_Smart._ Ay, ay, there I think he was right; for the Audience will laugh, I make no doubt of it, but it will be at him. _Omnes._ Right! Right! _Snarle._ So I told him but he would persist. _Smart._ But Mr. Snarlewit, how will he answer to the Critics his making the Stage represent the Pit? _Snarle._ Psha! psha! he is below Criticism; they will never trouble themselves about that. Besides I think he may be defended very justly in that, for if the Stage has a Right to represent Palaces and Countries, nay, and Heaven and Hell, surely it may be allowed to exhibit the Pit. _Smart._ Do you know anything of the Farce? _Snarle._ Yes, I have read it. _Smart._ It is a very odd Title, a Bone for the Lawyers; who is the Author, pray? Is it known? _Snarle._ Why Macklin gives out that some Gentleman, a Friend of his, has made him a Present of it, but I shrewdly suspect it to be his own. _Rattle._ Whose! Macklin's? _Snarle._ Ay! _Rattle._ Why, can he write? _Snarle._ Write? Ay, and damnably too, I assure you, ha! ha! He writ a Tragedy this Winter, but so merry a Tragedy was never seen since the first night of Tom Thumb the Great. _Smart._ I was at it and a merry Tragedy it was and a merry Audience! _Snarle._ I never laughed so heartily at a Play in my Life; if his Farce has half so much Fun in it as his Tragedy had, I'll engage it succeeds. _Smart._ Come, come. There was some tolerable Things in his Tragedy. _Snarle._ Psha! psha! Stuff! Stuff! damned Stuff! Pray Sir, what do you think of Lady Catherine Gordon's Letter to her Father, Lord Huntley, that begun honoured Papa, hoping you are in good Health as I am at this present Writing. There was a Stile for Tragedy! _Omnes._ Ha! ha! ha! _Smart._ Well, I wish his Farce may succeed, however. _Snarle._ O so do I upon my word, Sir.--I have a great Regard for Macklin--but to be sure he is a very egregious Blockhead ever to think of writing; that I believe everybody will allow. _Omnes._ Ay, ay, there's nobody will dispute that with you, Mr. Snarlewit. _Snarle._ Notwithstanding he is such a Blockhead, I assure you, Mr. Smart, I have an Esteem for him. _Smart._ Do you know what Characters or Business he has in his Farce? _Snarle._ I think his chief Character is an old Fellow, one Sir Isaac Skinflint, who is eaten up with Diseases, and who promises everybody Legacies, but dreads making a Will, for the Instant he does that he thinks he shall die. _Rattle._ That's a very common Character; my Uncle was just such a superstitious Wretch. _Snarle._ And the Business of the Farce is to induce this old Fellow to disinherit all his Relations, except a Nephew who wants to be his sole Heir, which according to the Rules of Farce, you may suppose it to be brought about by a Footman who upon these Occasions always has more Wit than his Master. _Smart._ But when is the Prologue to begin?