3rd Play. Oh, admirably!
Bayes. I'll tell you now a pretty conceit. What do you think I'll make 'em call her anon, in this play?
Smith. What, I pray?
Bayes. Why, I make 'em call her Armaryllis, because of her armour: ha, ha, ha!
Johns. That will be very well indeed.
Bayes. Ay, 'tis a pretty little rogue; but—a—come, let's sit down. Look you, sirs, the chief hinge of this play, upon which the whole plot moves and turns, and that causes the variety of all the several accidents, which, you know, are the things in nature that make up the grand refinement of a play, is, that I suppose two kings of the same place; as for example, at Brentford, for I love to write familiarly. Now the people having the same relations to 'em both, the same affections, the same duty, the same obedience, and all that, are divided among themselves in point of devoir and interest, how to behave themselves equally between 'em: these kings differing sometimes in particular; though, in the main, they agree. (I know not whether I make myself well understood.)
Johns. I did not observe you, sir: pray say that again.
Bayes. Why, look you, sir (nay, I beseech you be a little curious in taking notice of this, or else you'll never understand my notion of the thing), the people being embarrass'd by their equal ties to both, and the sovereigns concern'd in a reciprocal regard, as well to their own interest, as the good of the people, make a certain kind of a—you understand me—upon which, there do arise several disputes, turmoils, heart-burnings, and all that—in fine, you'll apprehend it better when you see it.
[Exit, to call the Players.
Smith. I find the author will be very much obliged to the players, if they can make any sense out of this.