Cook. Sir, sir, in the name of wonder, what do you mean? is it by your orders that all those dogs were let into the garden?
Mr. Barn. How!
Cook. I believe there's forty or fifty dogs tearing up the lettice and cabbage by the root. I believe before they have done, they'll rout up the whole garden.
Mr. Barn. This is that rogue's doings.
Cook. This was not all, Sir, for three or four of 'em came into the kitchen, and tore half the meat off the spit that was for your worship's supper.
Mr. Barn. The very dogs plague me.
Cook. And then there's a crew of hungry footmen who devour'd what the dogs left, so that there's not a bit left for your worship's supper, not a scrap, not one morsel, Sir.
[Exit Cook.
Mr. Barn. Sure I shall hit on some way to get rid of this crew.