Mary. Aw'll bring it, measter. See yo, tay this cheer. It's as chep sittin' as stonnin'. An' poo up to th' fire, for it's noan so warm to-neet.
Sam. Naw, it's nobbut cowdish, for sure; draw up to th' hob, an' warm yo, for yo look'n parish't.[3]
"If you can bring me a crust of bread and cheese, or a bit of cold meat, or anything, I shall be obliged to you," said I.
Mary. Ah, sure aw will. We'n a bit o' nice cowd beef; an' I'll bring it eawt. But it's bhoylt (boiled), mind yo! Dun yo like it bhoylt? Yo'n find it middlin' toothsome.
I told her that it would do very well; and then the landlord struck in:—
Sam. Doesto yer, lass. There's a bit o' pickle theer, i'th cubbort; aw dar say he'd like some. Fot it eawt, an' let him feel at it.
Mary. Oh, ay, sure there is; an' aw'll bring it, too. Aw declare aw'd forgetten it! Dun yo like pickle, measther?
"I do," said I, "just for a taste."
Mary. Well, well; aw meeon for a taste. But aw'll bring it an' yo can help yorsel to't. Let's see, wi'n yo have hard brade? Which side dun yo come fro?
"I come from Manchester," said I.