Sneer. Very much to the credit of your charity, madam, if not of your judgment.

Dang. But, egad, he allows no merit to any author but himself, that’s the truth on’t—though he’s my friend.

Sneer. Never.—He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six and thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works, can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations.

Dang. Very true, egad—though he’s my friend.

Sneer. Then his affected contempt of all newspaper strictures; though, at the same time, he is the sorest man alive, and shrinks like scorched parchment from the fiery ordeal of true criticism: yet is he so covetous of popularity, that he had rather be abused than not mentioned at all.

Dang. There’s no denying it—though he is my friend.

Sneer. You have read the tragedy he has just finished, haven’t you?

Dang. Oh, yes; he sent it to me yesterday.

Sneer. Well, and you think it execrable, don’t you?

Dang. Why, between ourselves, egad, I must own—though he is my friend—that it is one of the most—He’s here—[Aside.]—finished and most admirable perform—

Sir Fret. [Without.] Mr. Sneer with him did you say?

Enter Sir Fretful Plagiary.

Dang. Ah, my dear friend!—Egad, we were just speaking of your tragedy.—Admirable, Sir Fretful, admirable!

Sneer. You never did anything beyond it, Sir Fretful—never in your life.

Sir Fret. You make me extremely happy; for without a compliment, my dear Sneer, there isn’t a man in the world whose judgment I value as I do yours and Mr. Dangle’s.

Mrs. Dang. They are only laughing at you, Sir Fretful; for it was but just now that—

Dang. Mrs. Dangle!—Ah, Sir Fretful, you know Mrs. Dangle.—My friend Sneer was rallying just now:—he knows how she admires you, and—

Sir Fret. O Lord, I am sure Mr. Sneer has more taste and sincerity than to—[Aside.] A damned double- faced fellow!

Dang. Yes, yes—Sneer will jest—but a better humoured—

Sir Fret. Oh, I know—

Dang. He has a ready turn for ridicule—his wit costs him nothing.

Sir Fret. No, egad—or I should wonder how he came by it.

[Aside.

Mrs. Dang. Because his jest is always at the expense of his friend.