Neverout. Cry mapsticks, madam; no offence I hope.
[Lady Smart breaks a teacup.]
Lady Answ. Lord, madam, how came you to break your cup?
Lady Smart. I can't help it, if I would cry my eyes out.
Miss. Why sell it, madam, and buy a new one with some of the money.
Col. 'Tis a folly to cry for spilt milk.
Lady Smart. Why, if things did not break or wear out, how would tradesmen live?
Miss. Well; I am very sick, if any body car'd for it.
Neverout. Come, then, miss, e'en make a die of it, and then we shall have a burying of our own.
Miss. The devil take you, Neverout, beside all small curses.
Lady Answ. Marry come up, what, plain Neverout! methinks you might have an M under your girdle, miss.
Lady Smart. Well, well, naught's never in danger; I warrant miss will spit in her hand, and hold fast. Colonel, do you like this biscuit?
Col. I'm like all fools; I love every thing that's good.
Lady Smart. Well, and isn't it pure good?
Col. 'Tis better than a worse.
Footman brings the Colonel a letter.
Lady Answ.. I suppose, colonel, that's a billetdoux from your mistress.
Col. Egad, I don't know whence it comes; but whoe'er writ it, writes a hand like a foot.
