Landlord. What then? take old Pry's advice, and never mind it. Don't scorch your crackling for 'em, Sir.
Mr. H. Scorch my crackling! a queer phrase; but I suppose he don't mean to affront me.
Landlord. What is done can't be undone; you can't make a silken purse out of a sow's ear.
Mr. H. As you say, Landlord, thinking of a thing does but augment it.
Landlord. Does but hogment it, indeed, Sir.
Mr. H. Hogment it! damn it, I said augment it.
Landlord. Lord, Sir, 'tis not everybody has such gift of fine phrases as your Honor, that can lard his discourse—
Mr. H. Lard!
Landlord. Suppose they do smoke you—
Mr. H. Smoke me!