Por. We are my Lady Pinch-guts men, Sir.

Co. Her Men? No, he Mice. We live upon crums, and a good Cat would run away with us all.

[…]

L. W. I wonder at it; my Lords humour is very oppoſite to hers, he loves Grandeur.

Co. So does ſhe, Sir, but hates to pat for't. She will ha' Servants for a ſhew, and they ſhall ha' Liveries for a ſhew, when company comes: But when company's gone, we are ſtripp'd and ſtarv'd; a damn'd Papiſtical Heathen.