TRIP. I’ll go home and write a comedy (moves).
WOFF. On second thoughts, perhaps you had better leave the tragedies with me.
TRIP. My dear madam!—and you will read them?
WOFF. Ahem! I will make poor Rich read them.
TRIP. But he has rejected them.
WOFF. That is the first step—reading comes after, when it comes at all.
TRIP. (aside). I must fly home and tell my wife.
WOFF. (aside). In the mean time I can put five guineas into his pocket. Mr. Triplet, do you write congratulatory verses—odes—and that sort of thing?
TRIP. Anything, madam, from an acrostic to an epic.
WOFF. Good, then I have a commission for you; I dine to-day at Mr. Vane’s, in Bloomsbury Square. We shall want some verses. Will you oblige us with a copy?