“Death be in her loving-kindness, and sorrow in her cups o’ wine. I be goin’ to throw ’un away.”
The Ancient tottered at such a threat.
“Throw away good liquor! What an onchristian act! A rare churchgoer, such as you be, Tim Farleigh, ought to behave hisself more genteel. Throw away my lady’s part wine! I never heard such hellish talk.”
Timothy turned upon him aggressively, but the Ancient stood his ground.
“There be no heaven and hell, save on this earth. The quality gets the heaven, and we pore folks walks in hell. I be done wi’ church-goin’—done wi’ it for ever—done!”
He went out. A crash of breaking glass was heard. Nicodemus looked up to Heaven.
“Lard help ’un!”
To his immense amazement, Agatha snapped out:
“My lady’s wine is poison to him, and no wonder.”
“Part wine bain’t pison, neighbours. Why not drink the wine, and then smash bottle?”