Trudge. A prince—Ha! ha!——No, not quite a prince—but he belongs to the Crown. But how do you like this, Wows? Isn't it fine?
Wows. Wonder!
Trudge. Fine men, eh?
Wows. Iss! all white; like you.
Trudge. Yes, all the fine men are like me. As different from your people as powder and ink, or paper and blacking.
Wows. And fine lady—Face like snow.
Trudge. What! the fine lady's complexions? Oh, yes, exactly; for too much heat very often dissolves 'em! Then their dress, too.
Wows. Your countrymen dress so?
Trudge. Better, better a great deal. Why, a young flashy Englishman will sometimes carry a whole fortune on his back. But did you mind the women? All here—and there; [Pointing before and behind.] they have it all from us in England.—And then the fine things they carry on their heads, Wowski.
Wows. Iss. One lady carry good fish——so fine, she call every body to look at her.