Bill. I say, Jim, ain't it a lot o' grub? If I wos a pig now,—
Jack. I likes to hear Bill a supposin' of hisself. Go it, Bill!—There ain't nothink he can't suppose hisself, Jim.—Bein' as you ain't a pig. Bill, you've got yer own trotters, an' yer own tater-trap.
Bill. Vereupon blue Bobby eccosts me with the remark, "I wants you, Bill;" and seein' me too parerlyzed to bolt, he pops me in that 'ere jug vithout e'er a handle.
Jack. Mother kep' a pig once.
Jim. What was he like, Jack?
Jack. As like any other pig as ever he could look; accep' that where other pigs is black he wor white, an' where other pigs is white he wor black.
Jim. Did you have the milk in your tea, Jack?
Jack. Pigs ain't got no milk, Jim, you stupe!
Bill. Pigs has milk, Jack, only they don't give it to coves.—I wish I wos the Lord Mayor!
Jack. Go it again, Bill. He ought ha' been a beak, Bill ought. What 'ud you do, Bill, supposin' as how you wos the Lord Mayor?