Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all know, my dear,
'Tis his way.
Sir Rich.But this place
Ink.Is perhaps like friend Scamp's,
A lecturer's.
Lady Bluem. Excuse me—'tis one in the "Stamps:"
He is made a collector.
Tra.Collector!
Sir Rich.How?
Miss Lil.What?60
Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new hat:[1]
There his works will appear
Lady Bluem.Sir, they reach to the Ganges.
Ink. I sha'n't go so far—I can have them at Grange's.[2]
Lady Bluem. Oh fie!
Miss Lil.And for shame!
Lady Bluem.You're too bad.
Both.Very good!
Lady Bluem. How good?
Lady Blueb.He means nought—'tis his phrase.
Lady Bluem.He grows rude.
Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him.
Lady Bluem.Pray, Sir! did you mean
What you say?
Ink.Never mind if he did; 'twill be seen
That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.
Both. Sir!
Ink.Pray be content with your portion of praise;
'Twas in your defence.
Both.If you please, with submission70
I can make out my own.
Ink.It would be your perdition.
While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend
Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.
Apropos—Is your play then accepted at last?
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 4.djvu/625
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ECL. II.]
THE BLUES.
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