Col. [to Ld. Sparkish.] But, my Lord, I forgot to ask you, How you like my new Cloaths?
Ld. Sparkish. Why, very well, Colonel; only, to deal plainly with you, methinks the worst Piece is in the Middle.
[——Here a loud Laugh, often repeated.——
Col. My Lord, you are too severe on your Friends.
Miss. Mr. Neverout, I’m hot; are you a Sot?
Neverout. Miss, I’m cold; are you a Scold? Take you that.
Lady Smart. I confess, that was home. I find, Mr. Neverout, you won’t give your Head for the washing, as they say.
Miss. Oh! he’s a sore Man, where the Skin’s off. I see, Mr. Neverout has a Mind to sharpen the Edge of his Wit, on the Whetstone of my Ignorance.
Ld. Sparkish. Faith, Tom, you are struck! I never heard a better Thing.
Neverout. Pray, Miss, give me Leave to scratch you for that fine Speech.