“'No, you don't say so? You don't mean the lady that—”
“Yes yes I do; no less a lady, I assure you.”
He then said he was very glad of the honour of seeing me. I sneaked away. When we came upstairs, Mrs. Thrale charged me to make myself agreeable to Mr. Murphy.
“He may be of use to you, in what I am most eager for, your writing a play: he knows stage business so well; and if you but take a fancy to one another, he may be more able to serve you than all of us put together. My ambition is, that Johnson should write your prologue, and Murphy your epilogue, then I shall be quite happy.”
At tea-time, when I went into the library, I found Johnson reading, and Mrs. Thrale in close conference with Mr. Murphy.
“If I,” said Mr. Murphy, looking very archly, “had written a certain book—a book I won't name, but a book I have lately read—I would next write a comedy.”
“Good,” cried Mrs. Thrale, colouring with pleasure; “you think so too?”
“Yes, indeed; I thought so while I was reading it; it struck me repeatedly.”
“Don't look at me, Miss Burney,” cried Mrs. Thrale, “for this is no doing of mine. Well, I wonder what Miss Burney will do twenty years hence, when she can blush no more; for now she can never hear the name of her book.”
Mr. M.-Nay, I name no book; at least no author: how can I, for I don't know the author; there is no name given to it: I only say, whoever wrote that book ought to write a comedy. Dr. Johnson might write it for aught I know.