Weasel. What! Dr. Da....
Sophia. Weasel, Weasel, will you go directly to the garden and fetch....
Weasel. What, Miss?
Sophia. Fetch, fetch—some spinach.
Weasel. Spinach don’t grow in November, Miss, as Dr....
Horatia. Go to the village directly for....
Weasel. Can’t go to the village no more, Miss, till I’ve laid the cloth for breakfast. The Doc....
Horatia. We must have wine. Go to the cellar.
Weasel. Haven’t got the keys, Miss. If I might make bold to ask why....
Horatia. Begone this instant ... we shall want poultry. Wring every chicken’s neck in the yard, or I’ll wring yours as sure as I stand here! [Exit Weasel.]