A. That of a fool. Combing his hair and fasting, all day without food, singing and playing on the guitar, sighing and yawning. He is ever talking to himself, and the verses he makes are so cold and insipid and senseless that they make one pity him. And the airs he gives himself! That is what enrages me. I have been in his service three years and have never seen him with half a crown, but in our expenditure a shilling lasts a month.
O. Mercy on us, what do you eat?
A. Not even of bread do we eat our fill.
O. And his horse?
A. Skin and bones, the bones piercing the skin. I and the horse and he eat scarcely anything. Yet you should see him boasting and pretending to be a valiant knight, and singing his own praises the whole live-long day. But the other day, in an alley there, they gave him a fine thrashing. O, such a thrashing!
O. What with?
A. With an old stick.
O. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
A. It gave me such pleasure.
O. And he said nothing?