TRIP. (eating). Madam, as I said before, you overwhelm me. Walking certainly makes one hungry (eats). Oh, yes, it certainly does (Mabel helps him); and though I do not usually eat at this time of the day. (Mabel helps him again.)
MABEL. I am sorry Mr. Vane keeps you waiting.
TRIP. By no means, Madam, it is very fortunate (eats)—I mean it procures me the pleasure of (eats) your society. Besides, the servants of the Muse are used to waiting. What we are not used to is (she fills his glass) being waited on by Hebe and the Twelve Graces, whose health I have the honour!—Falernian, as I’m a poet!
MABEL. A poet! (clapping her hands.) Oh, I am so glad! I never thought to see a living poet; I do so love poetry!
TRIP. Ha! it is in your face, madam. I should be proud to have your opinion of this trifle composed by me for Mr. Vane, in honour of the lady he expected this morning.
MABEL (aside). Dear Ernest! how ungrateful I was. Nay, sir, I think I know the lady; and it would be hardly proper for me to hear them.
TRIP. (after placing the MS. by the side of his plate, with another plate to keep it open; laying his hand on his heart). Oh, strictly correct, Madam. James Triplet never stooped to the loose taste of the town, even in trifles of this sort. (Reads) “When first from Albion’s isle——”
MABEL. Take another glass of wine first.
TRIP. Madam, I will (drinks). I thank you infinitely. (Reads) “When first from Albion’s isle——”
MABEL. Another biscuit (helps him).