SOAP. Well it is a _leetle tea-boardy_, perhaps. But the light and shade, Mr. Snarl--! the--what-d'ye-call--the--um--you know--eh? SNARL. Ah! you mean the chiaroscuro. SOAP. Exactly! SNARL. The chiaroscuro is all wrong. In nature, the nose, intercepting the light on one side the face, throws a shadow under the eye. Caravaggio, the Venetians, and the Bolognese, do particular justice to this--no such shade appears in your portrait. CIB. 'Tis so--stap my vitals! (_All express assent except Soaper._) SOAP. But, my dear Mr. Snarl, if there are no shades, there are lights--loads of lights. SNARL. There are, only they are impossible (_superciliously_). You have, however, succeeded tolerably in the mechanical parts--the dress, for example; but your Woffington is not a woman, Sir--nor nature! (_All shake their heads in assent._) WOFF. (C.) Woman! for she has tricked four men; nature! for a fluent dunce does not know her when he sees her! CIB. Why--what the deuce? CLIVE. Woffington! QUIN. Pheugh! WOFF. (_steps out of picture_). A pretty face, and not like Woffington! I owe you two, Kitty Clive. (_Mrs. Clive bridles._) (_to Quin_). Who ever saw Peggy's real face? Look at it now if you can without blushing. ALL (_except Snarl_). Ha! ha! SNARL. For all this, I maintain on the unalterable rules of art---- ALL. Ha! ha! ha! SNARL (_fiercely_). Goths! (_Quin and Cibber turn up stage laughing_). Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! CIB. Good morning, Mr. Snarl! SNARL. I have a criticism to write of last night's performance. I shall sit on your pictures one day, Mr. Brush. TRIP. (_crosses to Snarl_). Pictures are not eggs, Sir--they are not meant to be sat upon. SNARL. Come, Soaper! [_Exit._ SOAP. You shall always have my good word, Mr. Triplet. TRIP. I will try and not deserve it, Mr. Soaper! SOAP. At your service, Mr. Snarl! [_Exit._ CIB. Serve 'em right--a couple of serpents! or rather one boa-constrictor--Soaper slavers, for Snarl to crush (_crosses to L._). But we were all too hard on poor Trip: and if he will accept my apology---- TRIP. Thank you! "Colley Cibber's Apology" can be got at any book-stall. CIB. Confound his impertinence! Come along, Jemmy! QUIN. If ever you paint my portrait---- TRIP. The bear from Hockley Hole shall sit for the head. QUIN. Curse his impudence! Have with you, Mr. Cibber. [_Exeunt Cibber and Quin, L. D._ CLIVE. I did intend to have my face painted, sir, but after this---- TRIP. You will continue to do it yourself! CLIVE. Brute! [_Exit in a rage, L. D._ TRIP. Did I show a spirit, or did I not, ma'am? WOFF. Tremendous! TRIP. Did you mark the shot I fired into each as he sheered off? WOFF. Terrific! TRIP. I defy them! the coxcombs! as for real criticism, I invite it. Yours for instance, or that sweet lady's I met at Mr. Vane's, or anybody that appreciates one's beauties. By-the-bye, you were not at Mr. Vane's yesterday? WOFF. Yes, I was!