Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/311

 good as you bring: what! if you give a jest, you must take a jest.

Lady Smart. Well, Mr Neverout, you'll ne'er have done till you break that knife, and then the man won't take it again.

Miss. Why, madam, fools will be meddling; I wish he may cut his fingers. I hope you can see your own blood without fainting.

Neverout. Why, miss, you shine this morning like a sh—n barn door: you'll never hold out at this rate; pray save a little wit for to morrow.

Miss. Well, you have said your say; if people will be rude, I have done; my comfort is, 'twill be all one a thousand year hence.

Neverout. Miss, you have shot your bolt: I find you must have the last word — Well, I'll go to the opera to night — No, I can't, neither, for I have some business — and yet I think I must; for I promis'd to squire the countess to her box.

Miss. The countess of Puddledock, I suppose.

Neverout. Peace, or war, miss?

Lady Smart. Well, Mr. Neverout, you'll never be mad, you are of so many minds.

As Miss rises, the chair falls behind her.

Miss. Well; I shan't be lady mayoress this year.

Neverout. No, miss, 'tis worse than that; you won't be married this year.

Miss. Lord! you make me laugh, though I an't well.

Neverout, as Miss is standing, pulls her suddenly on his lap.

Neverout. Now, colonel, come sit down on my lap; more sacks upon the mill. Miss.