Laura. And to whom are you taking them now, John?
John. To the lady what my master’s a-courting of, mistress.
Laura. And whom may that be, John?
John. Why, ’tis yourself, mistress.
Laura. Me, John? Why, I’ve never clapped eyes on Master William Gardner so far as I know of.
John. But he’ve clapped eyes on you, mistress—’twas at Church last Sunday. And ’tis not a bit of food, nor a drop of drink, nor an hour of sleep, as Master William have taken since.
Laura. O, you do surprise me, John?
John. That’s how ’tis with he, mistress. ’Tis many a year as I’ve served Master William—but never have I seen him in the fix where he be in to-day.
Laura. Why—how is it with him then?
John. As it might be with the cattle when the flies do buzz about they, thick in the sunshine. A-lashing this way and that, a-trampling and a-tossing, and never a minute’s rest.