The Dramatist; or Stop Him Who Can! Part 4

_Lady._ Nay, dear sir, not so _very_ young.

_Vapid._ Your pardon, ma'am,--and her youth enhances her other merits.--But, oh! she has one charm that surpa.s.ses all.

_Lady._ Has she, sir?--What may that be?

_Vapid._ Her pa.s.sion for the stage.

_Lady._ Sir!

_Vapid._ Yes, her pa.s.sion for the stage; that, in my mind, makes her the first of her s.e.x.

_Lady._ Sir, she has no pa.s.sion for the stage.

_Vapid._ Yes, yes, she has.

_Lady._ But I protest she has not.

_Vapid._ But I declare and affirm it as a fact, she has a strong pa.s.sion for the stage, and a violent attachment for all the people that belong to it.

_Lady._ Sir, I don't understand you--explain.

_Vapid._ Hark ye,--we are alone--I promise it shall go no further, and I'll let you into a secret--I know----

_Lady._ Well, what do you know?

_Vapid._ I know a certain dramatic author with whom she----he had a letter from her this morning.

_Lady._ What?

_Vapid._ Yes,--an a.s.signation--don't be alarmed--the man may be depended on--he is safe--very safe!--Long in the habit of intrigue--a good person too!--a very good person indeed.

_Lady._ Amazement!

_Vapid._ [_Whispering her._] Hark ye, he means to make her happy in less than half an hour.

_Lady._ [_Rising._] Sir, do you know who you're talking to?--do you know who I am?

_Vapid._ No,--How the devil should I?

_Lady._ Then know I am Lady Waitfor't!

_Vapid._ You Lady Waitfor't!

_Lady._ Yes, sir--the only Lady Waitfor't!

_Vapid._ Mercy on me!--here's incident!

_Lady._ Yes, and I am convinced you were sent here by that traitor, Neville.--Speak, is he not your friend?

_Vapid._ Yes, ma'am:--I know Mr Neville.--Here's equivoque!

_Lady._ This is some trick, some stratagem of his.--He gave you the letter to perplex and embarra.s.s me.

_Vapid._ Gave the letter! 'gad that's great.--Pray, ma'am, give me leave to ask you one question--Did you write to Mr Neville?

_Lady._ Yes, sir,--to confess the truth, I did--but from motives----

_Vapid._ Stop, my dear ma'am, stop--I have it--now,--let me be clear--first, you send him a letter; is it not so? yes: then he gives it to me--very well: then I come (supposing you only twenty) mighty well!--then you turn out ninety--charming!---then comes the embarra.s.sment: then the eclairciss.e.m.e.nt! Oh! it's glorious!--Give me your hand--you have atoned for every thing.

_Lady._ O! I owe all this to that villain, Neville--I am not revengeful--but 'tis a weakness to endure such repeated provocations, and I am convinced the mind, that too frequently forgives bad actions, will at last forget good ones.

_Vapid._ Bravo! encore, encore--it is the very best sentiment I ever heard--say it again, pray say it again--I'll take it down, and blend it with the incident, and you shall be gratified, one day or other, with seeing the whole on the stage.--"The mind that too frequently forgives bad actions will at last forget good ones."

[_Taking it down in his common place book._

_Lady._ This madman's folly is not to be borne--if my Lord too should discover him. [_VAPID sits, and takes notes._] Here, the consequences might be dreadful, and the scheme of Ennui's play all undone.--Sir, I desire you'll quit my house immediately--Oh! I'll be revenged, I'm determined. [_Exit._

_Vapid._ What a great exit!----Very well!--I've got an incident, however.--'Faith, I have n.o.ble talents--to extract gold from lead has been the toil of numberless philosophers; but I extract it from a baser metal, human frailty--Oh! it's a great thing to be a dramatic genius!--a very great thing indeed. [_As he is going,_

_Enter LORD SCRATCH._

_Vapid._ Sir, your most devoted,----How d'ye do?

_Lord._ Sir, your most obedient.

_Vapid._ Very warm tragedy weather, sir!--but, for my part, I hate summer, and I'll tell you why,--the theatres are shut, and when I pa.s.s by their doors in an evening, it makes me melancholy--I look upon them as the tombs of departed friends that were wont to instruct and delight me--I don't know how you feel--perhaps you are not in my way?

_Lord._ Sir!

_Vapid._ Perhaps you don't write for the stage--if you do,--hark ye--there is a capital character in this house for a farce.

_Lord._ Why! what is all this--who are you?

_Vapid._ Who am I?--here's a question! in these times who can tell who he is?--for aught I know I may be great uncle to yourself, or first cousin to Lady Waitfor't--the very woman I was about to--but no matter--since you're so very inquisitive, do you know who you are?

_Lord._ Look ye, sir, I am Lord Scratch.

_Vapid._ A peer! pshaw! contemptible;--when I ask a man who he is, I don't want to know what are his t.i.tles, and such nonsense; no, Old Scratch, I want to know what he has written, when he had the curtain up, and whether he's a true son of the drama.--Harkye, don't make yourself uneasy on my account--In my next pantomime, perhaps, I'll let you know who I am, Old Scratch. [_Exit._

_Lord._ Astonishing! can this be Lady Waitfor't's house--"Very warm tragedy weather, sir!" "In my next pantomime, let you know who I am."--Gad, I must go and investigate the matter immediately, and if she has wronged me, by the blood of the Scratches, I'll bring the whole business before parliament, make a speech ten hours long, reduce the price of opium, and set the nation in a lethargy. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_A Library in LADY WAITFOR'T'S House.--A Sofa and two Chairs._

_Enter VAPID._