John. Nay—’tis to tell you that you be a rare smartish wench—and I’ll go along to the church with you any day as you will name, my dear.
Susan. That you won’t, John. I don’t mind taking a nosegay of flowers from you now and then, and hearing you speak nice to me over the garden gate of an evening, but I’m not a-going any further along the road with you. That’s all. [She moves towards the house.
John. Now, do you bide a moment longer, Susan—and let me say sommat of all they feelings which be stirring like a nest of young birds in my heart for you.
Susan. They may stir within you like an old waspes’ nest for all I care, John.
John. Come, Susan, put better words to your tongue nor they. You can speak honey sweet when it do please you to.
Susan. ’Tis mustard as is the right food for you this morning, John.
John. I gets enough of that from mistress—I mean—well—I mean—[in a loud, clear voice]—O mistress is a wonderful fine woman and no mistake.
Susan. You won’t say as much when she comes round the corner and catches you a wasting of your time like this, John.
John. Is it a waste of time to stand a-drinking in the sweetness of the finest rose what blooms, Susan?
Susan. Is that me, John?