Smart. By Gad, Rattle, I fancy you have hit it. What do you think, Mr. Dullman?
Omnes. Ay, let us have Mr. Dullman's Opinion of it.
Dull. Why really, Gentlemen, I have been thinking of it ever since I first read it in the Papers—and I fancy—though to be sure, it was very difficult to find out—but at last, I think I have hit upon it.
Smart. Well, well, my dear Dullman, communicate.
Dull. I suppose there is some Person here among us whose name is Pit, and that he will get up presently and speak a Prologue.
Omnes. O, O, O, O, O, Shocking! Shocking! Well conjectured, Dullman.
Rattle. Harkee, Jack, [let's] bam the Irishman. Ask him if he knows anything of it.
Smart. Don't you laugh then; he'll smoak us if you do; keep your Countenance, and I'll engage I'll pitch-kettle him. Pray Sir, do you know anything of this Prologue?
Irish. Who, me? Not upon my Honour. I know no more of it than he that made it.
Smart. A Gentleman was saying just before the Play was over that you were to be the Pit and to speak the Prologue; is there any truth in it, Sir?