NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Ah! it is a shameful thing to dock us as they does. If the marrow in one’s backbone should melt, it would be sartin to run out at the tip of one’s tail. I say, how’s your feed?
OFF-SIDE HORSE.—Very indifferent—the chaff predominates—(munch) not bene by any means.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Beany! Lord bless your ignorance! I should be satisfied if they’d only make it oaty now and then. How long have you been in the hackney line?
OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I have occupied my present degraded position about two years. Little thought my poor mama, when I was foaled, that I should ever come to this.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE.—Ah! it ain’t very respectable, is it?—especially since the cabs and busses have druv over our heads. What was you put to?—you look as if you had been well brought up.
OFF-SIDE HORSE.—My mama was own sister to Lottery, but unfortunately married a horse much below her in pedigree. I was the produce of that union. At five years old I entered the army under Ensign Dashard.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE—Bless me, how odd! I was bought at Horncastle, to serve in the dragoons; but the wetternary man found out I’d a splint, and wouldn’t have me! I say, ain’t that stout woman with a fat family looking at us?
OFF-SIDE HORSE.—I’m afraid she is. People of her grade in society are always partial to a dilatory shillingworth.
NEAR-SIDE HORSE—Ay, and always lives up Snow-hill, or Ludgate-hill, or Mutton-hill, or a hill somewhere.
WOMAN.—Coach!