"Oh, I have an eye for a wench," said I, "and I know virtue when it peeps out. And if so be you want Tom, rip me, you shall have him."
"I do not understand you, sir," said she, still wondering.
"See you here, mistress," says I, with a wink, "if you was known to be in the expectation of money," says I, "maybe auntie would sing to another tune."
"Yes," said she, with her mouth open and her eyes.
"Very well," said I, "a gentlemanly haberdasher has clapped eyes on a pretty miss and taken a fancy to her for a daughter."
She stared at me.
"Say that here sits the haberdasher," said I, cocking an eye at her, "a gentlemanly haberdasher that is a widower and is peaking for a daughter that he will never get," says I, "what says auntie and nunkie now?"
She met my glance and presently hers fell. I could see she was quick of wit and took me now.
"But, sir, I do not know who you be," said she, demurely, and fidgeting with her apron.
"Oh, we will better that," says I, remembering of the man on Turnham Green. "Call me Samuel Hogg," said I, "godly Samuel Hogg, of Bristol, that wants a daughter all to himself and is willing to leave her a hundred guineas for a dowry and a thousand on his deathbed."