PUFF. O Lord, sir—when a heroine goes mad, she always goes into white satin.—Don’t she, Dangle? DANGLE. Always—it’s a rule. PUFF. Yes—here it is—[_Looking at the book_.] Enter Tilburina stark mad in white satin, and her confidant stark mad in white linen. _Enter_ TILBURINA _and_ CONFIDANT, _mad, according to custom_. SNEER. But, what the deuce! is the confidant to be mad too? PUFF. To be sure she is: the confidant is always to do whatever her mistress does; weep when she weeps, smile when she smiles, go mad when she goes mad.—Now, Madam Confidant—but keep your madness in the background, if you please. _Tilb._ The wind whistles—the moon rises—see, They have kill’d my squirrel in his cage: Is this a grasshopper?—Ha! no; it is my Whiskerandos—you shall not keep him—I know you have him in your pocket—An oyster may be cross’d in love!—who says A whale’s a bird?—Ha! did you call, my love?—He’s here! he’s there!—He’s everywhere! Ah me! he’s nowhere! [_Exit_.] PUFF. There, do you ever desire to see anybody madder than that? SNEER. Never, while I live! PUFF. You observed how she mangled the metre? DANGLE. Yes,—egad, it was the first thing made me suspect she was out of her senses! SNEER. And pray what becomes of her? PUFF. She is gone to throw herself into the sea, to be sure—and that brings us at once to the scene of action, and so to my catastrophe—my sea-fight, I mean. SNEER. What, you bring that in at last? PUFF. Yes, yes—you know my play is called _The Spanish Armada_; otherwise, egad, I have no occasion for the battle at all.—Now then for my magnificence!—my battle!—my noise!—and my procession!—You are all ready? UNDER PROMPTER. [_Within._] Yes, sir. PUFF. Is the Thames dressed? _Enter_ THAMES _with two_ ATTENDANTS. _Thames_. Here I am, sir. PUFF. Very well, indeed!—See, gentlemen, there’s a river for you!—This is blending a little of the masque with my tragedy—a new fancy, you know—and very useful in my case; for as there must be a procession, I suppose Thames, and all his tributary rivers, to compliment Britannia with a fête in honour of the victory. SNEER. But pray, who are these gentlemen in green with him? PUFF. Those?—those are his banks. SNEER. His banks?