Polly (softly). Wot's to do with yer, Liza?
Liza. Oh 'e'll 'urt 'im.
Polly. 'Urt who? Is any one there?
Liza. I—I don't know.
Polly (roughly). Yus yer do, yer young deceiver. Yer think yer've got a feller—yer that's just abart goin' into long skirts. I dunno what the world's comin' to. Young girls is that forward.
Liza (rising). Will father 'urt 'im?
Polly (grimly). Depends which on 'em's the better man.
Liza (tearfully). Oh!
Polly (kindly). I dunno that 'e'll do 'im much 'urt. 'E only means to frighten 'im orf comin' rahnd tryin' to court a girl that's too young to know wot marryin' means. Yer silly girl! Toime 'ul come soon enough. 'Ere, dry yer eyes an' come to yer mother. When proper time comes, yer'll not foind us backward at lettin' yer go. It's not come yet by years. Yer taken by 'is looks an' 'is bold ways. It ain't looks as make a man. This 'un's one of them sort as bring woe to a girl wot's fool enough to wed 'em. 'E's your fust, but yer not 'is fust, not by many a one.
Liza (indignantly). 'E says I am.