John Moody. Ah, Sir, I have seen a little of 'em, tho' not so much as my betters. Your worship is naw married yet?
Unc. Rich. No, John no; I am an old batchelor still.
John Moody. Heav'ns bless you and preserve you, Sir.
Unc. Rich. I think you have lost your good woman, John!
John Moody. No, sir, that I have not; Bridget sticks to me still, Sir, she was for coming to London too, but, no, says I, there may be mischief enough done without you.
Unc. Rich. Why that was bravely spoken, John, and like a man.
John Moody. Sir, were my measter but haf the mon that I am, Gadswookers——tho' he'll speak stautly too sometimes, but then he canno hawd it; no, he canno hawd it.
Enter Maid.
Maid. Mr. Moody, Mr. Moody, here's the coach come.