Vapid. Stop, my dear ma'am, stop—I have it—now,—let me be clear—first, you send him a letter; is it not so? yes: then he gives it to me—very well: then I come (supposing you only twenty) mighty well!—then you turn out ninety—charming!—-then comes the embarrassment: then the eclaircissement! Oh! it's glorious!—Give me your hand—you have atoned for every thing.
Lady. O! I owe all this to that villain, Neville—I am not revengeful—but 'tis a weakness to endure such repeated provocations, and I am convinced the mind, that too frequently forgives bad actions, will at last forget good ones.
Vapid. Bravo! encore, encore—it is the very best sentiment I ever heard—say it again, pray say it again—I'll take it down, and blend it with the incident, and you shall be gratified, one day or other, with seeing the whole on the stage.—"The mind that too frequently forgives bad actions will at last forget good ones."
[Taking it down in his common place book.
Lady. This madman's folly is not to be borne—if my Lord too should discover him. [Vapid sits, and takes notes.] Here, the consequences might be dreadful, and the scheme of Ennui's play all undone.—Sir, I desire you'll quit my house immediately—Oh! I'll be revenged, I'm determined.
[Exit.
Vapid. What a great exit!—--Very well!—I've got an incident, however.—'Faith, I have noble talents—to extract gold from lead has been the toil of numberless philosophers; but I extract it from a baser metal, human frailty—Oh! it's a great thing to be a dramatic genius!—a very great thing indeed.
[As he is going,
Enter Lord Scratch.
Vapid. Sir, your most devoted,——How d'ye do?