I pity them galls, I do upon my soul.

It's a hard fate, that, as Minster sais, in his pretty talk, to bud, unfold, bloom, wither, and die on the parent stock, and have no one to pluck the rose, and put it in his bosom, aint it?
"Dinner is ready, and you lock and lock, and march off two and two, to t'other room, and feed.

Well, the dinner is like town dinner, there aint much difference, there is some; there is a difference atween a country coat, and a London coat; but still they look alike, and are intended to be as near the same as they can.

The appetite is better than town folks, and there is more eatin' and less talkin', but the talkin', like the eatin', is heavy and solemcoloy.
"Now do, Mr.Poker, that's a good soul, now do, Squire, look at the sarvants.

Do you hear that feller, a blowin' and a wheesin' like a hoss that's got the heaves?
Well he is so fat and lazy, and murders beef and beer so, he has got the assmy, and walkin' puts him out o' breath--aint it beautiful! Faithful old sarvant that, so attached to the family! which means the family prog.