Salerne. Never before
Do I remember such a slipshod time
As this vile month has been. Sir Tristram's hand
Is out: his eye untrue; such staging, such
A tangled skein, dropped stitches everywhere;
Warped wood and crumbling walls! The play's quite good;
But for the cast, the acting and the scene—
Give me a fit-up company astray
And starving in the potteries, and I'll whip
The top to such a purpose in a week
That this fine Grosvenor corps would drown itself
En masse to see such art in castaways.
Hildreth. Salerne, you've been with Groom! I know the sound;
That man's a malady; a passing thought
Of him will sometimes start the dullest brain
On venturous speeches.
Salerne. Start the dullest brain?
Hildreth. Like mine, I mean.
Salerne. Ah.—Yes; I've been with Groom.
He's drinking Burgundy in the "Rose and Crown."
Poor Groom! The one great actor of our time.
Finest since Garrick I should say.
Abbot. And I.
Hildreth. Come, come; no treason! Groom is very well;
But we're Sir Tristram's men.
Salerne. And loyal still!
Abbot. Oh, loyal enough! Sir Tristram needs it too.
I'd burn his bishop in Smithfield if I could.
[Goes out.]
Salerne. Why is he late?