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but I have dispatch'd it all in his Scene.
Volscius sits down.
Vols. How has my passion made me Cupid's scoff!
This hasty Boot is on, the other off,
And sullen lyes, with amorous design
To quit loud fame, and make that Beauty mine.
My Legs, the Emblem of my various thought,
Shew to what sad distraction I am brought.
Sometimes, with stubborn Honour, like this Boot,
My mind is guarded, and resolv'd to do't:
Sometimes, again, that very mind, by Love
Disarmed, like this other Leg does prove.
Johns. What pains Mr. Bayes takes to act this speech himself!
Smi. I, the fool, I see, is mightily transported with it.
Vols. Shall I to Honour or to Love give way?
Go on, cryes Honour; tender Love says, nay:
Honour, aloud, commands, pluck both boots on;
But softer Love does whisper, put on none.
What shall I do? what conduct shall I find
To lead me through this twy-light of my mind?
For as bright Day with black approach of Night
Contending, makes a doubtful puzzling light;
So does my Honour and my Love together
Puzzle me so, I can resolve for neither.
Johns. By my troth, Sir, this is as difficult a Combat as ever I saw, and as equal; for 'tis determin'd on neither side.
Bayes. Ay, is't not, I gad, ha? For, to go off hip hop, hip hop, upon this occasion, is a thousand times better than any conclusion in the world, I gad. But, Sirs, you cannot make any judgement of this Play, because we are come but to the end of the second Act. Come, the Dance. Dance.
Well, Gentlemen, you'l see this Dance, if I am not mistaken, take very well upon the Stage, when they are perfect in their motions, and all that.
Smi.
