[——Neverout, as Miss is standing, pulls her suddenly on his Lap.——
Neverout. Now, Colonel, come, sit down on my Lap; more Sacks upon the Mill.
Miss. Let me go; ar’n’t you sorry for my Heaviness?
Neverout. No, Miss; you are very light; but I don’t say, you are a light Hussy. Pray, take up the Chair for your Pains.
Miss. ’Tis but one body’s Labour, you may do it yourself: I wish, you would be quiet, you have more Tricks than a Dancing Bear.
[——Neverout rises to take up the Chair, and Miss sits in his.——
Neverout. You wou’dn’t be so soon in my Grave, Madam.
Miss. Lord! I have torn my Petticoat with your odious Romping; my Rents are coming in; I’m afraid, I shall fall into the Ragman’s Hands.
Neverout. I’ll mend it, Miss.