_Bayes._ Sir, all my fancies are so. I tread upon no man's heels; but make my flight upon my own wings, I assure you. Now, here comes in a scene of sheer wit, without any mixture in the whole world, egad! between Prince Prettyman and his tailor: it might properly enough be call'd a prize of wit; for you shall see them come in one upon another snip-snap, hit for hit, as fast as can be. First, one speaks, then presently t'other's upon him, slap, with a repartee; then he at him again, dash with a new conceit; and so eternally, eternally, egad, till they go quite off the stage. [_Goes to call the Players._ _Smith._ What a plague does this fop mean, by his snip snap, hit for hit, and dash! _Johns._ Mean! why, he never meant anything in's life; what dost talk of meaning for? _Enter_ BAYES. _Bayes._ Why don't you come in? _Enter_ PRINCE PRETTYMAN _and_ TOM THIMBLE.[19] This scene will make you die with laughing, if it be well acted, for 'tis as full of drollery as ever it can hold. 'Tis like an orange stuff'd with cloves, as for conceit. _Pret._ But prithee, Tom Thimble, why wilt thou needs marry? if nine tailors make but one man, what work art thou cutting out here for thyself, trow? _Bayes._ Good. _Thim._ Why, an't please your highness, if I can't make up all the work I cut out, I shan't want journeymen enow to help me, I warrant you. _Bayes._ Good again. _Pret._ I am afraid thy journeymen, tho', Tom, won't work by the day. _Bayes._ Good still. _Thim._ However, if my wife sits but as I do, there will be no great danger: not half so much as when I trusted you, sir, for your coronation-suit. _Bayes._ Very good, i'faith. _Pret._ Why the times then liv'd upon trust; it was the fashion. You would not be out of time, at such a time as that, sure: a tailor, you know, must never be out of fashion. _Bayes._ Right. _Thim._ I'm sure, sir, I made your clothes in the court-fashion, for you never paid me yet. _Bayes._ There's a bob for the court.[20] _Pret._ Why, Tom, thou art a sharp rogue when thou art angry, I see: thou pay'st me now, methinks. _Bayes._ There's pay upon pay! as good as ever was written, egad! _Thim._ Ay, sir, in your own coin; you give me nothing but words.[21] _Bayes._ Admirable! _Pret._ Well, Tom, I hope shortly I shall have another coin for thee; for now the wars are coming on, I shall grow to be a man of metal. _Bayes._ Oh, you did not do that half enough. _Johns._ Methinks he does it admirably. _Bayes._ Ay, pretty well; but he does not hit me in't: he does not top his part.[22] _Thim._ That's the way to be stamp'd yourself, sir. I shall see you come home, like an angel for the king's evil, with a hole bor'd thro' you. [_Exeunt._ _Bayes._ Ha, there he has hit it up to the hilts, egad! How do you like it now, gentlemen? is not this pure wit? _Smith._ 'Tis snip-snap, sir, as you say; but methinks not pleasant, nor to the purpose; for the play does not go on.