Skin. O, O, O, I can't bear to be touched.
Shar. O, O, Oh! Damn you, why don't you die then? Harkee Uncle, how long do you intend to live? Ha! I'll allow you but three days, and if you don't die in that time, dead or alive, I'll have you buried. For I am resolved not to stir out of Town 'till I see that Bag of Bones of yours, that old rotten Carcass pailed up between four substantial Elms and laid twenty foot deep in the Earth, and then light lie the Turf, and flourish long Bow. Toll, loll, de doll, ha! ha! Uncle, I'll take care of your safe Passage to Pluto, never fear.
Skin. Had ever Man such a Reprobate Relation? O the Villain!
(Enter Mr. DEATH)
Shar. O Mr. Death, your Servant.
Death. I am come, Sir, according to your Commands; pray which is the Gentleman I am to take Measure of?
Shar. That old Prig in the Chair there.
Death. Sir, your humble Servant.
Skin. Sir, your Servant. What are your Commands with me?
Death. Sir, my Name is Death.