Col. And pray, Sir John, how does your Lady unknown?
Sir John. My Wife’s well, Colonel; and at your Service in a civil way. Ha, ha. [he laughs.
Miss. Pray, Sir John, is your Lady tall or short?
Sir John. Why, Miss, I thank God, she is a Little Evil.
Ld. Sparkish. Come, give me a Glass of Claret.
[Footman fills him a Bumper.
Ld. Sparkish. Why do you fill so much?
Neverout. My Lord, he fills as he loves you.
Lady Smart. Miss, shall I send you some Cowcomber?
Miss. Madam, I dare not touch it; for they say, Cowcombers are cold in the third Degree.