Miss. Let him set his Foot on it, that it mayn’t fly in his Face.
Neverout. Well, Miss——
Miss. Ay, ay; many a one says well, that thinks ill.
Neverout. Well, Miss; I’ll think of this.
Miss. That’s Rhime, if you take it in Time.
Neverout. What! I see you are a Poet.
Miss. Yes; if I had but the Wit to show it.
Neverout. Miss, Will you be so kind as to fill me a Dish of Tea?
Miss. Pray, let your Betters be serv’d before you; I am just going to fill one for myself; and, you know, the Parson always christens his own Child first.
Neverout. But I saw you fill one just now for the Colonel: Well, I find kissing goes by Favour.