the impertinent, dull, fantastical things we are tired out with here.

SMITH. Dull and fantastical! that's an excellent composition. Pray, what are oat men of business doing?

JOHNSON. I ne'er enquire after Thou know'st my humor lies anoth 2 sharper.

the o a

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I love to please myself as much and to trouble others as little as I can, and therefore do naturally avoid the company of those solemn fops who, being incapable of reason, and insensible of wit and pleasure, are always looking grave and troubling one another, in hopes to be thought men of business.

SMITH. Indeed, I have ever observed that your grave lookers are the dullest of men. 26 JOHNSON. Aye, and of birds, and beasts too; your gravest bird is an owl, and your gravest beast is an ass.

SMITH. Well, but how dost thou pass thy time?

31

JOHNSON. Why, as I use to do-eat and drink as well as I can, have a she-friend to be private with in the afternoon, and sometimes see a play; where there are such things, Frank,-such hideous, monstrous things, that it has almost made me forswear the stage and resolve to apply myself to the solid nonsense of your pretenders to business, as the more ingenious pastime. 40 SMITH. I have heard, indeed, you have had lately many new plays, and our country wits commend 'em.

JOHNSON. Aye, so do some of our City wits too; but they are of the new kind of wits. SMITH. New kind? what kind is that? JOHNSON. Why, your blade, your frank persons, your drolls-fellows that scorn to imitate nature, but are given altogether to elevate and surprise.

50

SMITH. Nay, prithee, let him alone. 65 JOHNSON. Nay, by the Lord, I'll have him. [Goes after him] Here he is. I have caught him.-Pray, sir, for my sake, will you do a favor to this friend of mine? 69

BAYES. Sir, it is not within my small capacity to do favors, but receive 'em, especially from a person that does wear the honorable title you are pleased to impose, sir, upon this. [Bowing to SMITH] Sweet sir, your servant.

75

SMITH. Your humble servant, sir. JOHNSON. But wilt thou do me a favor,

BAYES. How, sir, the meaning!-do you mean the plot?

JOHNSON. Aye, aye-anything.

BAYES. Faith, sir, the intrigo's now quite out of my head: but I have a new one, in my pocket, that I may say is a virgin; 't has never yet been blown upon. I must tell you one thing, 'tis all new wit; and, though I say it, a better than my last - and you know well enough how that took. In fine, it shall read, and write, and act, and plot, and show-aye, and pit, box and gallery, I gad, with any play in Europe. This morning is its last rehearsal, in their habits and all that, as it is to be acted; and if you and your friend will do it but the honor to see it in its virgin attire-though, perhaps, it may blush-I shall not be ashamed to discover its nakedness unto you. [Puts his hand in his pocket] I think it is o' this side.

ΠΟΙ

SMITH. How's that, sir, by a rule, I pray? BAYES. Why, thus, sir-nothing more easy when understood. I take a book in my hand-either at home or elsewhere, for that's all one-if there be any wit in't, as there is no book but has some, I transverse it: that is, if it be prose, put it into verse (but that takes up some time); if it be verse, put it into prose.

JOHNSON. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting verse into prose should be called transprosing.

BAYES. By my troth, a very good notion, and hereafter it shall be so.

140

SMITH. Well, sir, and what d'ye do with it then?

BAYES. Make it my own. 'Tis so altered that no man can know it. My next rule is the rule of record, and by way of table-book. Pray, observe. 146

JOHNSON. Well, we hear you: go on. BAYES. As thus. I come into a coffeehouse, or some other place where witty men resort. I make as if I minded nothing (do you mark?), but as soon as any one speaks, pop! I slap it down, and make that, too, my own.

153

BAYES. Yes, sir, that's my third rule that I have here in my pocket.

165

SMITH. What rule can that be? BAYES. Why, sir, when I have anything to invent, I never trouble my head about it, as other men do; but presently1 turn o'er this book, and there I have, at one view, all that Perseus, Montaigne, Seneca's tragedies, Horace, Juvenal, Claudian, Pliny, Plutarch's Lives, and the rest, have ever thought upon this subject; and so, in a trice, by leaving out a few words or putting in others of my own, the business is done.

175

JOHNSON. Indeed, Mr. Bayes, this is as sure and compendious a way of wit as ever I heard of.

BAYES. Aye, sirs; when you come to write yourselves, o' my word you'll find it so. But, gentlemen, if you make the least scruple of the efficacy of these my rules, do but come to the play-house and you shall judge of 'em by the effects. 184 SMITH. We'll follow you, sir. [Exeunt] Enter three Players upon the stage

IST PLAYER. Have you your part perfect? 2D PLAYER. Yes, I have it without book, but I do not understand how it is to be spoken. 189

3D PLAYER. And mine is such a one as I can't n't guess for my life what humor I'm to be in-whether angry, melancholy, merry, or in love. I don't know what to make on't.

IST PLAYER. Phoo! the author will be here presently1 and he'll tell us all. You must know, this is the new way of writing; and these hard things please forty times better than the old plain way. For, look you, sir, the grand design upon the stage is to keep the auditors in suspense; for to guess presently at the plot and the sense, tries 'em before the end of the first act. Now, here, every line surprises you and brings in new matter. And, then, for scenes, clothes, and dancing, we put 'em quite down, all that ever went before us-and these are the things, you know, that are essential to a play.

1 immediately.

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