Dese ere not schouts, as you faind, but jonkers on a vrolyk; and if dey'd chanshed to keel de vrow Sheppard's pet lamb, dey'd have done her a servish, by shaving it from dat unpleasant complaint, de hempen fever, with which its laatter days are threatened, and of which its poor vader died. “Please forgive me. Mr. Sir Rowland Trenchard is aware of your return to England. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. “Good God!” he exclaimed. So she said: “I won’t come home. " Mr. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page.
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