Clinch. sen. Norway, sir?
Sir H. Yes, sir, of the shavings of deal boards.
Clinch. sen. That's very strange now, 'faith—Lace made of the shavings of deal boards! 'Egad, sir, you travellers see very strange things abroad, very incredible things abroad, indeed. Well, I'll have a cravat of the very same lace before I come home.
Sir H. But, sir, what preparations have you made for your journey?
Clinch. sen. A case of pocket-pistols for the bravos, and a swimming-girdle.
Sir H. Why these, sir?
Clinch. sen. Oh, lord, sir, I'll tell you——Suppose us in Rome now; away goes I to some ball—for I'll be a mighty beau. Then, as I said, I go to some ball, or some bear-baiting—'tis all one, you know—then comes a fine Italian bona roba, and plucks me by the sleeve: Signior Angle, Signior Angle—She's a very fine lady, observe that—Signior Angle, says she—Signiora, says I, and trips after her to the corner of a street, suppose it Russel Street, here, or any other street: then, you know, I must invite her to the tavern; I can do no less——There up comes her bravo; the Italian grows saucy, and I give him an English dowse on the face: I can box, sir, box tightly; I was a 'prentice, sir——But then, sir, he whips out his stiletto, and I whips out my bull-dog—slaps him through, trips down stairs, turns the corner of Russel Street again, and whips me into the ambassador's train, and there I'm safe as a beau behind the scenes.
Sir H. Is your pistol charged, sir?
Clinch. sen. Only a brace of bullets, that's all, sir.
Sir H. 'Tis a very fine pistol, truly; pray let me see it.