Mar. Pray don't interrupt me, Mr. Praiseall, at this time. Mr. Powell, I suppose you observe, throughout my Play, I make the Heroes, and Heroines in Love with those they shou'd not be.
Mr. Pow. Yes, Madam.
Mar. For look ye, if every Woman had lov'd her own Husband, there had been no Business for a Play.
Mr. Pow. But, Madam, won't the Critticks say, the Guilt of their Passion takes off the Pity?
Mar. Oh, Mr. Powell, trouble not your self about the Criticks, I am provided for them, my Prologue cools their Courage I warrant 'em; han't you heard the Humour?
Mr. Pow. No, Madam.
Mar. I have two of your stoutest Men enter with long Truncheons.
Mr. Pow. Truncheons! Why Truncheons?
Mar. Because a Truncheon's like a Quarter-staff, has a mischievous Look with it, and a Critick is cursedly afraid of any thing that looks terrible.
Mr. Prais. Why, Madam, there are abundance of Critticks, and witty Men that are Soldiers.