'It was only on Tuesday--the night, you know, I fired the pistol at the
robbers, near the dog-house, through the coach window, returning all
alone from Smock-alley Theatre. I was thinking, upon my honour, if I had
your parts, my dear Devereux, and could write, as I know you can, I'd
make a variation upon every play of Shakespeare, that should be strictly
moulded upon it, and yet in no respect recognisable.'
'Ay, like those Irish airs that will produce tears or laughter, as they
are played slow or quick; or minced veal, my dear Puddock, which the
cook can dress either savoury or sweet at pleasure; or Aunt Rebecca,
that produces such different emotions in her different moods, and
according to our different ways of handling her, is scarce recognisable
in some of them, though still the same Aunt Becky,' answered Devereux,
knocking at Irons' door.
'No, but seriously, by sometimes changing an old person to a young,
sometimes a comical to a melancholy, or the reverse, sometimes a male
for a female, or a female for a male--I assure you, you can so entirely
disguise the piece, and yet produce situations so new and
surprising----.
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