Col. Nay, then will I be hang’d, and my Horse too.
Neverout. I believe her Ladyship was at a Church with a Chimney in it.
Miss. Lord, my Petticoat! how it hangs by Jommetry.
Neverout. Perhaps the Fault may be in your Shape.
Miss. [looking gravely.] Come, Mr. Neverout, there’s no Jest like the true Jest; but, I suppose, you think my Back’s broad enough to bear every Thing.
Neverout. Madam, I humbly beg your Pardon.
Miss. Well, Sir, your Pardon’s granted.
Neverout. Well, all Things have an End, and a Pudden has two, up-up-on my-my-my Word. [stutters.]
Miss. What! Mr. Neverout, can’t you speak without a Spoon?