Smith. How, sir, after she was dead?
Bayes. Ay, sir, after she was dead. Why, what have you to say to that?
Johns. Say? why nothing. He were a devil that had anything to say to that.
Bayes. Right.
Smith. How did she come to die, pray, sir?
Bayes. Phoo! that's no matter; by a fall: but here's the conceit, that upon his knowing she was kill'd by an accident, he supposes, with a sigh, that she died for love of him.
Johns. Ay, ay, that's well enough; let's hear it, Mr. Bayes.
Bayes. 'Tis to the tune of "Farewell, fair Armida;" on seas, and in battles, in bullets, and all that.
Song.[23]
In swords, pikes, and bullets, 'tis safer to be,