_Bayes._ Stay, let me see: taken! O 'tis true. Why, sir, as I was going to say, his highness here, the prince, was taken in a cradle by a fisherman, and brought up as his child! _Smith._ Indeed! _Bayes._ Nay, prithee, hold thy peace. And so, sir, this murder being committed by the river-side, the fisherman, upon suspicion, was seiz'd, and thereupon the prince grew angry. _Smith._ So, so; now 'tis very plain. _Johns._ But, Mr. Bayes, is not this some disparagement to a prince, to pass for a fisherman's son? Have a care of that, I pray. _Bayes._ No, no, not at all; for 'tis but for a while: I shall fetch him off again presently, you shall see. _Enter_ PRETTYMAN _and_ THIMBLE. _Pret._ By all the gods, I'll set the world on fire, Rather than let 'em ravish hence my sire. _Thim._ Brave Prettyman, it is at length reveal'd, That he is not thy sire who thee conceal'd. _Bayes._ Lo, you now; there, he's off again. _Johns._ Admirably done, i'faith! _Bayes._ Ay, now the plot thickens very much upon us. _Pret._ What oracle this darkness can evince! Sometimes a fisher's son, sometimes a prince. It is a secret, great as is the world; In which I, like the soul, am toss'd and hurl'd, The blackest ink of Fate sure was my lot, And when she writ my name, she made a blot. [_Exit._ _Bayes._ There's a blustering verse for you now. _Smith._ Yes, sir; but why is he so mightily troubled to find he is not a fisherman's son? _Bayes._ Phoo! that is not because he has a mind to be his son, but for fear he should be thought to be nobody's son at all. _Smith._ Nay, that would trouble a man, indeed. _Bayes._ So, let me see. SCENE V. _Enter_ PRINCE VOLSCIUS, _going out of town._ _Smith._ I thought he had been gone to Piccadilly. _Bayes._ Yes, he gave it out so; but that was only to cover his design. _Johns._ What design? _Bayes._ Why, to head the army that lies conceal'd for him at Knightsbridge. _Johns._ I see here's a great deal of plot, Mr. Bayes. _Bayes._ Yes, now it begins to break: but we shall have a world of more business anon. _Enter_ PRINCE VOLSCIUS, CLORIS, AMARYLLIS, _and_ HARRY, _with a riding-cloak and boots._ _Ama._ Sir, you are cruel thus to leave the town, And to retire to country solitude. _Clo._ We hop'd this summer that we should at least Have held the honour of your company. _Bayes._ Held the honour of your company; prettily express'd: held the honour of your company! gadzookers, these fellows will never take notice of anything. _Johns._ I assure you, sir, I admire it extremely; I don't know what he does. _Bayes._ Ay, ay, he's a little envious; but 'tis no great matter. Come. _Ama._ Pray let us two this single boon obtain! That you will here, with poor us, still remain! Before your horses come, pronounce our fate, For then, alas, I fear 'twill be too late. _Bayes._ Sad! Harry, my boots; for I'll go range among!