_Poet_. Ha! say'st thou? By my soul, a better play Ne'er came upon a stage; but, since you dare Contemn me thus, I'll dedicate my play To Ignorance, and call her Common Sense: Yes, I will dress her in your pomp, and swear That Ignorance knows more than all the world. [_Exit_. _Enter_ FIREBRAND. _Fireb_. Thanks to the Sun for this desired encounter. _Q. C. S_. Oh, priest! all's lost; our forces are o'erthrown-- Some gasping lie, but most are run away. _Fireb_. I knew it all before, and told you too The Sun has long been out of humour with you. _Q. C. S_. Dost thou, then, lay upon the Sun the faults Of all those cowards who forsook my cause? _Fireb_. Those cowards all were most religious men: And I beseech thee, Sun, to shine upon them. _Q. C. S_. Oh, impudence! and darest thou to my face?-- _Fireb_. Yes, I dare more; the Sun presents you this, [_Stabs her_. Which I, his faithful messenger, deliver. _Q. C. S_. Oh, traytor! thou hast murder'd Common Sense. Farewel, vain world! to Ignorance I give thee, Her leaden sceptre shall henceforward rule. Now, priest, indulge thy wild ambitious thoughts; Men shall embrace thy schemes, till thou hast drawn All worship from the Sun upon thyself: Henceforth all things shall topsy-turvy turn; Physick shall kill, and Law enslave the world; Cits shall turn beaus, and taste Italian songs, While courtiers are stock-jobbing in the city. Places requiring learning and great parts Henceforth shall all be hustled in a hat, And drawn by men deficient in them both. Statesmen--but oh! cold death will let me say No more--and you must guess _et caetera_. [_Dies_. _Fireb_. She's gone! but ha! it may beseem me ill T' appear her murderer. I'll therefore lay This dagger by her side; and that will be Sufficient evidence, with a little money, To make the coroner's inquest find self-murder. I'll preach her funeral sermon, and deplore Her loss with tears, praise her with all my art. Good Ignorance will still believe it all. [_Exit_. _Enter_ Queen IGNORANCE, &c. _Q. Ign_. Beat a retreat; the day is now our own; The powers of Common Sense are all destroy'd; Those that remain are fled away with her. I wish, Mr Fustian, this speech be common sense. _Sneer_. How the devil should it, when she's dead? _Fust_. One would think so, when a cavil is made against the best thing in the whole play; and I would willingly part with anything else but those two lines. _Harl_. Behold! where welt'ring in her blood she lies. I wish, sir, you would cut out that line, or alter it, if you please. _Fust_. That's another line that I won't part with; I would consent to cut out anything but the chief beauties of my play. _Harl_. Behold the bloody dagger by her side, With which she did the deed. _Q. Ign_. 'Twas nobly done! I envy her her exit, and will pay All honours to her dust. Bear hence her body, And let her lie in state in Goodman's fields. _Enter_ Messenger.