Sir H. Her name! Ay, she has the softest, whitest hand that ever was made of flesh and blood; her lips so balmy sweet——
Colonel S. But her name, sir?
Sir H. Then her neck and——
Vizard. But her name, sir? her quality?
Sir H. Then her shape, colonel?
Colonel S. But her name I want, sir.
Sir H. Then her eyes, Vizard!
Colonel S. Pshaw, Sir Harry! her name, or nothing!
Sir H. Then if you must have it, she's called the Lady——But then her foot, gentlemen! she dances to a miracle. Vizard, you have certainly lost your wager.
Vizard. Why, you have certainly lost your senses; we shall never discover the picture, unless you subscribe the name.