Har. Heav'n be prais'd for all.
[Woman sinks, a Flash of Lightning.
Scar. Your unseasonable Thankfulness has rob'd us of our Strumpet.
Har. No matter, no matter; we shall meet her in the Cloisters after the Fair. Come let's fall too.
[They put their Caps before their Faces.
Ha!
Scar. The Table runs away from us.
Har. We'll bestow the Pains to follow it again; this I see is a running Banquet.
[They put their Caps on again, the Table removes.
Scar. I have found the Secret: We must not say Grace at the Devil's Feast.