The captain then remarked, that doubting it, his conscience permitted him to use stratagems, though he, the captain, not doubting it, had no such permission.
'I count I run away with her every night of my life,' said Squire Gregory.

'Nothing comes of it but empty bottles.' 'Court her, serenade her,' said the captain; 'blockade the port, lay siege to the citadel.

I'd give a year of service for your chances, Greg.
Half a word from her, and you have your horses ready.' 'She's past po'chaises,' Squire Gregory sighed.
'She's to be won by a bold stroke, brother Greg.' 'Oh, Lord, no! She's past po'chaises.' 'Humph! it's come to be half-bottle, half-beauty, with your worship, Greg, I suspect.' 'No.

I tell you, William, she's got her mind on that fellow.

You can't po'chay her.' 'After he jilted her for her sister?
Wrong, Greg, wrong.