_K. Ush._ Lardella, O Lardella, from above Behold the tragic issues of our love: Pity us, sinking under grief and pain, For thy being cast away upon the main. _Bayes._ Look you now, you see I told you true. _Smith._ Ay, sir, and I thank you for it very kindly. _Bayes._ Ay, egad, but you will not have patience; honest Mr.--a--you will not have patience. _Johns._ Pray, Mr. Bayes, who is that Drawcansir? _Bayes._ Why, sir, a fierce hero, that frights his mistress, snubs up kings, baffles armies, and does what he will, without regard to numbers, good manners, or justice.[38] _Johns._ A very pretty character! _Smith._ But, Mr. Bayes, I thought your heroes had ever been men of great humanity and justice. _Bayes._ Yes, they have been so; but for my part, I prefer that one quality of singly beating of whole armies, above all your moral virtues put together, egad. You shall see him come in presently. Zookers, why don't you read the paper? [_To the Players._ _K. Phys._ O, cry you mercy. [_Goes to take the paper._ _Bayes._ Pish! nay you are such a fumbler. Come, I'll read it myself. [_Takes the paper from off the coffin._ Stay, it's an ill hand, I must use my spectacles. This now is a copy of verses, which I make Lardella compose just as she is dying, with design to have it pinn'd upon her coffin, and so read by one of the usurpers, who is her cousin. _Smith._ A very shrewd design that, upon my word, Mr. Bayes. _Bayes._ And what do you think now, I fancy her to make love like, here, in this paper? _Smith._ Like a woman: what should she make love like? _Bayes._ O' my word you are out tho', sir; egad you are. _Smith._ What then, like a man? _Bayes._ No, sir; like a humble-bee. _Smith._ I confess, that I should not have fancy'd. _Bayes._ It may be so, sir; but it is tho', in order to the opinion of some of our ancient philosophers, who held the transmigration of the soul. _Smith._ Very fine. _Bayes._ I'll read the title: "To my dear Couz, King Physician." _Smith._ That's a little too familiar with a king, tho', sir, by your favour, for a humble-bee. _Bayes._ Mr. Smith, in other things, I grant your knowledge may be above me; but as for poetry, give me leave to say I understand that better: it has been longer my practice; it has indeed, sir. _Smith._ Your servant, sir. _Bayes._ Pray mark it. [_Reads._ "Since death my earthly part will thus remove, I'll come a humble-bee to your chaste love: With silent wings I'll follow you, dear couz; Or else, before you, in the sunbeams, buz. And when to melancholy groves you come, An airy ghost, you'll know me by my hum; For sound, being air, a ghost does well become."[39] _Smith_ (after a pause). Admirable!