WOFF. See (shows him letter). “Madam, you are an angel;” from a gentleman, a perfect stranger to me, so it must be correct (enter Pompey with a basket). Ah! here is another angel! there are two sorts you know, angels of light and angels of darkness (takes basket from Pompey). Lucifer, avaunt! (in a terrible tone) and wait outside the door (in a familiar tone. Exit Pompey). (Aside. They are in sore distress, poor things!) I am sorry you are ill, Mrs. Triplet! I have brought you some physic—black draught from Burgundy (Mrs. Triplet attempts to rise but sinks back again). Don’t move, I insist!
TRIP. Oh, Mrs. Woffington, had I dreamed you would deign to come here,—
WOFF. You would have taken care to be out. (Aside. Their faces look pinched, I know what that means.) Mrs. Triplet, I have come to give your husband a sitting for my portrait, will you allow me to eat my little luncheon in your room? I am so hungry. Pompey! (Pompey runs in) run to the corner and buy me that pie I took such a fancy to as we came along (gives money to Pompey. Exit Pompey 2 E. L.).
BOY. Mother, will the lady give me a bit of her pie?
MRS. T. Hush, you rude boy!
WOFF. She is not much of a lady if she doesn’t! Now children, we’ll first look at father’s comedy. Nineteen dramatis personæ,—cut out seven. Don’t bring your armies into our drawing-rooms, Mr. Dagger and Bowl: can you marshal battalions on a Turkey carpet, and make gentlefolks witty in platoons? What’s here in the first act? A duel! and both wounded—you butcher!
TRIP. (deprecatingly). They are not to die, they shan’t die, upon my honour!
WOFF. Do you think I’ll trust their lives with you? I’ll show you how to run people through the body (takes pen, writes). Business, “Araminta looks out of garret window, the combatants drop their swords, put their hands to their hearts, and stagger off, O. P. and P. S.” Now children! who helps me lay the cloth?
CHIL. I, and I! (they run to dresser.)
MRS. T. (half rising). Madam, I can’t think of allowing you.