Mr. H. From ladies (opens them). This from Melesinda, to remind me of the morning-call I promised; the pretty creature positively languishes to be made Mrs. H. I believe I must indulge her (affectedly). This from her cousin, to bespeak me to some party, I suppose (opening it),—Oh, "this evening"—"Tea and cards"—(surveying himself with complacency). Dear H., thou art certainly a pretty fellow. I wonder what makes thee such a favorite among the ladies: I wish it may not be owing to the concealment of thy unfortunate——pshaw!
Enter 4th Waiter.
4th Waiter. Sir, one Mr. Printagain is inquiring for you.
Mr. H. Oh, I remember, the poet; he is publishing by subscription. Give him a guinea, and tell him he may put me down.
4th Waiter. What name shall I tell him, Sir?
Mr. H. Zounds, he is a poet; let him fancy a name.
[Exit 4th Waiter.
Enter 5th Waiter.
5th Waiter. Sir, Bartlemy the lame beggar, that you sent a private donation to last Monday, has by some accident discovered his benefactor, and is at the door waiting to return thanks.
Mr. H. Oh, poor fellow, who could put it into his head? Now I shall be teased by all his tribe, when once this is known. Well, tell him I am glad I could be of any service to him, and send him away.