Trap. Very well! very well, sir! You have affected me, I am sure.
Fust. And so he will the audience, I'll answer for them.
Trap. Oh, sir, you're too good-natured; but, sir, I do assure you I had writ a much better prologue of my own; but, as this came gratis, have reserved it for my next play—a prologue saved is a prologue got, brother Fustian. But come, where are your actors? Is Mr Mayor and the Aldermen at the table?
Promp. Yes, sir; but they want wine, and we can get none from the quaker's cellar without ready money.
Trap. Rat him! can't he trust till the third night? Here, take sixpence, and fetch two pots of porter, put it into bottles, and it will do for wine well enough.
Fust. Ay, faith, and the wine will be as good as the wit, I'll answer for it. [Aside.
Trap. Mr Fustian, you'll observe I do not begin this play, like most of our modern comedies, with three or four gentlemen who are brought on only to talk wit; for, to tell you the truth, sir, I have very little, if any, wit in this play. No, sir, this is a play consisting of humour, nature, and simplicity. It is written, sir, in the exact and true spirit of Moliere: and this I will say for it, that, except about a dozen, or a score or so, there is not one impure joke in it. But come, clear the stage, and draw the back scene! Mr Fustian, if you please to sit down by me.
[Mayor and Aldermen discovered.
Fust. Pray, sir, who are these characters?
Trap. Sir, they are Mr Mayor of the town and his brethren, consulting about the election.