Neverout. What’s the Matter! whose Mare’s dead now?
Miss. Take your Labour for your Pains; you may go back again, like a Fool, as you came.
Neverout. Well, Miss; if you deceive me a second time, ’tis my Fault.
Lady Smart. Colonel, methinks your Coat is too short.
Col. It will be long enough before I get another, Madam.
Miss. Come, come; the Coat’s a good Coat, and come of good Friends.
Neverout. Ladies, you are mistaken in the Stuff; ’tis half Silk.
Col. Tom Neverout, you are a Fool, and that’s your Fault.
[——A great Noise below.——