Mr. Prais. I ha' done, I ha' done, Madam.
Mar. Mr. Powell! Mr. Powell!
Scene-Keeper—He's gone out of the House, Madam.
Mar. Oh the Devil! Sure I shall go distracted! Where's this Book? Come we'll begin the Play: Call my Lady Loveall, and Betty Useful her Maid: Pray keep a clear Stage. Now look you, Mr. Praiseall, 'thas been the receiv'd Opinion, and Practice in all your late Operas to take care of the Songish part, as I may call it, after a great Man; and for the Play, it might be the History of Tom Thumb; no matter how, I have done just contrary, took care of the Language and Plot; and for the Musick, they that don't like it, may go whistle.
Mr. Aw'dw. Why wou'd you chuse to call it an Opera then?
Mar. Lord! Mr. Aw'dwell, I han't time to answer every impertinent Question.
Mr. Prais. No Sir! We han't time, it was the Ladys Will, and that's Allmighty Reason.
Mr. Aw'dw. I shall have an Opportunity to Kick that Fellow.
Mar. I wonder my Lord Duke's not come, nor Sir Thomas. Bless me! What a Disorder my dress is in? Oh! These People will give me the Spleen intollerablly! Do they design ever to enter or no? My Spirits are quite gone! They may do e'en what they will.
Mrs. Wellf. They are entring, Madam.