_Sir John._ Why, Miss, I thank God, she is a Little Evil.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Come, give me a Glass of Claret.
[Footman _fills him a Bumper_.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Why do you fill so much?
_Neverout._ My Lord, he fills as he loves you.
_Lady Smart._ Miss, shall I send you some Cowcomber?
_Miss._ Madam, I dare not touch it; for they say, Cowcombers are cold in
the third Degree.
_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, do you love Pudden?
_Neverout._ Madam, I’m like all Fools, I love every thing that is good;
but the Proof of the Pudden is in the Eating.
_Col._ Sir _John_, I hear you are a great Walker when you are at Home.
_Sir John._ No, faith, Colonel; I always love to walk with a Horse in my
Hand: But I have had devilish bad Luck in Horse-flesh of late.
_Ld. Smart._ Why then, Sir _John_, you must kiss a Parson’s Wife.
_Lady Smart._ They say, Sir _John_, that your Lady has a great deal of
Wit.
_Sir John._ Madam, she can make a Pudden; and has just Wit enough to know
her Husband’s Breeches from another Man’s.
_Lady Smart._ My Lord _Sparkish_, I have some excellent Cyder, will you
please to taste it?
_Ld. Sparkish._ My Lord, I should like it well enough, if it were not so
treacherous.
_Ld. Smart._ Pray, my Lord, how is it treacherous?
_Ld. Sparkish._ Because it smiles in my Face, and cuts my Throat. [_Here
a loud laugh._]
_Miss._ Odd-so! Madam; your Knives are very sharp, for I have cut my
Finger.
_Lady Smart._ I am sorry for it; pray, which Finger? (God bless the Mark.)
_Miss._ Why, this Finger: No, ’tis this: I vow I can’t find which it is.
_Neverout._ Ay; the Fox had a Wound, and he could not tell where, _&c._
Bring some Water to throw in her Face.
_Miss._ Pray, Mr. _Neverout_, did you ever draw a Sword in Anger? I
warrant you would faint at the Sight of your own Blood.
_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, shall I send you some Veal?
_Neverout._ No, Madam; I don’t love it.
_Miss._ Then pray for them that do. I desire your Ladyship will send me a
Bit.
_Ld. Smart._ _Tom_, my Service to you.
_Neverout._ My Lord, this Moment I did myself the Honour to drink to your
Lordship.
_Ld. Smart._ Why then that’s _Hartfordshire_ Kindness.
_Neverout._ Faith, my Lord, I pledged myself, for I drank twice together
without thinking.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Why then, Colonel, my humble Service to You.
_Neverout._ Pray, my Lord, don’t make a Bridge of my Nose.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Well, a Glass of this Wine is as comfortable as Matrimony
to an old Woman.
_Col._ Sir _John_, I design one of these Days to come and beat up your
Quarters in _Derbyshire_.
_Sir John._ Faith, Colonel, come and welcome; and stay away, and
heartily welcome: But you were born within the Sound of _Bow_ Bell, and
don’t care to stir so far from _London_.
_Miss._ Pray, Colonel, send me some Fritters.
[_Colonel takes them out with his Hand._
_Col._ Here, Miss; they say, Fingers were made before Forks, and Hands
before Knives.
_Lady Smart._ Methinks this Pudden is too much boil’d.
_Ld. Answ._ Oh! Madam, they say, a Pudden is Poison when it’s too much
boil’d.
_Neverout._ Miss, shall I help you to a Pigeon? Here’s a Pigeon so finely
roasted, it cries, Come eat me.
_Miss._ No, Sir; I thank you.
_Neverout._ Why, then you may chuse.
_Miss._ I have chosen already.
_Neverout._ Well, you may be worse offer’d, before you are twice marry’d.
[_The Colonel fills a large Plate of Soupe._
_Ld. Smart._ Why, Colonel, you don’t mean to eat all that Soupe?
_Col._ O my Lord, this is my sick Dish; when I am well, I’ll have a
bigger.
_Miss_ [_to Col._] Sup, _Simon_; very good Broth.
_Neverout._ This seems to be a good Pullet.
_Miss._ I warrant, Mr. _Neverout_ knows what’s good for himself.
_Ld. Sparkish._ _Tom_, I shan’t take your Word for it; help me to a Wing.
[Neverout _tryes to cut off a Wing_.
_Neverout._ Egad I can’t hit the Joint.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Why, then, think of a Cuckold.
_Neverout._ Oh! now I have nick’d it.
[_Gives it Ld._ Sparkish.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Why, a Man may eat this, tho’ his Wife lay a dying.
_Col._ Pray, Friend, give me a Glass of Small Beer, if it be good.
_Ld. Smart._ Why, Colonel, they say, there is no such thing as good Small
Beer, good Brown Bread, or a good Old Woman.
_Lady Smart._ [_to Lady Answ._] Madam, I beg your Ladyship’s Pardon; I
did not see you when I was cutting that Bit.
_Lady Answ._ Oh! Madam; after you is good Manners.
_Lady Smart._ Lord! here’s a Hair in the Sauce.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Then set the Hounds after it.
_Neverout._ Pray, Colonel, help me however to some of that same Sauce.
_Col._ Come; I think you are more Sauce than Pig.
_Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, chear up: My Service to you: Well, what do you
think of the World to come?
_Sir John._ Truly, my Lord, I think of it as little as I can.
_Lady Smart_ [_putting a Scewer on a Plate._] Here, take this Scewer, and
carry it down to the Cook, to dress it for her own Dinner.
_Neverout._ I beg your Ladyship’s Pardon; but this Small Beer is dead.
_Lady Smart._ Why, then, let it be bury’d.
_Col._ This is admirable Black Pudden: Miss, shall I carve you some?
I can just carve Pudden, and that’s all; I am the worst Carver in the
World; I should never make a good Chaplain.
_Miss._ No, thank ye, Colonel; for they say, those that eat Black Pudden
will dream of the Devil.
_Ld. Smart._ O, here comes the Venison-Pasty: Here, take the Soupe away.
_Ld. Smart._ [_He cuts it up, and tastes the Venison._] ’Sbuds! this
Venison is musty.
[Neverout _eats a Piece, and it burns his Mouth_.
_Ld. Smart._ What’s the Matter, _Tom_? You have Tears in your Eyes, I
think: What dost cry for, Man?
_Neverout._ My Lord, I was just thinking of my poor Grandmother; She died
just this very Day Seven Years.
[Miss _takes a Bit, and burns her Mouth_.
_Neverout._ And, pray, Miss, why do you cry too?
_Miss._ Because you were not hang’d the Day your Grandmother died.
_Ld. Smart._ I’d have given Forty Pounds, Miss, to have said that.
_Col._ Egad, I think, the more I eat, the hungrier I am.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Why, Colonel, they say, one Shoulder of Mutton drives
down another.
_Neverout._ Egad, if I were to fast for my Life, I would take a good
Breakfast in the Morning, a good Dinner at Noon, and a good Supper at
Night.
_Ld. Sparkish._ My Lord, this Venison is plaguily pepper’d; your Cook has
a heavy Hand.
_Ld. Smart._ My Lord, I hope, you are Pepper-proof: Come, here’s a Health
to the Founders.
_Lady Smart._ Ay; and to the Confounders too.
_Ld. Smart._ Lady _Answerall_, does not your Ladyship love Venison?
_Lady Answ._ No, my Lord, I can’t endure it in my Sight, therefore please
to send me a good Piece of Meat and Crust.
_Ld. Sparkish_ [_drinks to Neverout._] Come, _Tom_; not always to my
Friends, but once to you.
_Neverout_ [_drinks to Lady Smart._] Come, Madam; here’s a Health to our
Friends, and hang the rest of our Kin.
_Lady Smart_ [_to Lady Answ._] Madam, will your Ladyship have any of this
Hare?
_Lady Answ._ No, Madam; they say, ’tis melancholy Meat.
_Lady Smart._ Then, Madam, shall I send you the Brains? I beg your
Ladyship’s Pardon; for they say, ’tis not good Manners to offer Brains.
_Lady Answ._ No, Madam; for perhaps it will make me hare-brain’d.
_Neverout._ Miss, I must tell you one thing.
_Miss_ [_with a Glass in her Hand._] Hold your Tongue, Mr. _Neverout_;
don’t speak in my Tip.
_Col._ Well, he was an ingenious Man, that first found out Eating and
Drinking.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Of all Vittles Drink digests the quickest: Give me a
Glass of Wine.
_Neverout._ My Lord, your Wine is too strong.
_Ld. Smart._ Ay, _Tom_; as much as you are too good.
_Miss._ This Almond Pudden was pure good; but it is grown quite cold.
_Neverout._ So much the better, Miss; cold Pudden will settle your Love.
_Miss._ Pray, Mr. _Neverout_, are you going to take a Voyage?
_Neverout._ Why do you ask, Miss?
_Miss._ Because you have laid in so much Beef.
_Sir John._ You Two have eat up the whole Pudden betwixt you.
_Miss._ Sir _John_, here’s a little Bit left; will you please to have it?
_Sir John._ No, thankee; I don’t love to make a Fool of my Mouth.
_Col._ [_calling to the Butler._] _John_, is your Small Beer good?
_Butler._ An please your Honour, my Lord and Lady like it; I think it is
good.
_Col._ Why then, _John_, d’yesee? if you are sure your Small Beer is
good, d’yemark? Then, give me a Glass of Wine.
[_All laugh._
[_Colonel tasting the Wine._
_Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, how does your Neighbour _Gatherall_ of the
_Peak_? I hear, he has lately made a Purchase.
_Sir John._ Oh, _Dick Gatherall_ knows how to butter his Bread, as well
as any Man in _Darbyshire_.
_Ld. Smart._ Why, he us’d to go very fine, when he was here in Town.
_Sir John._ Ay; and it became him, as a Saddle becomes a Sow.
_Col._ I know his Lady, and I think she is a very good Woman.
_Sir John._ Faith, she has more Goodness in her little Finger, than he
has in his whole Body.
_Ld. Smart._ Well, Colonel, how do you like that Wine?
_Col._ This Wine should be eaten; it is too good to be drunk.
_Ld. Smart._ I’m very glad you like it; and pray don’t spare it.
_Col._ No, my Lord; I’ll never starve in a Cook’s Shop.
_Ld. Smart._ And pray, Sir _John_, what do You say to my Wine?
_Sir John._ I’ll take another Glass first; second Thoughts are best.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Pray, Lady _Smart_, you sit near that Ham; will you
please to send me a Bit?
_Lady Smart._ With all my Heart. [_She sends him a Piece._] Pray, my
Lord, how do you like it?
_Ld. Sparkish._ I think it is a Limb of _Lot_’s Wife. [_He eats it with
Mustard._] Egad, my Lord, your Mustard is very uncivil.
_Ld. Smart._ Why uncivil, my Lord?
_Ld. Sparkish._ Because it takes me by the Nose, egad.
_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, I find you are a very good Carver.
_Col._ O Madam, that is no Wonder; for you must know, _Tom Neverout_
carves a _Sundays_.
[Neverout _overturns the Salt-celler_.
_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, you have overturn’d the Salt, and that’s a
Sign of Anger: I’m afraid, Miss and You will fall out.
_Lady Answ._ No, no; throw a little of it into the Fire, and all will be
well.
_Neverout._ O Madam, the falling out of Lovers, you know.
_Miss._ Lovers! very fine! fall out with Him! I wonder when we were in!
_Sir John._ For my Part, I believe, the young Gentlewoman is his
Sweetheart; there’s so much Fooling and Fidling betwixt them: I’m sure,
they say in our Country, that — — — is the Beginning of Love.
_Miss._ I own, I love Mr. _Neverout_, as the Devil loves Holy Water; I
love him like Pye, I’d rather the Devil had him than I.
_Neverout._ Miss, I’ll tell you one thing.
_Miss._ Come, here’s t’ ye, to stop your Mouth.
_Neverout._ I’d rather you would stop it with a Kiss.
_Miss._ A Kiss! marry come up, my dirty Cousin; are you no sicker? Lord,
I wonder what Fool it was that first invented Kissing!
_Neverout._ Well, I’m very dry.
_Miss._ Then you’re the better to burn, and the worse to fry.
_Lady Answ._ God bless you, Colonel; you have a good Stroke with you.
_Col._ O Madam; formerly I could eat all, but now I leave nothing; I eat
but one Meal a Day.
_Miss._ What! I suppose, Colonel, that’s from Morning till Night.
_Neverout._ Faith, Miss; and well was his Wont.
_Ld. Smart._ Pray, Lady _Answerall_, taste this Bit of Venison.
_Lady Answ._ I hope, your Lordship will set me a good Example.
_Ld. Smart._ Here’s a Glass of Cyder fill’d: Miss, you must drink it.
_Miss._ Indeed, my Lord, I can’t.
_Neverout._ Come, Miss; better Belly burst, than good Liquor be lost.
_Miss._ Pish! well in Life there was never any thing so teizing; I had
rather shed it in my Shoes: I wish it were in your Guts, for my Share.
_Ld. Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, you han’t tasted my Cyder yet.
_Neverout._ No, my Lord: I have been just eating Soupe; and they say, if
one drinks in one’s Porridge, one will cough in one’s Grave.
_Ld. Smart._ Come, take Miss’s Glass, she wish’d it was in your Guts; let
her have her Wish for once: Ladies can’t abide to have their Inclinations
cross’d.
_Lady Smart_ [_to Sir John._] I think, Sir _John_, you have not tasted
the Venison yet.
_Sir John._ I seldom eat it, Madam: However, please to send me a little
of the Crust.
_Ld. Sparkish._ Why, Sir _John_, you had as good eat the Devil as the
Broth he’s boil’d in.
_Col._ Well, this Eating and Drinking takes away a body’s Stomach, as
Lady _Answerall_ says.
_Neverout._ I have dined as well as my Lord Mayor.
_Miss._ I thought I could have eaten this Wing of a Chicken; but my Eye’s
bigger than my Belly.
_Ld. Smart._ Indeed, Lady _Answerall_, you have eaten nothing.
_Lady Answ._ Pray, my Lord, see all the Bones on my Plate: They say, a
Carpenter’s known by his Chips.
_Neverout._ Miss, will you reach me that Glass of Jelly?
_Miss_ [_giving it to him._] You see, ’tis but ask and have.
_Neverout._ Miss, I would have a bigger Glass.
_Miss._ What! you don’t know your own Mind; you are neither well, full
nor fasting; I think that is enough.
_Neverout._ Ay, one of the Enough’s; I am sure it is little enough.
_Miss._ Yes; but you know, sweet Things are bad for the Teeth.
_Neverout_ [_to Lady Answ._] Madam, I don’t like that Part of the Veal
you sent me.
_Lady Answ._ Well, Mr. _Neverout_, I find you are a true _Englishman_;
you never know when you are well.
_Col._ Well, I have made my whole Dinner of Beef.
_Lady Answ._ Why, Colonel, a Belly-full’s a Belly-full, if it be but of
Wheat-straw.
_Col._ Well, after all, Kitchen-Physic is the best Physic.
_Ld. Smart._ And the best Doctors in the World are Doctor _Dyet_, Doctor
_Quiet_, and Doctor _Merryman_.
_Ld. Sparkish._ What do you think of a little House well fill’d?
_Sir John._ And a little Land well till’d?
_Col._ Ay; and a little Wife well will’d?
_Neverout._ My Lady _Smart_, pray help me to some of the Breast of that
Goose.
_Ld. Smart._ _Tom_, I have heard, that Goose upon Goose is false Heraldry.
_Miss._ What! will you never have done stuffing?
_Ld. Smart._ This Goose is quite raw: Well, God sends Meat, but the Devil
sends Cooks.
_Neverout._ Miss, can you tell which is the white Goose, or the gray
Goose the Gander?
_Miss._ They say, a Fool will ask more Questions than the wisest body can
answer.
_Col._ Indeed, Miss, _Tom Neverout_ has posed you.
_Miss._ Why, Colonel, every Dog has his Day; but, I believe, I shall
never see a Goose again without thinking on Mr. _Neverout_.
_Ld. Smart._ Well said, Miss; faith. Girl, thou hast brought thyself off
cleverly. _Tom_, what say you to that?
_Col._ Faith, _Tom_ is nonplust; he looks plaguily down in the Mouth.
_Miss._ Why, my Lord, you see he is the provokingest Creature in Life; I
believe there is not such another in the varsal World.
_Lady Answ._ Oh, Miss! the World’s a wide Place.
_Neverout._ Well, Miss, I’ll give you Leave to call me any thing, if you
don’t call me Spade.
_Ld. Smart._ Well, but, after all, _Tom_, can you tell me what’s _Latin_
for a Goose.
_Neverout._ O my Lord, I know that; why _Brandy_ is _Latin_ for a Goose,
and _Tace_ is _Latin_ for a Candle.
_Miss._ Is that Manners, to shew your Learning before Ladies? Methinks
you are grown very brisk of a sudden; I think the Man’s glad he’s alive.
_Sir John._ The Devil take your Wit, if this be Wit; for it spoils
Company: Pray, Mr. _Butler_, bring me a Dram after my Goose; ’tis very
good for the Wholsoms.
_Ld. Smart._ Come, bring me the Loaf; I sometimes love to cut my own
Bread.
_Miss._ I suppose, my Lord, you lay longest a Bed To-day.
_Ld. Smart._ Miss, if I had said so, I should have told a Fib; I warrant
you lay a Bed till the Cows came Home: But, Miss, shall I cut you a
little Crust now my Hand is in?
_Miss._ If you please, my Lord, a Bit of Under-crust.
_Neverout._ [_whispering Miss._] I find, you love to lie under.
_Miss._ _aloud_ [_pushing him from her._] What does the Man mean! Sir, I
don’t understand you at all.
_Neverout._ Come, all Quarrels laid aside: Here, Miss, may you live a
thousand Years.
[_He drinks to her._
_Miss._ Pray, Sir, don’t stint me.
_Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, will you taste my _October_? I think it is very
good; but I believe not equal to yours in _Darbyshire_.
_Sir John._ My Lord, I beg your Pardon; but they say, the Devil made
Askers.
_Ld. Smart._ [_to the Butler._] Here, bring up the great Tankard full of
_October_ for Sir _John_.
_Col._ [_drinking to Miss._] Miss, your Health; may you live all the Days
of your Life.
_Lady Answ._ Well, Miss, you’ll certainly be soon marry’d; here’s Two
Batchelors drinking to you at once.
_Lady Smart._ Indeed, Miss, I believe you were wrapt in your Mother’s
Smock, you are so well belov’d.
_Miss._ Where’s my Knife? Sure I han’t eaten it. Oh! here it is.
_Sir John._ No, Miss; but your Maidenhead hangs in your Light.
_Miss._ Pray, Sir _John_, is that a _Darbyshire_ Compliment? Here, Mr.
_Neverout_, will you take this Piece of Rabbit that you bid me carve for
you?
_Neverout._ I don’t know.
_Miss._ Why, take it, or let it alone.
_Neverout._ I will.
_Miss._ What will you?
_Neverout._ Why, I’ll take it, or let it alone.
_Miss._ You are a provoking Creature.
_Sir John_ [_talking with a Glass of Wine in his Hand._] I remember a
Farmer in our Country——
_Ld. Smart_ [_interrupting him._] Pray, Sir _John_, did you ever hear of
Parson _Palmer_?
_Sir John._ No, my Lord; what of him?
_Ld. Smart._ Why, he used to preach over his Liquor.
_Sir John._ I beg your Pardon; here’s your Lordship’s Health: I’d drink
it up, if it were a Mile to the Bottom.
_Lady Smart._ Mr. _Neverout_, have you been at the new Play?
_Neverout._ Yes, Madam; I went the first Night.
_Lady Smart._ Well; and how did it take?
_Neverout._ Why, Madam, the Poet is damn’d.
_Sir John._ God forgive you! that’s very uncharitable: you ought not to
judge so rashly of any Christian.
_Neverout_ [_whispers Lady Smart._] Was ever such a Dunce? How well he
knows the Town! see, how he stares like a Stuck-Pig! Well, but, Sir
_John_, are you acquainted with any of our fine Ladies yet? any of our
famous Toasts?
_Sir John._ No; damn your Fireships, I have a Wife of my own.
_Lady Smart._ Pray, my Lady _Answerall_, how do you like these preserv’d
Oranges?
_Lady Answ._ Indeed, Madam, the only Fault I find is, that they are too
good.
_Lady Smart._ O Madam; I have heard ’em say, that too good is stark
naught.
[Miss _drinking Part of a Glass of Wine_.
_Neverout._ Pray, let me drink your Snuff.
_Miss._ No, indeed; you shan’t drink after me, for you’ll know my
Thoughts.
_Neverout._ I know them already; you are thinking of a good Husband:
Besides, I can tell your Meaning by your Mumping.
_Lady Smart._ Pray, my Lord, did not you order the Butler to bring up a
Tankard of our _October_ to Sir _John_? I believe, they stay to brew it.
[_The_ Butler _brings up the Tankard to_ Sir John.
_Sir John._ Won’t your Ladyship please to drink first?
_Lady Smart._ No, Sir _John_; ’tis in a very good Hand; I’ll pledge you.
_Col._ [_to Ld. Smart._] My Lord, I love _October_ as well as Sir _John_;
and I hope, you won’t make Fish of one, and Flesh of another.
_Ld. Smart._ Colonel, you’re heartily welcome. Come, Sir _John_, take it
by Word of Mouth, and then give it the Colonel.
[Sir John _drinks_.
_Ld. Smart._ Well, Sir _John_, how do you like it?
_Sir John._ Not as well as my own in _Darbyshire_; ’tis plaguy small.
_Lady Smart._ I never taste Malt Liquor; but they say, ’tis well hopt.
_Sir John._ Hopt! why, if it had hopp’d a little further, it would have
hopp’d into the River. O my Lord, my Ale is Meat, Drink and Cloth; it
will make a Cat speak, and a wise Man dumb.
_Lady Smart._ I was told, ours was very strong.
_Sir John._ Ay, Madam, strong of the Water; I believe the Brewer
forgot the Malt, or the River was too near him: Faith, it is mere
Whip-Belly-Vengeance; he that drinks most has the worst Share.
_Col._ I believe, Sir _John_, Ale is as Plenty as Water at your House.
_Sir John._ Why, faith, at _Christmas_ we have many Comers and Goers; and
they must not be sent away without a Cup of _Christmas_ Ale, for fear
they should —— behind the Door.
_Lady Smart._ I hear, Sir _John_ has the nicest Garden in _England_; they
say, ’tis kept so clean, that you can’t find a Place where to spit.
_Sir John._ O Madam; you are pleased to say so.
_Lady Smart._ But, Sir _John_, your Ale is terrible strong and heady in
_Derbyshire_, and will soon make one drunk and sick; what do you then?
_Sir John._ Why, indeed, it is apt to fox one; but our Way is, to take a
Hair of the same Dog next Morning.——I take a new-laid Egg for Breakfast;
and, faith, one should drink as much after an Egg as after an Ox.
_Ld. Smart._ _Tom Neverout_, will you taste a Glass of the _October_?
_Neverout._ No, faith, my Lord; I like your Wine, and I won’t put a
Churle upon a Gentleman; your Honour’s Claret is good enough for me.
_Lady Smart._ What! is this Pigeon left for Manners? Colonel, shall I
send you the Legs and Rump?
_Col._ Madam, I could not eat a Bit more, if the House was full.
_Ld. Smart_ [_carving a Partridge._] Well; one may ride to _Rumford_ upon
this Knife, it is so blunt.
_Lady Answ._ My Lord, I beg your Pardon; but they say, an ill Workman
never had good Tools.
_Ld. Smart._ Will your Lordship have a Wing of it?
_Ld. Sparkish._ No, my Lord; I love the Wing of an Ox a great deal better.
_Ld. Smart._ I’m always cold after Eating.
_Col._ My Lord, they say, that’s a Sign of long Life.
_Ld. Smart._ Ay; I believe I shall live till all my Friends are weary of
me.
_Col._ Pray, does any body here hate Cheese? I would be glad of a Bit.
_Ld. Smart._ An odd kind of Fellow dined with me t’other Day; and when
the Cheese came upon the Table, he pretended to faint; so somebody said,
Pray, take away the Cheese; No, said I; pray, take away the Fool: Said I
well?
[_Here a large and loud Laugh._
_Col._ Faith, my Lord, you serv’d the Coxcomb right enough; and therefore
I wish we had a Bit of your Lordship’s _Oxfordshire_ Cheese.
_Ld. Smart._ Come, hang Saving; bring us a Halfporth of Cheese.
_Lady Answ._ They say, Cheese digests every thing but itself.
[_A Footman brings a great whole Cheese._
_Ld. Sparkish._ Ay; this would look handsome, if any body should come in.
_Sir John._ Well; I’m weily rosten, as they sayn in _Lancashire_.
_Lady Smart._ Oh! Sir _John_; I wou’d I had something to brost you withal.
_Ld. Smart._ Come; they say, ’tis merry in Hall, when Beards wag all.
_Lady Smart._ Miss, shall I help you to some Cheese? or will you carve
for yourself?
_Neverout._ I’ll hold Fifty Pounds, Miss won’t cut the Cheese.
_Miss._ Pray, why so, Mr. _Neverout_?
_Neverout._ Oh there is a Reason, and you know it well enough.
_Miss._ I can’t for my Life understand what the Gentleman means.
_Ld. Smart._ Pray, _Tom_, change the Discourse; in Troth you are too bad.
_Col._ [_whispers Neverout._] Smoke Miss; faith, you have made her fret
like Gum Taffety.
_Lady Smart._ Well, but Miss; (hold your Tongue, Mr. _Neverout_) shall I
cut you a Piece of Cheese?
_Miss._ No, really, Madam; I have dined this half Hour.
_Lady Smart._ What! quick at Meat, quick at Work, they say.
[Sir John _nods_.
_Ld. Smart._ What! are you sleepy, Sir _John_? do you sleep after Dinner?
_Sir John._ Yes, faith; I sometimes take a Nap after my Pipe; for when
the Belly is full, the Bones will be at Rest.
_Ld. Smart._ Come, Colonel; help yourself, and your Friends will love you
the better. [_To Lady Answ._] Madam, your Ladyship eats nothing.
_Lady Answ._ Lord, Madam, I have fed like a Farmer; I shall grow as fat
as a Porpoise; I swear my Jaws are weary of chawing.
_Col._ I have a Mind to eat a Piece of that Sturgeon; but fear it will
make me sick.
_Neverout._ A rare Soldier indeed! Let it alone, and I warrant it won’t
hurt you.
_Col._ Well; but it would vex a Dog to see a Pudden creep.
[Sir John _rises_.
_Ld. Smart._ Sir _John_, what are you doing?
_Sir John._ Swolks, I must be going, by’r Lady; I have earnest Business;
I must do as the Beggars do, go away when I have got enough.
_Ld. Smart._ Well, but stay till this Bottle’s out; you know, the Man was
hang’d that left his Liquor behind him: And besides, a Cup in the Pate is
a Mile in the Gate; and a Spur in the Head is worth two in the Heel.
_Sir John._ Come then; one Brimmer to all your Healths. [_The Footman
gives him a Glass half full._] Pray, Friend, what was the rest of this
Glass made for? An Inch at the Top, Friend, is worth two at the Bottom.
[_He gets a Brimmer, and drinks it off._] Well, there’s no Deceit in a
Brimmer, and there’s no false _Latin_ in this; your Wine is excellent
good, so I thank you for the next, for I am sure of this: Madam, has your
Ladyship any Commands in _Darbyshire_? I must go Fifteen Miles To-night.