Dialogue III

Chamber-pot. STand off! nor with rude Smut disgrace
The Glories of my brighter face!
Frying-pan. Tho not so glib my Face be seen,
Yet all I'me sure's as sweet within.
Chamber-pot. You in the Kitchin drudge alone,
None handles you but greasie Ioan!
Frying-pan. I always lend, but you receive;
Which is most brave, to take, or give?
Chamber-pot. Oft Maid and Mistriss fetch me ont,
To wash their their Lilly-hand and Snowt.
Frying-pan. You 're civil sure, and use I hope
With Water to allow 'em Soap.
Chamber-pot. Yes, such as ne're, at worst, indures
To scowre so foul a Mouth as yours.
Frying-pan. O what a fragrant Hogo rose
But now, to twinge a swounding Nose?
Chamber-pot. Such as when you were made a Tool,
To Fry the Break-fast for the Fool.
Frying-pan. All bulg'd and yellow you must fall
At last behind some ruin'd Wall;
Or melt, and to your Masters loss
Leave both at once your stink and dross.
Chamber-pot. Take then, since me you 'll thus Incense,
These marks of my Benevolence:
Such Water as if Fame says true,
Diana on Acteon threw;
Which as some learned men surmize,
With flap of Fox put out his Eyes:
And least of Rary show he brag,
Bewitcht poor Hunter into Stag.