Lady Head. Pray, Mrs. Motherly, do they make a practice of these things often here?
Mrs. Moth. Madam, they'll twitch a rump of beef out of a boiling copper: and for a silver tankard, they make no more conscience of than if it were a Tunbridge sugar box.
Sir Fran. I wish the coach and horses, George, were safe got to the inn. Do you and Roger take special care that nobody runs away with them, as you go thither.
Geo. I believe, Sir, our cattle won't yeasily be run away with to-night; but wee'st take best care we con of them, poor sauls!
[Exit.
Sir Fran. Do so, pray now.
Squire Humph. Feather, I had rather they had run away with heavy George than the goose-pye; a slice of it before supper to-night would have been pure.
Lady Head. This boy is always thinking of his belly.
Sir Fran. But, my dear, you may allow him to be a little hungry after a journey.