Neverout. Ah! dear madam, let the matter fall; take pity on poor miss; don't throw water on a drowned rat.
Miss. Indeed, Mr. Neverout, you should be cut for the simples this morning: say a word more, and you had as good eat your nails.
Ld. Sparkish. Pray, miss, will you be so good as to favour us with a song?
Miss. Indeed, my lord, I can't; for I have a great cold.
Col. O! miss, they say all good singers have colds.
Ld. Sparkish. Pray, madam, does not miss sing very well?
Lady Answ. She sings, as one may say, my lord.
Miss. I hear Mr. Neverout has a very good voice.
Col. Yes, Tom sings well, but his luck's naught.
Neverout. Faith, colonel, you hit yourself a devilish box on the ear.
Col. Miss, will you take a pinch of snuff?
Miss. No, colonel, you must know that I never take snuff but when I am angry.
Lady Answ. Yes, yes, she can take snuff, but she has never a box to put it in.
Miss. Pray, colonel, let me see that box.
Col. Madam, there's never a C upon it.
Miss. May be there is, colonel.
Col. Ay, but May-bees don't fly now, miss.
Neverout. Colonel, why so hard upon poor miss? Don't set your wit against a child; miss, give me a blow, and I'll beat him.
Miss. So she pray'd me to tell you.
Ld. Sparkish. Pray, my lady Smart, what kin are you to lord Pozz?
