Smart. I am infinitely obliged to you. (Bowing)
Irish. Sir, I am your most obsequious. (Bowing)
Rattle. But pray Sir, what kind of Prologue do you think we shall have tonight?
Irish. Why I believe it will be a kind of Prologue that will be spoken by the Pit.
Rattle. Ay, that we suppose but in what Manner?
Irish. Why I am come here on purpose to know that, but I suppose it will be in the manner of—a—a—by my Shoul I don't know how it will be.
Smart. Upon my word, Sir, I think you give a very clear Account of it.
Rattle. Jack, yonder's Snarlewit, the Poet and intimate Friend of Macklin's; you are acquainted with him. Prithee call him; ten to one but he can give us the History both of the Prologue and the Farce.
Smart. Hiss, Mr. Snarlewit, we have Room for you here, if you will come and set by us; do you know Snarlewit, Dick?
Rattle. He is a devilish odd Fellow; he is one that never speaks well of any Man behind his back nor ill of him to his Face and is a most terrible Critick.