Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/335

 Neverout. Miss, pray be so kind to call a servant to bring me a glass of small beer: I know you are at home here.

Miss. Every fool can do as they're bid: make a page of your own age, and do it yourself.

Neverout. Choose, proud fool; I did but ask you.

Miss puts her hand upon her knee.

Neverout. What, miss, are you thinking of your sweetheart? is your garter slipping down?

Miss. Pray, Mr. Neverout, keep your breath to cool your porridge; you measure my corn by your bushel.

Neverout. Indeed, miss, you lie —

Miss. Did you ever hear any thing so rude!

Neverout. I mean, you lie — under a mistake.

Miss. If a thousand lies could choke you, you would have been choked many a day ago.

Miss strives to snatch Mr. Neverout's snuffbox.

Neverout. Madam, you missed that, as you miss'd your mother's blessing.

She tries again, and misses.

Neverout. Snap short makes you look so lean, miss.

Miss. Poh! you are so robustious, you had like to put out my eye; I assure you, if you blind me, you must lead me.

Lady Smart. Dear miss, be quiet; and bring me a pincushion out of that closet.

Miss opens the closet door and squalls.

Lady Smart. Lord bless the girl! what's the matter now?