John. ’Tis master’s hand in marriage, and a couple of pigs jowls, home-cured, within this here basket.
Julia. O my good man, you’re making game of me.
John. And that I baint, mistress. ’Twas in the church as Master William seed you first. And ’tis very nigh sick unto death with love as he have been since then.
Julia. Is he too sick to come and plead his cause himself, John?
John. Ah, and that he be. Do go moulting about the place with his victuals left upon the dish—a sighing and a grizzling so that any maid what’s got a heart to th’ inside of she would be moved in pity, did she catch ear of it, and would lift he out of the torment.
Julia. Well, John, I’ve not seen or heard any of this sad to-do, so I can’t be moved in pity.
John. Ah, do you look within this basket at the jowls what Master William have sent you. Maybe as they’ll go to your heart straighter nor what any words might.
[John sits down on the bench by Julia and opens the basket. Julia looks in.
Julia. I have no liking for pigs’ meat myself.
John. Master’s pig meat be different to any in the county, mistress. “Tell her,” says Master William, “’tis a rare fine bit of mellow jowl as I be a sending she.”