Ld. Smart. Pray, my Lord, how is it treacherous?
Ld. Sparkish. Because it smiles in my Face, and cuts my Throat. [Here a loud laugh.]
Miss. Odd-so! Madam; your Knives are very sharp, for I have cut my Finger.
Lady Smart. I am sorry for it; pray, which Finger? (God bless the Mark.)
Miss. Why, this Finger: No, ’tis this: I vow I can’t find which it is.
Neverout. Ay; the Fox had a Wound, and he could not tell where, &c. Bring some Water to throw in her Face.
Miss. Pray, Mr. Neverout, did you ever draw a Sword in Anger? I warrant you would faint at the Sight of your own Blood.
Lady Smart. Mr. Neverout, shall I send you some Veal?
Neverout. No, Madam; I don’t love it.
Miss. Then pray for them that do. I desire your Ladyship will send me a Bit.