“What are you by trade?”
“A weaver.”
“And what do you weave?”
“Lance heads, with your worship’s good leave.”
“You’re facetious with me! You plume yourself on being a wag? Very good; and where were you going just now?”
“To take the air, señor.”
“And where does one take the air in this island?”
“Where it blows.”
“Good! your answers are very much to the point; you are a smart youth; but take notice that I am the air, and that I blow upon you a-stern, and send you to gaol. Ho there! lay hold of him and take him off; I’ll make him sleep there to-night without air.”
“By God,” said the young man, “your worship will make me sleep in gaol just as soon as make me king.”