_Mast._ Right, Madam, right; I thank you for the Simile. I may be call'd a Parson indeed, and am a very good one in my way. I take delight in my Calling, and am never better pleased than to see a full Congregation. Yet it happens to me as it does to most of my Brethren, People sometimes vouchsafe to take home the Text perhaps, but mind the Sermon no more than if they had not heard one. _1 La._ Why, Sir, when a short Text has more in it than a long Sermon, it's no wonder if they do. _Enter a third Lady._ _3 Lady._ Pray, Sir, let me look at some of your little Dogs. _2 La._ [_Aside._] Little Dogs! My Stars! How cheaply some People are entertain'd! Well, it's a Sign human Conversation is grown very low and insipid, whilst that of Dogs and Monkeys is preferr'd to it. _Mast._ Here are very beautiful Dogs, Madam, these Dogs when they were alive were some of them the greatest Dogs of their Age. I don't mean the largest, but Dogs of the greatest Quality and Merit. _1 La._ I love a _Dog of Merit_ dearly; has not he a _Dog of Honour_ too, I wonder? [_Aside._] _Mast._ Here's a Dog now that never eat but upon Plate or China, nor set his Foot but upon a Carpet or a Cushion. Here's one too, this Dog belong'd to a Lady of as great Beauty and Fortune as any in _England_; he was her most intimate Friend and particular Favourite; and upon that Account has receiv'd more Compliments, more Respect, and more Addresses than a First Minister of State. Here's another which was, doubtless, a Dog of singular Worth and great Importance; since at his Death one of the greatest Families in the Kingdom were all in Tears, receiv'd no Visits for the space of a Week, but shut themselves up and mourn'd their Loss with inconsolable Sorrow. This Dog while he liv'd, either for Contempt of his Person, neglect of his Business, or saucy impertinent Behaviours in their Attendance on him, had the Honour of turning away upwards of thirty Servants. He died at last of a Cold caught by following one of the Maids into a damp Room, for which she lost her Place, her Wages, and her Character. _3 Lady._ O the careless wicked Wretch! I would have had her try'd for Murder at least. That, that is just my Case! The sad Relation revives my Grief so strongly I cannot contain. _Lucy_, bring in the Box.[1] O I have lost the dearest Friend in the World! See! see the charming Creature, here, lies dead! Its precious Life is gone! Oh, my dear _Chloe_! no more wilt thou lie hugg'd in my warm Bosom! no more will that sweet Tongue lick o'er my Face, nor that dear Mouth eat dainty Bits from mine. O, Death, what hast thou robb'd me of? [1] _Here her Maid enters and delivers a Box, from which the Lady pulls out a dead Dog, kissing it, and weeping._ Lucy _too pretends great Sorrow, but turning aside bursts out a Laughing, and cries, "She little thinks I poison'd it."_ _Gent._ [_Aside._] A proper Object to display your Folly.