Lysimachus and Roxalana should learn
the English language, cost what it might; sausages should be diurnal; and
he himself would not be puffed up, fat, lazy. No! he would work all the
harder, be affable as ever, and, above all, never swamp the father,
husband, and honest man in the poet and the blackguard of sentiment.
Next his reflections took a business turn.
"These tragedies--the scenery? Oh, I shall have to paint it myself. The
heroes? Well, they have nobody who will play them as I should. (This was
true!) It will be hard work, all this; but then I shall be paid for it.
It cannot go on this way; I must and will be paid separately for my
branches."
Just as he came to this resolution, the boy returned with a brown-paper
parcel, addressed to Mr. James Triplet. Triplet weighed it in his hand;
it was heavy. "How is this?" cried he. "Oh, I see," said he, "these are
the tragedies. He sends them to me for some trifling alterations;
managers always do." Triplet then determined to adopt these alterations,
if judicious; for, argued he, sensibly enough: "Managers are practical
men; and we, in the heat of composition, sometimes _(sic?)_ say more than
is necessary, and become tedious."
With that he opened the parcel, and looked for Mr. Rich's communication;
it was not in sight. He had to look between the leaves of the manuscripts
for it; it was not there.
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