Patty. Well!
Trudge. Can you keep a secret?
Patty. Try me.
Trudge. Then [Whispering.] My master keeps a girl.
Patty. Oh, monstrous! another woman?
Trudge. As sure as one and one make two.
Patty. [Aside.] Rare news for my mistress!—Why I can hardly believe it: the grave, sly, steady, sober Mr. Inkle, do such a thing!
Trudge. Pooh! it's always your sly, sober fellows, that go the most after the girls.
Patty. Well; I should sooner suspect you.
Trudge. Me? Oh Lord! he! he!—Do you think any smart, tight, little, black-eyed wench, would be struck with my figure? [Conceitedly.]