Neverout. Why, what! you can have no more of a cat than her skin; you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.
Ld. Sparkish. Well, since he's gone, the devil go with him and sixpence; and there's money and company too.
Neverout. Faith, he's a true country put. Pray, miss, let me ask you a question?
Miss. Well; but don't ask questions with a dirty face: I warrant, what you have to say will keep cold.
Col. Come, my lord, against you are disposed: here's to all that love and honour you.
Ld. Sparkish. Ay, that was always Dick Nimble's health. I'm sure you know he's dead.
Col. Dead! well, my lord, you love to be a messenger of ill news: I'm heartily sorry; but, my lord, we must all die.
Neverout. I knew him very well: but, pray, how came he to die?
Miss. There's a question? you talk like a poticary: why, because he could live no longer.
Neverout. Well; rest his soul: we must live by the living, and not by the dead.
Ld. Sparkish. You know, his house was burnt down to the ground.
Col. Yes; it was in the news. Why, fire and water are good servants, but they are very bad masters.
Ld. Smart. Here, take away, and set down a bottle of burgundy. Ladies, you'll stay and drink a glass of wine before you go to your tea.
