Sir THOMAS.

Staytape, Juliet, run and stop them; say I am gone out; I am fick; I am engaged: but, whatever you do, be fure you don't let Bever come in. Secure of the victory, I invited them to the celebr

Sir, they are here.

Confound

STAYTAPE.

Sir THOMAS.

Enter Puff, Dactyl, and Rust.

RUST.

A, truly, Mr. Puff, this is but a bitter beginning; then the young man must turn himself to fome other trade.

PUFF.

Servant, Sir Thomas; I suppose you have heard the news of—

Sir THOMAS.

Yes, yes; I have been told it before.

DACTYL.

I confefs, I did not fufpect it; but there is no knowing what effect these things will have till they come on the stage.

RUST.

For my part, I don't know much of these matters; but a couple of gentlemen near me, who feem'd fagacious enough too, declared that it was the vileft stuff they ever had heard, and wondered the players would act it.

DACTYL.

Yes: I don't remember to have feen a more general diflike.

PUFF.

I was thinking to afk you, Sir Thomas, for your intereft with Mr. Bever about buying the copy: but now no mortal would read it. Lord, Sir, it would not pay for paper and print.

RUST.

RUST.

I remember Kennet, in his Roman Antiquities, mentions a play of Terence's, Mr. Dactyl, that was terribly treated; but that he attributes to the people's fondness for certain funambuli, or ropedancers; but I have not lately heard of any famous tumblers in town: Sir Thomas, have you?

Sir THOMAS.

How should I; do you fuppofe I trouble my head about tumblers?

Nay, I did not

RUST.

BEVER, Speaking without.

Not to be spoke with! Don't tell me, Sir; he muft, he shall.

Sir THOMAS.

Mr. Bever's voice. If he is admitted in his present difpofition, the whole fecret will certainly out. Gentlemen, fome affairs of a most interesting nature makes it impoffible for me to have the honour of your company to-night; therefore I beg you would be fo good as to

RUST.

Affairs! no bad news? I hope Mifs Julè is well.

Sir THOMAS.

Very well; but I am moft exceedingly

RUST.

I fhall only juft ftay to fee Mr. Bever. Poor lad! he will be most horribly down in the mouth: a little comfort won't come amifs.

Sir THOMAS.

Mr. Bever, Sir! you won't fee him here.

RUST.

Not here! why I thought I heard his voice but just now.

Sir THOMAS,

You are mistaken Mr. Ruft; but

RUST.

RUST.

May be fo; then we will go. Sir Thomas, my compliments of condolence, if you please, to the

And mine; for I fuppofe we fha'n't see him foon.

PUFF.

Poor gentleman! I warrant he won't fhew his head for thefe fix months.

RUST.

Ay, ay: indeed, I am very forry for him; fo tell him, Sir.

So are we.

DACTYL and PUFF.

RUST.

Sir Thomas, your fervant. Come, Gentlemen. By all this confufion in Sir Thomas, there muft be fomething more in the wind than I know; but I will watch, I am refolved. Exeunt.

BEVER, without."

Rafcals, ftand by! I muft, I will fee him.

Enter BEVER.

So, Sir; this is delicate treatment, after all I have fuffered.

of

Sir THOMAS.

Mr. Bever, I hope you don't-that is—

BEVER.

Well, Sir Thomas Lofty, what think you now your Robinson Crufoe? a pretty performance!

Sir THOMAS.

Think, Mr. Bever! I think the public are blockheads; a taftelefs, a ftupid, ignorant tribe; and a man of genious deferves to be damn'd who writes any thing for them. But courage, dear Dick! the principals will give you what the peo

ple

ple refufe; the clofet will do you that justice the ftage has denied: print your play.

BEVER.

My play! zounds, Sir, 'tis your own.

Sir THOMAS.

Speak lower, dear Dick; be moderate, my good, dear lad!

BEVER.

Oh, Sir Thomas, you may be easy enough; you are fafe and fecure, removed far from that precipice that has dafhed me to pieces.

Sir THOMAS.

Dear Dick, don't believe it will hurt you. The critics, the real judges, will difcover in that piece fuch excellent talents

BEVER.

No, Sir Thomas, no. I fhall neither flatter you nor myself; I have acquired a right to speak what I think. Your play, Sir, is a wretched performance; and in this opinion all mankind are united.

May be not.

Sir THOMAS.

BEVER.

If your piece had been greatly received, I would have declared Sir Thomas Lofty the author; if coldly, I would have owned it myself: but fuch difgraceful, fuch contemptible treatment! I own, the burthen is too heavy for me; fo, Sir, you must bear it yourself.

Sir THOMAS.

Me, dear Dick! what to become ridiculous in the decline of my life; to deftroy in one hour the fame that forty years has been building! that was the prop, the fupport of my age! Can you be cruel enough to defire it?

BEVER.

Zounds! Sir, and why must I be your crutch? Would you have me become a volun

tary

tary victim? No, Sir, this cause does not merit a martyrdom.

Sir THOMAS.

I own myself greatly oblig'd; but persevere, dear Dick, perfevere; you have time to recover your fame: I beg it with tears in my eyes. Another play will

BEVER.

No, Sir Thomas; I have done with the stage: the Mufes and I meet no more.

Sir THOMAS.

Nay, there are various roads open in life.

BEVER.

Not one, where your piece won't pursue me. If I go to the bar, the ghoft of this curfed comedy will follow, and hunt me in Westminster-hall: nay, when I die, it will stick to my memory, and I fhall be handed down to pofterity with the author of Love in a Hollow Tree.

Sir THOMAS.

Then marry: you are a pretty smart figure; and your poetical talents

BEVER.

And what fair would admit of my fuit, or family wish to receive me? Make the cafe your own, Sir Thomas; would you?

Sir THOMAS.

With infinite pleasure.

BEVER.

Then give me your niece; her hand shall seal up my lips.

Sir THOMAS.

What, Juliet? willingly. But are you serious, do you really admire the girl?

BEVER.

Beyond what words can exprefs. It was by her advice I consented to father your play.

Sir THOMAS.