Trudge. Very well, sir. What a fine thing it is to turn one's back on a master, without running into a wolf's belly! One can follow one's nose on a message here, and be sure it won't be bit off by the way.
[Exit.
Inkle. Let me reflect a little. Part with her!—My interest, honour, engagements to Narcissa, all demand it. My father's precepts too—I can remember, when I was a boy, what pains he took to mould me.—School'd me from morn to night—and still the burden of his song was—Prudence! Prudence! Thomas, and you'll rise. His maxims rooted in my heart, and as I grew—they grew; till I was reckoned, among our friends, a steady, sober, solid, good young man; and all the neighbours call'd me the prudent Mr. Thomas. And shall I now, at once, kick down the character which I have raised so warily?—Part with her—sell her!—The thought once struck me in our cabin, as she lay sleeping by me; but, in her slumbers, she passed her arm around me, murmured a blessing on my name, and broke my meditations.
Enter Yarico and Trudge.
Yar. My love!
Trudge. I have been showing her all the wigs and bales of goods we met on the quay, sir.
Yar. Oh! I have feasted my eyes on wonders.
Trudge. And I'll go feast on a slice of beef, in the inn, here.
[Exit.