George. Whose gown, master? I’ll warrant ’twasn’t missus’s.
Thomas. Bless my soul, no. No, no, George. ’Twasn’t the mistress then.
George. Ah, I count as it could not have been she.
Thomas. First love, ’tis best, George.
George. Ah, upon my word, that ’tis.
Thomas. But my maid went and got her married to another.
George. More’s the pity, Master Thomas.
Thomas. [Sighing.] Ah, I often thinks of how it might have been—with her and me, like.
George. Had that one a soft tongue to her mouth, master?
Thomas. Soft and sweet as the field lark, George.