Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness;—the joy of my heart
Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art.
Wild Nature!—Grand Shakespeare!
Both. And down Aristotle!
Lady Bluem. Sir George[628] thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle:
And my Lord Seventy-four,[629] who protects our dear Bard,
And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard
For the poet, who, singing of pedlers and asses,
Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus.120
Tra. And you, Scamp!—
Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrassed.
Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harassed
With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and all schools[630].
Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be fools.
I should like to know who.
Ink. And I should not be sorry
To know who are not:—it would save us some worry.
Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nothing control
This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul."
Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise!—I
Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,130
I feel so elastic—"so buoyant—so buoyant!"[631]
Ink. Tracy! open the window.