QUIN. No; you have a prospect henceforward of dining every day of your life. ’Tis a great comfort, and I wish you appetite to enjoy it, Mr. Triplet.
TRIP. Am I awake? Pinch me, somebody—(Woffington pinches him) thank you—I am awake.
CIB. Manager Rich, thanks to Peggy’s influence here, and a good word or two from one who shall be nameless, has accepted one of your tragedies.
TRIP. Oh, Lord!
SOAP. He! he! I give you joy, Mr. Triplet; Mr. Snarl and I are so glad, for as Mr. Snarl said to me, as we left your studio this morning, “I do so wish they’d play one of Mr. Triplet’s tragedies.”
SNARL. That I might have the pleasure of criticising it. Mr. Rich did me the honour to ask which of the three we should accept—I told him, the shortest.
CLIVE. You’ll be pleased to hear, Mrs. Woffington, there’s a capital part for me. (Aside) Now she could knock me down, I know.
TRIP. One of my tragedies accepted at last! Oh, gracious goodness! Break it gently to my wife—I know I’m dreaming, but prithee don’t anybody wake me. Oh, Mrs. Woffington—my guardian angel—my preserver! (seizes her hand)
WOFF. No, no—we had better wait, and see on which act of your tragedy the curtain falls.
TRIP. Ah! I forgot that.