MARGERY.
But what, Dick?
DICK.
Why, she said—she said as how I sung so fine, she couldn't sleep o' mornings.
MARGERY.
Sleep o' mornings! that's a good joke! Let people sleep o' nights, I say.
DICK—(solemnly.)
But she can't, poor soul, she's very ill; she has pains here, and pains there, and everywhere.
MARGERY.
Indeed! poor lady! then you mustn't disturb her no more, Dick, that's a sure thing.