Cly. The coals I bought as Wallsend are not so.
Ag. Thus groundless hopes vanish—like coals in smoke.
Cly. You speak in words Mysterious, lacking sense.
Ag. The sense is patent to the reasoning mind.
Cly. And yet I paid for them upon the nail.
Ag. What matter, if the price was far too low?
Cly. Then call you eighteen shillings low for coal?
Ag. Yes, for "Prime Wallsend"—what could you expect?
Cly. Listen! In passing 'long the public way