Sneer. Ha, ha, ha! a conspiracy, indeed!
Fust. Now, sir, for my second act; my tragedy consists but of three.
Sneer. I thought that had been immethodical in tragedy.
Fust. That may be; but I spun it out as long as I could keep Common Sense alive; ay, or even her ghost. Come, begin the second act.
The scene draws and discovers QUEEN COMMON SENSE asleep.
Sneer. Pray, sir, who's that upon the couch there?
Fust. I thought you had known her better, sir: that's Common Sense asleep.
Sneer. I should rather have expected her at the head of her army.
Fust. Very likely, but you do not understand the practical rules of writing as well as I do; the first and greatest of which is protraction, or the art of spinning, without which the matter of a play would lose the chief property of all other matter, namely, extension; and no play, sir, could possibly last longer than half an hour. I perceive, Mr Sneerwell, you are one of those who would have no character brought on but what is necessary to the business of the play.—Nor I neither—But the business of the play, as I take it, is to divert, and therefore every character that diverts is necessary to the business of the play.
Sneer. But how will the audience be brought to conceive any probable reason for this sleep?