Pray, get out of this hobble as fast as you can.
You wed with Miss Lilac! 'twould be your perdition :
She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician.

I say she's an angel.

TRACY.

INKEL.

Say rather an angle.

If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle.
I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.

TRACY.

And is that any cause for not coming together?

INKEL.

Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance

Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science. She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning Herself in all matters connected with learning,

INKEL.

I perhaps may as well hold my tongue;

But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong.

TRACY.

You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.

INKEL.

Is it Miss, or the cash of mamma, you pursue?

TRACY.

Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you-something of both.
The girl's a fine girl.

INKEL.

And you feel nothing loth

To her good lady mother's reversion; and yet
Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

TRACY.

Let her live; and, as long as she likes, I demand Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.

INKEL.

Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand on the pen.

TRACY.

Apropos-Will you write me a song now and then?

To what purpose?

INKEL.

TRACY.

You know, my dear friend, that in prose

My talent is decent, as far as it goes;

But in rhyme

INKLE.

You're a terrible stick, to be sure.

TRACY.

I own it; and yet, in these times, there's no lure
For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two;
And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few?

INKEL.

In your name?

In

TRACY.

my name. I will copy them out,

To slip into her hand at the very next rout.

INKEL.

Are you so far advanced as to hazard this?

TRACY.

Why,

Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye,
So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme

What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sublime?

INKEL.

As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Muse.

TRACY.

But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."

INKEL.

As sublime!—Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say.

Stick to prose-As sublime!!-but I wish you good day.

TRACY.

Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm wrong;
I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song.

As sublime!!

INKEL.

TRACY.

I but used the expression in haste.

INKEL.

That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damned bad taste.

TRACY.

I own it-I know it-acknowledge it—what

Can I say to you more?

INKEL.

I see what you'ld be at:

You disparage my parts with insidious abuse,

Till you think you can turn them best to your own use.

And you, who're a man of the gay world, no less
Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess

That I never could mean, by a word, to offend
A genius like you, and moreover my friend.

INKEL.

No doubt; you by this time should know what is due
To a man of but come-let us shake hands.

TRACY.

You knew,

And you know, my dear fellow, how heartily I,
Whatever you publish, am ready to buy.

INKEL.

That's my bookseller's business; I care not for sale;
Indeed the best poems at first rather fail.

There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays,
And my own grand romance-

TRACY.

Had its full share of praise.

I myself saw it puffed in the "Old Girl's Review."

What Review?

INKEL.

TRACY.

'Tis the English "Journal de Trevoux;"

That it threatened to give up the ghost t'other day.

INKEL.

Well, that is a sign of some spirit.

TRACY.

No doubt.

Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout?

INKEL.

I've a card, and shall go; but at present, as soon

As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the

moon

(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits)
And an interval grants from his lecturing fits,
I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation,
To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation:
'Tis a sort of re-union for Scamp, on the days

Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise.
And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unpleasant.
Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.

That" metal's attractive."

TRACY.

INKEL.

No doubt-to the pocket,