“Oh, Mr Winterbottom, surely you are not about to sow the seeds of discord so early. Look at the scene before you—hear how the birds are singing, how merrily the sun shines and how beautifully the water sparkles! Who can be cross on such a morning as this?”
“No, miss,” replied Mr Winterbottom, “not at all—not at all—only my name’s Winterbottom, and not Bottom. I don’t wear an ass’s head to please anybody—that’s all. I won’t be bottom—that’s flat.”
“That depends upon circumstances, sir,” observed Tom.
“What business have you to shove your oar in, Mr Waterman?”
“I was hired for the purpose,” replied Tom, dipping his oar in the water, and giving a hearty stroke.
“Stick to your own element, then—shove your oar into the water, but not into our discourse.”
“Well, sir, I won’t say another word, if you don’t like it.”
“But you may to me,” said Titania, laughing, “whenever you please.”
“And to me too,” said Tinfoil, who was amused with Tom’s replies.
Mr Winterbottom became very wroth, and demanded to be put on shore directly, but the Fairy Queen ordered us to obey him at our peril, and Mr Winterbottom was carried up the river very much against his inclination.