Are a most deadly Enemy to the Sun,
And all his Priests have greatest Cause to wish
You had been never born.
_Q. C. S._ Ha! say'st thou, Priest?
Then know I honour and adore the Sun!
And when I see his Light, and feel his Warmth,
I glow with naming Gratitude toward him;
But know, I never will adore a Priest,
Who wears Pride's Face beneath Religion's Mask.
And makes a Pick-Lock of his Piety,
To steal away the Liberty of Mankind.
But while I live, I'll never give thee Power.
_Firebrand._ Madam, our Power is not deriv'd from you,
Nor any one: 'Twas sent us in a Box
From the great Sun himself, and Carriage paid;
_Phaeton_ brought it when he overturn'd
The Chariot of the Sun into the Sea.
_Q. C. S._ Shew me the Instrument, and let me read it.
_Fireb._ Madam, you cannot read it, for being thrown
Into the Sea, the Water has so damag'd it,
That none but Priests could ever read it since."

In the end, Firebrand stabs Common-Sense, but her Ghost frightens
Ignorance off the Stage, upon which Sneerwell says--"I am glad you make
_Common-Sense_ get the better at last; I was under terrible
Apprehensions for your Moral." "Faith, Sir," says Fustian, "this is
almost the only Play where she has got the better lately." And so the
piece closes. But it would be wrong to quit it without some reference to
the numberless little touches by which, throughout the whole, the
humours of dramatic life behind the scenes are ironically depicted. The