Banks. [Stands before it.] Hold, neighbour. Small as this spot is, it's now my only possession: and the man shall first take my life, who sets a foot in it against my will.
F. Gam. I'm in such a passion.—
Jane. [Comes forward.] Feyther, if you're in a passion, read the good book you gave me.
F. Gam. Plague of the wench! But, you hussey, I'll—and you, you unlucky bird!
[Exit Sim and Jane.
[A shower of rain.]—Enter Rover hastily.
Rover. Zounds! here's a pelting shower, and no shelter! "Poor Tom's a-cold;" I'm wet through—Oh, here's a fair promising house. [Going to Gammon's.]
F. Gam. [Stops him.] Hold, my lad. Can't let folks in, till I know who are they. There's a public house not above a mile on.
Banks. Step in here, young man; my fire is small, but it shall cheer you with a hearty welcome.
Rover. [To Banks.] The poor cottager! [To Gammon.] And the substantial farmer! [Kneels.] "Hear, Nature, dear goddess, hear! If ever you designed to make his corn-fields fruitful, change thy purpose; that, from the blighted ear no grain may fall to fat his stubble goose—and, when to town he drives his hogs, so like himself, oh, let him feel the soaking rain; then may he curse his crime too late, and know how sharper than a serpent's tooth 'tis"—Damme, but I'm spouting in the rain all this time.