[Goes after him.
Here he is; I have caught him. Pray, sir, now for my sake, will you do a favour to this friend of mine?
Bayes. Sir, it is not within my small capacity to do favours, but receive 'em; especially from a person that does wear the honourable title you are pleased to impose, sir, upon this—sweet sir, your servant.
Smith. Your humble servant, sir.
Johns. But wilt thou do me a favour, now?
Bayes. Ay, sir, what is't?
Johns. Why, to tell him the meaning of thy last play.
Bayes. How, sir, the meaning? Do you mean the plot?
Johns. Ay, ay; anything.
Bayes. Faith, sir, the intrigo's now quite out of my head; but I have a new one in my pocket that I may say is a virgin; it has never yet been blown upon. I must tell you one thing: 'tis all new wit, and, though I say it, a better than my last; and you know well enough how that took. In fine, it shall read, and write, and act, and plot, and show, ay, and pit, box, and gallery, egad, with any play in Europe.[1] This morning is its last rehearsal, in their habits, and all that, as it is to be acted; and if you and your friend will do it but the honour to see it in its virgin attire; though, perhaps, it may blush, I shall not be ashamed to discover its nakedness unto you. I think it is in this pocket. [Puts his hand in his pocket.