"Master of three arts, by each of which men grow fat, how was it possible he should starve all his days!" He enjoyed a natural vanity for a few moments, and then came more generous feelings.

What sparkling eyes there would be in Lambeth to-day! The butcher, at sight of Mr.Rich's handwriting, would give him credit.
Jane should have a new gown.
But when his tragedies were played, and he paid! El Dorado! His children should be the neatest in the street.

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.