Three days shiver, three days shake,
Mak’ me well fur Marcy’s sake.
Well, oi sez ’em over an’ over ’till oi were black i’ the faace, but it didn’t seem tu du me no good at arl, ’till one day ’long comes ol’ Penelope, tears up my charm an’ gi’es me some stuff in a liddle bottle as oi must rub arl over myself ... which oi done. An’ Lord—arter a bit oi got that skittish—used t’ kick up my ’ind legs loike any colt ... an’ me a married man an’ arl. Oi dunno as if oi——”
“Grandfeäther!”
“Dannle it! That be my rum-an’-milk!” exclaimed the Aged One, scowling.
“Grandfeäther, be ye comin’?”
“Arl roight, lass, arl roight!” piped the old man pettishly, getting from his perch with surprising nimbleness. “Oi’ll ’ave to go, my pretty bird, oi’ll ’ave to leave ’ee or ’twill be milk an’ no rum! Ann be that ’ard-’earted an’ ... Arl roight, Nan, ’ere oi be!” This as his granddaughter appeared, who, beholding Sir John, blushed and curtsied. Quoth she:
“’Tis tur’ble kind o’ you to bide an’ keep ’im comp’ny, Rose—mam, for ’e du be that mischievious——”
“Never tak’ no ’eed o’ my Nan, ’er’s a babe!” retorted the Aged One. “An’ oi du ’ope as you’ll come an’ talk tu oi again, my Beauty Broight, fur oi doan’t tak’ naun account o’ little ’uns, an’ you be a foine up-standin’, down-sittin’ wench, sure-ly! An’ the young ’un ’ere thinks the same, doan’t ’ee, young man?”
“I do!” answered Sir John fervently. “Indeed, I have never seen a more up-standing, down-sitting wench in all my life!”