J. F. Look round you, friend, at the fields all yellowing for harvest,—we will find you work to do.
C. N. ( Aside: Ah, I see. This means hard labour for life, after all. Well, I must submit. Unhappy Nupkins! To Freeman ) But who is to employ me? You will have to find me a master; and perhaps he won’t like to employ me.
J. F. My friend, we no more have masters than we have prisons: the first make the second. You must employ yourself: and you must also employ something else.
C. N. What? I don’t understand.
J. F. Mother Earth, and the traditions and devices of all the generations of men whom she has nourished. All that is for you, Nupkins, if you only knew it.
C. N. I still do not comprehend your apologue.
J. F. No? Well, we must put aside abstractions and get to the concrete. What’s this, citizen? ( showing a spade.)
C. N. That is an instrument for effodiation.
J. F. Otherwise called a spade. Well, to use your old jargon, citizen, the sentence of this court is that you do take this instrument of effodiation, commonly called a spade, and that you do effodiate your livelihood therewith; in other words, that you do dig potatoes and other roots and worts during the pleasure of this court. And, to drop jargon, since you are so badly educated our friend Robert Pinch—Mary’s husband—will show you how to do it. Is that agreed to, neighbours?
All. Agreed, agreed.