Dobson.
EDGAR.
Good day, then, Dobson. [_Exit_.
DOBSON.
'Good daaey then, Dobson!' Civil-spoken i'deed! Why, Wilson, tha 'eaerd
'im thysen--the feller couldn't find a Mister in his mouth fur me, as
farms five hoonderd haaecre.
WILSON.
You never find one for me, Mr. Dobson.
DOBSON.
Noae, fur thou be nobbut schoolmaster; but I taaekes 'im fur a Lunnun
swindler, and a burn fool.
WILSON.
He can hardly be both, and he pays me regular
every Saturday.
DOBSON.
Yeas; but I haaetes 'im.
_Enter_ STEER, FARM MEN _and_ WOMEN.
STEER. (_Goes and sits under apple tree_.)
Hev' ony o' ye seen Eva?
DOBSON.
Noae, Mr. Steer.
STEER.
Well, I reckons they'll hev' a fine cider-crop to-year if the blossom
'owds. Good murnin', neighbours, and the saaeme to you, my men. I
taaekes it kindly of all o' you that you be coomed--what's the
newspaaeper word, Wilson?--celebrate--to celebrate my birthdaaey i' this
fashion. Niver man 'ed better friends, and I will saaey niver master
'ed better men: fur thaw I may ha' fallen out wi' ye sometimes, the
fault, mebbe, wur as much mine as yours; and, thaw I says it mysen,
niver men 'ed a better master--and I knaws what men be, and what
masters be, fur I wur nobbut a laaebourer, and now I be a landlord--
burn a plowman, and now, as far as money goaes, I be a gentleman, thaw
I beaent naw scholard, fur I 'ednt naw time to maaeke mysen a scholard
while I wur maaekin' mysen a gentleman, but I ha taaeen good care to
turn out boaeth my darters right down fine laaedies.
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