Miss. Pray, Colonel, let me see that Box.
Col. Madam, there’s never a C upon it.
Miss. May be there is, Colonel.
Col. Ay; but May-bees don’t fly now, Miss.
Neverout. Colonel, why so hard upon poor Miss? Don’t set your Wit against a Child: Miss, give me a Blow, and I’ll beat him.
Miss. So she pray’d me to tell you.
Ld. Sparkish. Pray, my Lady Smart, What Kin are you to Lord Pozz?
Lady Smart. Why, his Grandmother and mine had Four Elbows.
Lady Answ. Well, methinks here is a silent Meeting. Come, Miss, hold up your Head, Girl; there’s Money bid for you.
[—Miss starts—