Patty. Well; and tell me, Trudge;—she's pretty, you say—Is she fair or brown? or——
Trudge. Um! she's a good comely copper.
Patty. How! a tawny?
Trudge. Yes, quite dark; but very elegant; like a Wedgwood tea-pot.
Patty. Oh! the monster! the filthy fellow! Live with a black-a-moor!
Trudge. Why, there's no great harm in't, I hope?
Patty. Faugh! I wou'dn't let him kiss me for the world: he'd make my face all smutty.
Trudge. Zounds! you are mighty nice all of a sudden; but I'd have you to know, Madam Patty, that Black-a-moor ladies, as you call 'em, are some of the very few whose complexions never rub off! 'Sbud, if they did, Wows and I should have changed faces by this time—But mum; not a word for your life.
Patty. Not I! except to the Governor and family. [Aside.] But I must run—and, remember, Trudge, if your master has made a mistake here, he has himself to thank for his pains.