Clink. Were the play mine, you should gash my flesh, mangle my face, any thing sooner than scratch my play.
Plot. Blot and insert wherever you please——I submit myself to your judgment.
Plotwell rises and discourses apart with Townley.
Sir Trem. Madam, nonsense and I have been at variance from my cradle, it sets my understanding on edge.
2d Play. Indeed, madam, with submission, and I think I have some experience of the stage, this play will hardly take.
Clink. The worst lines of it would be sufficiently clapt, if it had been writ by a known author, or recommended by one.
Sir Trem. Between you and I, madam, who understand better things, this gentleman knows nothing of poetry.
1st Play. The gentleman may be an honest man, but he is a damn'd writer, and it neither can take, nor ought to take.
Sir Trem. If you are the gentleman's friend, and value his reputation, advise him to burn it.
Clink. What struggles has an unknown author to vanquish prejudice! Suppose this play acts but six nights, his next may play twenty. Encourage a young author, I know it will be your interest.