[ACT II.]
SCENE.—A large roughly furnished Garret. Easel with Woffington’s Picture on it, half concealed by a green baize Drapery. Colours, Palette, Pencils, Maulstick, &c. &c. Mrs. Triplet reclining in a large chair, and wrapped up like an invalid. Violin hanging against wall. Triplet seated at small Table writing. Two Children. Wooden Chairs. Boy is rocking Cradle and singing.
TRIP. Do keep those children quiet, Jane.
MRS. T. Hush, my dears, let your father write his comedy. Comedy seems so troublesome to write.
TRIP. Yes! somehow sorrow comes more natural to me! (pause) I’ve got a bright thought; you see, Jane, they are all at a sumptuous banquet: all the Dramatis Personæ except the poet, (writes) music—sparkling wine—massive plate—soups—fish—shall I have three dishes of fish? venison—game—pickles and provocatives in the centre, then up jumps one of the guests, and says he—
BOY. Oh, dear! I am so hungry!
GIRL. And so am I.
TRIP. That is an absurd remark, Lysimachus, not four hours after breakfast.