"Your vorship, she'll be forty-three come a fortnight a'ter next Bart'lemy fair."
"Then she is no chicken! and she certainly could come to you, if she was inclined to do so."
"No, your vorship, she's no chicken, but she's desperate tender, though; and they'd kill and murder her, if she vasn't to keep herself quiet."
"Is she very disconsolate under her bereavement?"
"Anan, your vorship," said Solomon.
"Does she grieve much?"
"Oh! desperately, as your vorship may natt'rully suppose, when ve'd only come together three days."
"Is she very handsome?"
This was a question which seemed rather to bother the love-lorn Solomon. He simpered and sighed, and looked down and looked up, and nibbled the edge of his hat; and when the question had been repeated the third time, he replied, "I don't know 'xactly, your vorship—she's reckoned so. And I reckon—I reckon I vouldn't a married her if I didn't think so, your vorship!"
After some further question and reply, in which he earnestly entreated that an officer might be sent with him to enforce his claim, and get the gentle Desdemona out of the garret by force of arms, the magistrate told him he could do nothing for him; whereupon he gathered up his features into a frown, put the lid upon his knowledge-box, and stalked out of the office, exclaiming, "Then by goles, I'll go to Marlborough-street! for I vont be diddled out of my vife in this ere manner, howsomever."