_Miss._ We:——What, have you Pigs in your Belly? _Neverout._ Miss, I assure you, I am very handy at all Things. _Miss._ Marry, hang them that can’t give themselves a good Word: I believe, you may have an even Hand to throw a L—— in the Fire. _Col._ Well, I must be plain; here’s a very bad Smell. _Miss._ Perhaps, Colonel, the Fox is the Finder. _Neverout._ No, Colonel; ’tis only your Teeth against Rain: But—— _Miss._ Colonel, I find, you would make a very bad poor Man’s Sow. [——Colonel _coughing_.—— _Col._ I have got a sad Cold. _Lady Answ._ Ay; ’tis well if one can get any thing these hard Times. _Miss._ [_to Col._] Choak, Chicken; there’s more a hatching. _Lady Smart._ Pray, Colonel, how did you get that Cold? _Ld. Sparkish._ Why, Madam, I suppose, the Colonel got it, by lying a Bed barefoot. _Lady Answ._ Why, then, Colonel, you must take it for better for worse, as a Man takes his Wife. _Col._ Well, Ladies, I apprehend you without a Constable. _Miss._ Mr. _Neverout_! Mr. _Neverout_! come hither this Moment! _Lady Smart._ [_imitating her._] Mr. _Neverout_, Mr. _Neverout_! I wish, he were tied to your Girdle. _Neverout._ What’s the Matter! whose Mare’s dead now? _Miss._ Take your Labour for your Pains; you may go back again, like a Fool, as you came. _Neverout._ Well, Miss; if you deceive me a second time, ’tis my Fault. _Lady Smart._ Colonel, methinks your Coat is too short. _Col._ It will be long enough before I get another, Madam. _Miss._ Come, come; the Coat’s a good Coat, and come of good Friends. _Neverout._ Ladies, you are mistaken in the Stuff; ’tis half Silk. _Col._ _Tom Neverout_, you are a Fool, and that’s your Fault. [——_A great Noise below._—— _Lady Smart._ Hey! what a Clattering is here; one would think, Hell was broke loose. _Miss._ Indeed, Madam, I must take my Leave, for I a’n’t well. _Lady Smart._ What! you are sick of the Mulligrubs, with eating chopt Hay. _Miss._ No, indeed, Madam; I’m sick and hungry, more need of a Cook than a Doctor. _Lady Answ._ Poor Miss, she’s sick as a Cushion, she wants nothing but stuffing. _Col._ If you are sick, you shall have a Caudle of Calf’s Eggs. _Neverout._ I can’t find my Gloves. _Miss._ I saw the Dog running away with some dirty thing awhile ago. _Col._ Miss, you have got my Handkerchief; pray, let me have it. _Lady Smart._ No, keep it, Miss; for they say, Possession is Eleven Points of the Law. _Miss._ Madam, he shall ne’er have it again; ’tis in Hucksters Hands. _Lady Answ._ What! I see ’tis Raining again. _Ld. Sparkish._ Why, then, Madam, we must do, as they do in _Spain_. _Miss._ Pray, my Lord, how is that? _Ld. Sparkish._ Why, Madam, we must let it rain. [——Miss _whispers Lady_ Smart.—— _Neverout._ There’s no Whispering, but there’s Lying. _Miss._ Lord! Mr. _Neverout_, you are as pert as a Pearmonger this Morning. _Neverout._ Indeed, Miss, you are very handsome. _Miss._ Poh! I know that already; tell me News.