were not the best natured
fellow in the world, every body would kick him out of doors.

_Ennui._ Has he not a share of vanity in his composition?

_Nev._ Oh yes--he fancies himself a great favourite with the women.

_Ennui._ Then I've an idea--I've got a thought, by which you may revenge
yourself on Lady Waitfor't--in fact--give him the letter--he'll
certainly believe 'tis meant for himself.

_Nev._ My dear friend, ten thousand thanks!--We'll flatter his vanity,
by persuading him she is young and beautiful, and my life on't it does
wonders;--but, hush, he comes.

_Enter VAPID._

_Nev._ Vapid! I rejoice to see you,--'tis a long time since we met; give
me leave to introduce you to a particular friend of mine--Mr Ennui--Mr
Vapid.

_Ennui._ I've an idea--you do me honour--Mr Vapid, I shall be proud to
be better acquainted with you--in fact--any thing of consequence
stirring in the fashionable or political world?

_Vapid._ Some whispers about a new pantomime, sir,--nothing else.

_Nev._ And I'm afraid, in the present scarcity of good writers, we have
little else to expect.--Pray, Vapid, how is the present dearth of genius
to be accounted for; particularly dramatic genius?

_Vapid._ Why, as to dramatic genius, sir, the fact is this--to give a
true picture of life, a man should enter into all its scenes,--should
follow nature, sir--but modern authors plunder from one another--the
mere shades of shadows.--Now, sir, for my part, I dive into the world--I
search the heart of man;--'tis true I'm called a rake--but, upon my
soul, I only game, drink, and intrigue, that I may be better able to
dramatize each particular scene.

_Nev._ A good excuse for profligacy.--But tell me, Vapid, have you got
any new characters since you came to Bath?

_Vapid._ 'Faith, only two--and those not very new either.

_Ennui._ In fact--may we ask what they are?

_Vapid._ If you don't write.

_Nev._ No, we certainly do not.

_Vapid._ Then I'll tell you:--The first is a charitable divine, who, in
the weighty consideration how he shall best lavish his generosity, never
bestows it at all:--and the other is a cautious apothecary, who, in
determining which of two medicines is best for his patient, lets him die
for want of assistance.--You understand me, I think, this last will do
something, eh?

_Ennui._ I've an idea--the apothecary would cut a good figure in a
comedy.

_Vapid._ A comedy! pshaw! I mean him for a tragedy.

_Ennui._ I