Maister Jan, thee can zee the grave if thee look alang this here goon-barryel.

Buy now, whutt be blubberin' at?
Wish I had never told thee.' 'John Fry, I am not blubbering; you make a great mistake, John.

You are thinking of little Annie.

I cough sometimes in the winter-weather, and father gives me lickerish--I mean--I mean--he used to.

Now let me have the gun, John.' 'Thee have the goon, Jan! Thee isn't fit to putt un to thy zhoulder.
What a weight her be, for sure!' 'Me not hold it, John! That shows how much you know about it.