Har. O happy Change! Madam, with your good Leave.

[Kisses.

Scar. Never too late in good Breeding. [Kisses.] Rare Wench! And as Luscious as Pig-sauce.

Har. Heav'n be prais'd for all.

[Woman sinks, a Flash of Lightning.

Scar. Your unseasonable Thankfulness has rob'd us of our Strumpet.

Har. No matter, no matter; we shall meet her in the Cloisters after the Fair. Come let's fall too.

[They put their Caps before their Faces.

Ha!

Scar. The Table runs away from us.

Har. We'll bestow the Pains to follow it again; this I see is a running Banquet.

[They put their Caps on again, the Table removes.