“But it’s such a gintle rain, sir.”
Some of the retorts you hear from the common people are highly poetic. When I bought a bunch of flowers from an old woman in the street the other day she replied:
“God bless your kind heart, sir; your mother must have been a saint.”
“Good luck to your ladyship’s happy face this morning,” was the greeting of an old hag to my daughter.
“Oh, let me poor eyes look at ye, me lady, and your voice is as swate as your face.”
In a little book I picked up one day, I found a dialogue between a farmer and fox, as follows:
“Good morrow, Farmer.”
“And what are ye ating, my dear little fox?” said the farmer insinuatingly. “Is it a goose you stole from me?”
“No, my dear farmer, it is the leg of a salmon.”