Soaper. “He! he! Nay, Mr. Snarl: Mr. Cibber is like old port; the more ancient he grows, the more delicious his perfume.”
Snarl. “And the crustier he gets.”
Clive. “Mr. Vane, you should always separate those two. Snarl, by himself, is just supportable; but, when Soaper paves the way with his hypocritical praise, the pair are too much; they are a two-edged sword.”
Woffington. “Wanting nothing but polish and point.”
Vane. “Gentlemen, we abandon your neighbor, Mr. Quin, to you.”
Quin. “They know better. If they don't keep a civil tongue in their heads, no fat goes from here to them.”
Cibber. “Ah, Mr. Vane; this room is delightful; but it makes me sad. I knew this house in Lord Longueville's time; an unrivaled gallant, Peggy. You may just remember him, Sir Charles?”
Pomander (with his eye on a certain door). “Yes, yes; a gouty old fellow.”
Cibber fired up. “I wish you may ever be like him. Oh, the beauty, the wit, the petits-soupers that used to be here! Longueville was a great creature, Mr. Vane. I have known him entertain a fine lady in this room, while her rival was fretting and fuming on the other side of that door.”
“Ah, indeed!” said Sir Charles.