Neverout. Pray, Colonel, help me however to some of that same Sauce.
Col. Come; I think you are more Sauce than Pig.
Ld. Smart. Sir John, chear up: My Service to you: Well, what do you think of the World to come?
Sir John. Truly, my Lord, I think of it as little as I can.
Lady Smart [putting a Scewer on a Plate.] Here, take this Scewer, and carry it down to the Cook, to dress it for her own Dinner.
Neverout. I beg your Ladyship’s Pardon; but this Small Beer is dead.
Lady Smart. Why, then, let it be bury’d.
Col. This is admirable Black Pudden: Miss, shall I carve you some? I can just carve Pudden, and that’s all; I am the worst Carver in the World; I should never make a good Chaplain.
Miss. No, thank ye, Colonel; for they say, those that eat Black Pudden will dream of the Devil.