Squ. Rich. No, nor she shawn't be my Mistress, while she's younger sister!
Sir Fran. Well said Dick! Shew 'em that stawt liquor makes a stawt heart, Lad!
Squ. Rich. So I wull! and I'll drink ageen, for all her!
[Drinks.
Enter John Moody.
Sir Fran. So John! how are the horses!
John Moody. Troth, Sir, I ha' noa good opinion o' this tawn, it's made up o' mischief, I think!
Sir Fran. What's the matter naw?
John Moody. Why I'll tell your Worship——before we were gotten to th' street end, with the coach, here, a great lugger-headed cart, with wheels as thick as a brick wall, laid hawld on't, and has poo'd it aw to bits; crack! went the perch! Down goes the coach! and whang! says the glasses, all to shivers! Marcy upon us! and this be London! would we were aw weell in the country ageen!
Jenny. What have you to do, to wish us all in the country again, Mr. Lubber? I hope we shall not go into the country again these seven years, Mamma; let twenty coaches be pull'd to pieces.