Trudge. Pshaw! an old woman bawling flounders. But the fine girls we meet, here, on the quay—so round and so plump!
Wows. You not love me now?
Trudge. Not love you! Zounds, have not I given you proofs?
Wows. Iss. Great many: but now you get here, you forget poor Wowski!
Trudge. Not I. I'll stick to you like wax.
Wows. Ah! I fear! What make you love me now?
Trudge. Gratitude, to be sure.
Wows. What that?
Trudge. Ha! this it is, now, to live without education. The poor dull devils of her country are all in the practice of gratitude, without finding out what it means; while we can tell the meaning of it, with little or no practice at all.—Lord, Lord, what a fine advantage christian learning is! Hark'ee, Wows!
Wows. Iss.