Farmer. Ay; is it one o' that family?
Thrum. It is for sure. They're prime steylers, o' on em.
Farmer. Has it a nick under its nose?
Thrum. A nick,—naw it hasn't.... Houd; what mak ov a nick dun yo meeon?
Farmer. Has it a meawth?
Thrum. Ay; it's a grand meawth; an' a rook o'th prattiest teeth at ever wur pegged into a pair o' choles! A sharper, seawnder set o' dog-teeth never snapt at a ratton! Then, look at it e'en; they're as breet as th' north star, ov a frosty neet! An' feel at it nose; it's as cowd as iccles! That dog's some sarviceable yelth (health) abeawt it, maister.
Farmer. Aw'll tell tho what,—it looks hungry.
Thrum. Hungry! It's olez hungry! An' it'll heyt aught i'th world, fro a collop to a dur latch.... Oh, ay; it's reet enough for that.
Farmer. Well, owd mon; aw've nought again thi dog, but that nick under it nose. To tell tho th' treawth, we may'n meawths here faster nor we may'n mheyt. Look at yon woman! Aw would e'en ha' tho to tay thi dog wheer they're noan as thick upo th' clod as here.