"Ha!" quod he, "this is a pleasant Sight. What! the blue Gown is thrown off at last! But how? no Scallops? no Slashes? no Taffeta-lined Cloke, nor Shirt edged with Silver? Thou keepest within the Statute, at all Events. Why, Miles goes as fine as a Popinjay! Howbeit, I like your dark brown better than his Eggs and Spinach; 'tis good Taste, Lad, not to dress above one's Degree. All the World can see which is the Gentleman's Son, which the Burreller's."
"Thou art e'en too hard on poor Miles," quod I. "He is working very hard just now in hope of marrying."
"All the better," saith Tomkins; "many a second-rate Fellow is made better by a first-rate Wife. What? is he thinking of Tryphosa?"
"Oh no," quod I, laughing, "he thinks her quite too old."
"Look you there now!" quod he, much amused, "too old, forsooth! To hear how Boys talk! Marry, you must sup with us, and tell me about Everything; that is, if you can condescend to eat aught but Manchet-bread in these grand Days. Step down to Fishmongersrow, dear Dinah, and fetch us a Crab."
"That's a long Step, Tomkins," observed his Wife, "would not Something I could get nearer do as well?"
"No," quod he gently, "I want a Crab, and I want it from thence; so oblige me, good Dinah."
"That I will," replied she, cheerfully, tying on her Hood, and departing the next Minute with her Child in her Arms.
"I remember," quod Tomkins, laughing, "how you and Miles played away at the Crab on our Wedding-day. And if you spurn such homely Dainties now, you'll be Home in Time for your real Supper after all. 'Tis but Three o' the Clock."
"To hear you Talk," said I, "one would think we lived just now in Lubberland, where the Rivers run Gravy and Apple-sauce, and the roast Pigs run about, saying, Come eat me."