Vapid. That's a new incident!
Mari. Shall I? then 'faith, Mr Vapid, we'll build a theatre of our own! you shall write plays, and I'll act them.
Enter Ennui.
Ennui. I've an idea—I give you joy, Neville.—I mean to kill time, by living single; and, therefore, I hope, the lady and the borough may be yours.
Mari. Mr Ennui, I hope you'll forgive me, and Sir Harry Hustle, the fatigue we occasioned you?
Ennui. Yaw, aw—don't mention it.—The very recollection makes me faint.—In fact—my lord, I just met one of Lady Waitfor't's servants, who tells me she has left Bath in a rage.
Flor. I am afraid she has escaped too easily.
Lord. Oh, never think of her! I can answer for her punishment being adequate to her crimes—Willoughby has told me all her schemes,—and if ever I hear her name again, may I lose my peerage, and dress like a gentleman.
Ennui. My lord—I've an idea—
Vapid. Sir, I beg your pardon; but really, if you have an idea, I will trouble you to spare it me for my comedy.