Trudge. [Without.] Hip! hollo! ho!—Hip!——
Enter Medium and Trudge.
Med. Pshaw! it's only wasting time and breath. Bawling won't persuade him to budge a bit faster, and, whatever weight it may have in some places, bawling, it seems, don't go for argument here. Plague on't! we are now in the wilds of America.
Trudge. Hip, hillio—ho—hi!——
Med. Hold your tongue, you blockhead, or——
Trudge. Lord! sir, if my master makes no more haste, we shall all be put to sword by the knives of the natives. I'm told they take off heads like hats, and hang 'em on pegs, in their parlours. Mercy on us! My head aches with the very thoughts of it. Hollo! Mr. Inkle! master; hollo!
Med. [Stops his mouth.] Head aches! Zounds, so does mine, with your confounded bawling. It's enough to bring all the natives about us; and we shall be stripped and plundered in a minute.
Trudge. Aye; stripping is the first thing that would happen to us; for they seem to be woefully off for a wardrobe. I myself saw three, at a distance, with less clothes than I have, when I get out of bed: all dancing about in black buff; just like Adam in mourning.
Med. This is to have to do with a schemer! a fellow who risks his life, for a chance of advancing his interest.—Always advantage in view! Trying, here, to make discoveries, that may promote his profit in England. Another Botany Bay scheme, mayhap. Nothing else could induce him to quit our foraging party, from the ship; when he knows every inhabitant here is not only as black as a pepper-corn, but as hot into the bargain—and I, like a fool, to follow him! and then to let him loiter behind.—Why, nephew;—Why, Inkle.—[Calling.]