SONG.—WOWSKI.
[One day, I heard Mary say.]
White man, never go away——
Tell me why need you?
Stay, with your Wowski, stay:
Wowski will feed you.
Cold moons are now coming in;
Ah, don't go grieve me!
I'll wrap you in leopard's skin:
White man, don't leave me.
And when all the sky is blue,
Sun makes warm weather,
I'll catch you a cockatoo,
Dress you in feather.
When cold comes, or when 'tis hot,
Ah, don't go grieve me!
Poor Wowski will be forgot—
White man, don't leave me!
Trudge. Zounds! leopard's skin for winter wear, and feathers for a summer's suit! Ha, ha! I shall look like a walking hammer-cloth, at Christmas, and an upright shuttlecock, in the dog days. And for all this, if my master and I find our way to England, you shall be part of our travelling equipage; and, when I get there, I'll give you a couple of snug rooms, on a first floor, and visit you every evening, as soon as I come from the counting-house. Do you like it?
Wows. Iss.
Trudge. Damme, what a flashy fellow I shall seem in the city! I'll get her a white boy to bring up the tea-kettle. Then I'll teach you to write and dress hair.
Wows. You great man in your country?
Trudge. Oh yes, a very great man. I'm head clerk of the counting-house, and first valet-de-chambre of the dressing-room. I pounce parchments, powder hair, black shoes, ink paper, shave beards, and mend pens. But hold! I had forgot one material point—you ar'n't married, I hope?
Wows. No: you be my chum-chum!
Trudge. So I will. It's best, however, to be sure of her being single; for Indian husbands are not quite so complaisant as English ones, and the vulgar dogs might think of looking a little after their spouses. But you have had a lover or two in your time; eh, Wowski?
Wows. Oh, iss—great many—I tell you.