Maid. I shall never get my head-cloathes clear-starch'd at this rate.
Clink. Thou destroyer of learning, thou worse than a book-worm! Thou hast put me beyond all patience. Remember how my lyric ode bound about a tallow-candle; thy wrapping up snuff in an epigram; nay, the unworthy usage of my Hymn to Apollo, filthy creature! read me the last lines I wrote upon the Deluge, and take care to pronounce them as I taught you.
Maid. (Reads with an affected tone.)
Swell'd with a dropsy, sickly Nature lies,
And melting in a diabetes, dies.
Clink. Still without Cadence!
Maid.
Swell'd with a dropsy—
Clink. Hold. I conceive ...
The roaring seas o'er the tall woods have broke,