_Bayes._ Play does not go on! I don't know what you mean: why, is not this part of the play? _Smith._ Yes; but the plot stands still. _Bayes._ Plot stand still! why, what a devil is the plot good for, but to bring in fine things? _Smith._ Oh, I did not know that before. _Bayes._ No, I think you did not, nor many things more, that I am master of. Now, sir, egad, this is the bane of all us writers; let us soar but never so little above the common pitch, egad, all's spoil'd, for the vulgar never understand it; they can never conceive you, sir, the excellency of these things. _Johns._ 'Tis a sad fate, I must confess; but you write on still for all that! _Bayes._ Write on? Ay, egad, I warrant you. 'Tis not their talk shall stop me; if they catch me at that lock, I'll give them leave to hang me. As long as I know my things are good, what care I what they say? What, are they gone without singing my last new song? 'sbud would it were in their bellies. I'll tell you, Mr. Johnson, if I have any skill in these matters, I vow to gad this song is peremptorily the very best that ever yet was written: you must know it was made by Tom Thimble's first wife after she was dead. _Smith._ How, sir, after she was dead? _Bayes._ Ay, sir, after she was dead. Why, what have you to say to that? _Johns._ Say? why nothing. He were a devil that had anything to say to that. _Bayes._ Right. _Smith._ How did she come to die, pray, sir? _Bayes._ Phoo! that's no matter; by a fall: but here's the conceit, that upon his knowing she was kill'd by an accident, he supposes, with a sigh, that she died for love of him. _Johns._ Ay, ay, that's well enough; let's hear it, Mr. Bayes. _Bayes._ 'Tis to the tune of "Farewell, fair Armida;" on seas, and in battles, in bullets, and all that. SONG.[23] In swords, pikes, and bullets, 'tis safer to be, Than in a strong castle, remoted from thee: My death's bruise pray think you gave me, tho' a fall Did give it me more from the top of a wall: For then if the moat on her mud would first lay, And after before you my body convey: The blue on my breast when you happen to see, You'll say with a sigh, there's a true blue for me. Ha, rogues! when I am merry, I write these things as fast as hops, egad; for, you must know, I am as pleasant a cavalier as ever you saw; I am, i'faith. _Smith._ But, Mr. Bayes, how comes this song in here? for methinks there is no great occasion for it. _Bayes._ Alack, sir, you know nothing; you must ever interlard your plays with songs, ghosts, and dances, if you mean to--a-- _Johns._ Pit, box, and gallery,[24] Mr. Bayes. _Bayes._ Egad, and you have nick'd it. Hark you, Mr. Johnson, you know I don't flatter; egad, you have a great deal of wit. _Johns._ O Lord, sir, you do me too much honour.