Howe'er, at length, her stock was spent, (For Female Fires sometimes may be Subject to Mortality;) So Back to Back they sit, and sullenly repent. But the mute Scene was quickly ended, The Lady, for her share, pretended The Want of Love lay at his Door; } For her part, she had still in store } Enough for him and twenty more, } Which cou'd not be contended. He answer'd her in homely Words, (For Sparrows are but ill-bred Birds) That he already had enjoy'd So much, that truly he was cloy'd. Which so provok'd her Spleen, That after some good hearty Prayers, } A Jostle, and some spiteful Tears, } They fell together by the Ears, } And ne'er were fond again._ [Illustration] [Illustration] _ESOP._ PART II. _Enter Players._ _Esop._ Well, good People, who are all you? _Omnes._ Sir, we are Players. _Esop._ Players! What Players? _Play._ Why, Sir, we are Stage-Players, that's our Calling: Tho' we play upon other Things too; some of us play upon the Fiddle; some play upon the Flute; we play upon one another; we play upon the Town; and we play upon the Patentees. _Esop._ Patentees! Pr'ythee, what are they? _Play._ Why, they are, Sir----Sir, they are----'Cod I don't know what they are----Fish or Flesh----Masters or Servants----Sometimes one----Sometimes t'other, I think----Just as we are in the Mood. _Esop._ Why, I thought they had a lawful Authority over you. _Play._ Lawful Authority, Sir!----Sir, we are free-born _Englishmen_, we care not for Law nor Authority neither, when we are out of Humour. _Esop._ But I think they pretended at least to an Authority over you; pray, upon what Foundation was it built? _Play._ Upon a rotten one----if you'll believe us. Sir, I'll tell you what the Projectors did: They imbark'd twenty thousand Pound upon a leaky Vessel----She was built at _Whitehall_; I think they call'd her----the Patent----ay, the Patent: Her Keel was made of a Broad Seal----and the King gave 'em a white Staff for their Main-Mast. She was a pretty light Frigate to look upon, indeed: They spar'd nothing to set her off; they gilded her, and painted her, and rigg'd, and gunn'd her: And so sent her a Privateering. But the first Storm that blew, down went the Mast, ashore went the Ship--Crack, says the Keel; Mercy, cry'd the Pilot; but the Wind was so high, his Pray'rs cou'd not be heard--so they split upon a Rock----that lay hid under a Petticoat. _Esop._ A very sad Story, this! But what became of the Ship's Company?