TRIP. Madam!
WOFF. (beckons). We have met before;—don’t speak; yours is a face that has been kind to me, and I never forget those faces.
TRIP. Me, madam! I know better what is due to you than to be kind to you.
WOFF. To be sure! it is Mr. Triplet, good Mr. Triplet of Goodman’s-fields Theatre.
TRIP. It is, madam (opening his eyes with astonishment); but we don’t call him Mr., nor even good.
WOFF. Yes; it is Mr. Triplet (shakes both his hands warmly; he timidly drops a tragedy or two). Don’t you remember a little orange girl at Goodman’s Fields you used sometimes to pat on the head and give sixpence to, some seven years ago, Mr. Triplet?
TRIP. Ha! ha! I do remember one, with such a merry laugh and bright eye; and the broadest brogue of the whole sisterhood.
WOFF. Get along with your blarney then, Mr. Triplet, an’ is it the comether ye’d be puttin’ on poor little Peggy?
TRIP. Oh! oh! gracious goodness, oh!