Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/368

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Neverout. Lord, miss, what d'ye mean? d'ye think I have no feeling?

Miss. I'm forc'd to pinch, for the times are hard.

Neverout. [giving miss a pinch.] Take that, miss; what's sauce for a goose is sauce for a gander.

Miss. [screaming.] Well, Mr. Neverout, that shall neither go to Heaven nor Hell with you.

Neverout. [takes miss by the hand.] Come, miss, let us lay all quarrels aside, and be friends.

Miss. Don't be so teasing: you plague a body so! can't you keep your filthy hands to yourself?

Neverout. Pray, miss, where did you get that picktooth case?

Miss. I came honestly by it.

Neverout. I'm sure it was mine, for I lost just such a one; nay I don't tell you a lie.

Miss. No; if you lie, it is much.

Neverout. Well; I'm sure 'tis mine.

Miss. What! you think every thing is yours, but a little the king has.

Neverout. Colonel, you have seen my fine picktooth case; don't you think this is the very same!

Col. Indeed, miss, it is very like it.

Miss. Ay; what he says, you'll swear.

Neverout. Well; but I'll prove it to be mine.

Miss. Ay; do if you can.

Neverout. Why, what's yours is mine, and what's mine is my own. Miss.