_Shar._ But harkee you, Uncle, my Sister is come to Town too, and she thinks to come in for Snacks--but not a Grig--d'ye hear--not a Grig--I must have every Souse--Cousin Bellair too, that Prig, I hear, is looking out Sharp--But if you leave a Denier to any of them without my Consent you shall be buried alive in one of your own iron Chests, and sent as a present to your old Friend Belzebub. _Skin._ To be sure, Nephew, you are so very dutiful and affectionate that I shall be entirely directed by you. Lucy, (_Aside to Lucy_) I am afraid this Villain is come to murder me; step in and call Bellair this Instant. (_Exit Lucy_) Pray Nephew, how long have you been in Town? _Shar._ I came to Town late last Night--and hearing you were alive, I was resolved I would not sleep 'till I had seen you. So I went amongst the Coffee Houses at Covent Garden where I made a charming Riot; I fought a Duel, beat the Watch, kicked the Bawds, broke their Punch Bowls, clapt an old Market Woman upon her Head in the middle of a Kennel, bullied a Justice, and made all the Whores as drunk---- _Skin._ As yourself, I suppose. Upon my word, Nephew, you have made good use of your time since you have been in Town. _Shar._ Ay, han't I, old Skinflint? Zounds I love a Riot; don't you love a Riot, Uncle? _Skin._ O most passionately. _Shar._ Give me your Hand. (_Slaps him upon the Shoulder_) Old Boy, I love you for that. _Skin._ O, O, O, O, he has killed me; I am murdered. _Shar._ Rot your old crazy Carcass, what do you cry out for, ha? _Skin._ O, O, O, I can't bear to be touched. _Shar._ O, O, Oh! Damn you, why don't you die then? Harkee Uncle, how long do you intend to live? Ha! I'll allow you but three days, and if you don't die in that time, dead or alive, I'll have you buried. For I am resolved not to stir out of Town 'till I see that Bag of Bones of yours, that old rotten Carcass pailed up between four substantial Elms and laid twenty foot deep in the Earth, and then light lie the Turf, and flourish long Bow. Toll, loll, de doll, ha! ha! Uncle, I'll take care of your safe Passage to Pluto, never fear. _Skin._ Had ever Man such a Reprobate Relation? O the Villain! (_Enter Mr._ DEATH) _Shar._ O Mr. Death, your Servant. _Death._ I am come, Sir, according to your Commands; pray which is the Gentleman I am to take Measure of? _Shar._ That old Prig in the Chair there. _Death._ Sir, your humble Servant. _Skin._ Sir, your Servant. What are your Commands with me? _Death._ Sir, my Name is Death. _Skin._ Death! _Death._ Yes Sir, at your Service, Dismal Death of--pretty well known in this City. _Skin._ And pray Mr. Dismal Death, what do you want with me? _Death._ I am come to take measure of you for a Coffin. _Skin._ What! How! _Shar._ Yes you old Prig, I ordered him to take Measure of you and Measure he shall take this Instant; do you hear, Mr. Death, measure him, measure the old Prig; I'll hold him fast.