Sam. There hain’t nobody in sight. Has your life been attacked by burglers and incindiarys? Speak, Simon Slimpsey, speak!
Simon. Betsey Bobbett!
Sam. What of her, Simon Slimpsey?
Simon. She’ll be the death on me, and my soul is jeopardized on account of her. To think that I, a member of a authordox church, and the father of thirteen small children, could be tempted to swear. But I did, not more’n two minutes ago. I said, By Jupiter! I can’t stand it so much longer. And last night to meetin’, when she was payin’ attention to me, I wished I was a ghost; for I thought if I was a apperition I could vanish from her view. Oh! I have got so low as to wish I was a ghost. She come a rushin’ out of Deacon Gowdy’s just now as I came past jest a purpose to talk to me. She don’t give me no peace. Last night she would walk tight to my side all the way from meetin’ and she looked so hungry at the gate, as I went through and fastened it on the inside.
Sam. Mebby she’ll marry the editor of the Augur. She is payin’ attention to him.
Simon. No; she won’t get him; I shall be the one, I always was the one. It has always been so, if there was ever a underlin’ and a victim wanted, I was that underlin’ and that victim. And Betsey Bobbett will get round me yet, you see if she don’t.
Sam. Cheer up, Simon Slimpsey; folks hain’t obleeged to marry if they don’t want to.
Simon. Yes they be; if folks get round ’em. Hain’t you seen her verses in last week’s Augur?
Sam. No, I haint. (Simon hands her the paper and she reads):
Oh, wedlock is our only hope,