[Exit Patty.
Trudge. Pshaw! these girls are so plaguy proud of their white and red! but I won't be shamed out of Wows, that's flat.—
Enter Wowski.
Ah! Wows, I'm going to leave you.
Wows. For what you leave me?
Trudge. Master says I must.
Wows. Ah, but you say in your country, women know best; and I say you not leave me.
Trudge. Master, to be sure, while we were in the forest, taught Yarico to read, with his pencil and pocket-book. What then? Wows comes on fine and fast in her lessons. A little awkward at first, to be sure—Ha! ha!—She's so used to feed with her hands, that I can't get her to eat her victuals, in a genteel, christian way, for the soul of me; when she has stuck a morsel on her fork, she don't know how to guide it, but pops up her knuckles to her mouth, and the meat goes up to her ear. But, no matter—After all the fine, flashy London girls, Wowski's the wench for my money.
SONG.
A clerk I was in London gay,