Smith. Like a woman: what should she make love like?
Bayes. O' my word you are out tho', sir; egad you are.
Smith. What then, like a man?
Bayes. No, sir; like a humble-bee.
Smith. I confess, that I should not have fancy'd.
Bayes. It may be so, sir; but it is tho', in order to the opinion of some of our ancient philosophers, who held the transmigration of the soul.
Smith. Very fine.
Bayes. I'll read the title: "To my dear Couz, King Physician."
Smith. That's a little too familiar with a king, tho', sir, by your favour, for a humble-bee.