"Parched wi' thirst I be!" he groaned.
"I've been the like ere now!" says I, and having gulped down what remained of the fellow's beer I tossed the jar into the road, whereat he beat his breast.
"My beer!" he wailed, "And I a-famishing wi' thirst! O my beer!"
"There's sweet water i' the brook yonder!" says I.
"You be a chap wi' no bowels, for sure!" he cried. "Aye, a hard man you be!"
"'Tis a hard world," says I, "but 'tis no matter for that, tell me of Sir Richard Brandon."
"Why then, you must know I am Myles Trueman—"
"And truly, man, there be miles of you, but 'tis no matter for that either—what of Sir Richard?"
"I do be coming to he," says Trueman in surly tone. "I do farm Sir Richard's land—a hard man, see you, though just."
"So—here's another hard man."