_Fust_. Why, an apothecary brought me in a long bill, and a lawyer made me pay it. _Sneer_. Ha, ha, ha! a conspiracy, indeed! _Fust_. Now, sir, for my second act; my tragedy consists but of three. _Sneer_. I thought that had been immethodical in tragedy. _Fust_. That may be; but I spun it out as long as I could keep Common Sense alive; ay, or even her ghost. Come, begin the second act. _The scene draws and discovers_ QUEEN COMMON SENSE _asleep_. _Sneer_. Pray, sir, who's that upon the couch there? _Fust_. I thought you had known her better, sir: that's Common Sense asleep. _Sneer_. I should rather have expected her at the head of her army. _Fust_. Very likely, but you do not understand the practical rules of writing as well as I do; the first and greatest of which is protraction, or the art of spinning, without which the matter of a play would lose the chief property of all other matter, namely, extension; and no play, sir, could possibly last longer than half an hour. I perceive, Mr Sneerwell, you are one of those who would have no character brought on but what is necessary to the business of the play.--Nor I neither--But the business of the play, as I take it, is to divert, and therefore every character that diverts is necessary to the business of the play. _Sneer_. But how will the audience be brought to conceive any probable reason for this sleep? _Fust_. Why, sir, she has been meditating on the present general peace of Europe, till by too intense an application, being not able thoroughly to comprehend it, she was overpowered and fell fast asleep. Come, ring up the first ghost. [_Ghost arises_.] You know that ghost? _Sneer_. Upon my word, sir, I can't recollect any acquaintance with him. _Fust_. I am surprized at that, for you must have seen him often: that's the ghost of Tragedy, sir; he has walked all the stages of London several years; but why are not you floured?--What the devil is become of the barber? _Ghost_. Sir, he's gone to Drury-lane playhouse to shave the Sultan in the new entertainment. _Fust_. Come, Mr Ghost, pray begin. _Ghost_. From the dark regions of the realms below The ghost of Tragedy has ridden post; To tell thee, Common Sense, a thousand things, Which do import thee nearly to attend: [_Cock crows_. But, ha! the cursed cock has warn'd me hence; I did set out too late, and therefore must Leave all my business to some other time. [_Ghost descends_. _Sneer_. I presume this is a character necessary to divert; for I can see no great business he has fulfilled. _Fust_. Where's the second ghost? _Sneer_. I thought the cock had crowed. _Fust_. Yes, but the second ghost need not be supposed to have heard it. Pray, Mr Prompter, observe, the moment the first ghost descends the second is to rise: they are like the twin stars in that. [2 _Ghost rises_.