Sir Abel. So, so!
Handy, jun. Any thorns?
Sir Abel. A few.
Handy, jun. I must be introduced—where is she?
Sir Abel. Not within thirty miles; for I don't hear her.
Ash. Ha, ha, ha!
Handy, jun. Who is that?
Sir Abel. Oh, a pretty behaved tittering friend of mine.
Ash. Zarvent, zur—No offence, I do hope—Could not help tittering a bit at Nelly—when she were zarvent maid wi' I, she had a tightish prattle wi' her, that's vor zartain.
Handy, jun. Oh! so then my honoured mamma was the servant of this tittering gentleman—I say, father, perhaps she has not lost the tightish prattle he speaks of.