TATTLE, MISS PRUE.

MISS. O Lord, she's coming, and she'll tell my father; what shall I do now?

TATT. Pox take her; if she had stayed two minutes longer, I should have wished for her coming.

MISS. O dear, what shall I say? Tell me, Mr Tattle, tell me a lie.

TATT. There's no occasion for a lie; I could never tell a lie to no purpose. But since we have done nothing, we must say nothing, I think. I hear her,--I'll leave you together, and come off as you can. [Thrusts her in, and shuts the door.]