Lady Smart. Ay, when all the rest are out of it.
Miss. Well; I wou’dn’t be as sick as she’s proud, for all the World.
Lady Answ. She looks, as if Butter wou’dn’t melt in her Mouth; but I warrant, Cheese won’t choak her. I hear, my Lord What-d’ye-call-him is courting her.
Ld. Sparkish. What Lord d’ye mean, Tom?
Miss. Why, my Lord, I suppose, Mr. Neverout means the Lord of the Lord knows what.
Col. They say, she dances very fine.
Lady Answ. She did; but, I doubt, her Dancing Days are over.
Col. I can’t pardon her, for her Rudeness to me.
Lady Smart. Well; but you must forget and forgive.