“‘I thought you were in bed with—with—oh! Poll!’ said Ben.
“‘And I thought you were in bed with—oh! Ben!’ replied Poll.
“‘But I wasn’t, Poll?’
“‘Nor more wasn’t I, Ben.’
“‘And what brought you here, Poll?’
“‘I wanted for to die, Ben. And what brought you here, Ben?’
“‘I didn’t want for to live, Poll, when I thought you false.’
“Then Polly might have answered in the words of the old song, master; but her poor heart was too full, I suppose.” And Tom sang—
“Your Polly has never been false, she declares,
Since last time we parted at Wapping Old Stairs.
“Howsomever, in the next minute they were both hugging and kissing, sobbing, shivering and shaking in each other’s arms; and as soon as they had settled themselves a little, back they went, arm-in-arm, to the house, and had a good stiff glass to prevent their taking the rheumatism, went to bed, and were cured of their jealously ever a’terwards—which in my opinion, was a much better philo-zoffy than the one they had both been bound on. There, I’ve wound it all off at last, master, and now we’ll fill up our pannikins.”