Sneer. If you'll let me know who your people of quality are, I'll endeavour to bring you off.
Trap. No, no, hang me if I tell you, ha, ha, ha! I know you too well—But prithee, now, tell me, Fustian, how dost thou like my play? dost think it will do?
Fust. 'Tis my opinion it will.
Trap. Give me a guinea, and I'll give you a crown a night as long as it runs.
Sneer. That's laying against yourself, Mr Trapwit.
Trap. I love a hedge, sir.
Fust. Before the rehearsal begins, gentlemen, I must beg your opinion of my dedication: you know, a dedication is generally a bill drawn for value therein contained; which value is a set of nauseous fulsome compliments which my soul abhors and scorns; for I mortally hate flattery, and therefore have carefully avoided it.
Sneer. Yes, faith, a dedication without flattery will be worth the seeing.
Fust. Well, sir, you shall see it. Read it, dear Trapwit; I hate to read my own works.
Trap. [Reads.] "My lord, at a time when nonsense, dullness, lewdness, and all manner of profaneness and immorality are daily practised on the stage, I have prevailed on my modesty to offer to your lordship's protection a piece which, if it has no merit to recommend it, has at least no demerit to disgrace it; nor do I question at this, when every one else is dull, you will be pleased to find one exception to the number.