Bayes. Why thus, sir; nothing so easy when understood. I take a book in my hand, either at home or elsewhere, for that's all one; if there be any wit in't, as there is no book but has some, I transverse it; that is, if it be prose, put it into verse (but that takes up some time), and if it be verse, put it into prose.
Johns. Methinks, Mr. Bayes, that putting verse into prose should be called transprosing.
Bayes. By my troth, sir, 'tis a very good notion; and hereafter it shall be so.
Smith. Well, sir, and what d'ye do with it then?
Bayes. Make it my own. 'Tis so changed that no man can know it. My next rule is the rule of record, by way of table-book. Pray observe.
Johns. We hear you, sir; go on.
Bayes. As thus. I come into a coffee-house, or some other place where witty men resort, I make as if I minded nothing; do you mark? but as soon as any one speaks, pop I slap it down, and make that too my own.
Johns. But, Mr. Bayes, are you not sometimes in danger of their making you restore, by force, what you have gotten thus by art?
Bayes. No, sir; the world's unmindful: they never take notice of these things.