_Nev._ That's true enough. [_Aside._] I'll tell you--I was at her party last night, and on coming out of the room she slipt it into my hand, and desired me to direct it, and give it to you--She has often spoke to me in your favour, and I did you all the good I could--however, to be sure it's no mistake, ask the servant, who admits you, if the name at the bottom is not her own hand-writing.
_Vapid._ Oh, no!--it's no mistake,--there's no doubt of the matter.--Write a play, Neville, write a play--and charm the ladies, you dog!--adieu! [_Exit._
_Ennui._ I've an idea--if we've common fortune, this will do every thing.
_Nev._ No,--Lady Waitfor't's arts are numberless--she is so perfect a hypocrite, that I even doubt her confessing her real sentiments to her minion Willoughby; and when she does a bad action, she ever pretends 'tis from a good motive.
_Vapid._ Gad, I forgot--you'll recollect the epilogue, Neville.
_Nev._ Yes,--I'll write to my cousin to-day.
_Vapid._ But, not a word of the love affair to him--any where else indeed it might do one a service--but never tell an intrigue to a dramatic author.
_Vapid._ Because it may furnish a scene for a comedy--I do it myself.--Indeed, I think the best part of an intrigue is the hopes of incident, or stage effect--however, I can't stay.
_Nev._ Nay, we'll walk with you--I, in pursuit of my brother--you, of your mistress.
_Vapid._ Ay, Neville, there it is--now, do take my advice, and write a play--if any incident happens, remember, it is better to have written a damned play, than no play at all--it snatches a man from obscurity--and being particular, as this world goes, is a very great thing.
_Nev._ But I confess I have no desire to get into print.
_Vapid._ Get into print!--pshaw! every body gets into print now.--Kings and quacks--peers and poets--bishops and boxers--tailors and trading justices--can't go lower, you know--all get into print!--But we soar a little higher,--we have privileges peculiar to ourselves.--Now, sir, I--I, for my part, can talk as I please,--say what I will, it is sure to excite mirth,--for, supposing you don't laugh at my wit, I laugh myself, Neville, and that makes every body else do the same--so allons!
_Ennui._ I've an idea--no bad mode of routing the enemy. [_Exeunt._