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Jack. Your sweetheart, Bill ? Ha! ha! ha!

Bill. Dry up, Jack. .
Jim. Tell me about her, Bill.

I didn't jaw you.

Bill. She lives in our court, Jim. Makes shirts and things. Jack. Oh ! ho !

Bill hits JACK. Jack doubles himself up. Bill. Jim, our Mattie ain't like other gals ; I never see her out afore this blessed day upon my word and honour, Jim, never !

Jack (wiping his nose with his sleeve). You don't know a joke from a jemmy, Bill.

Bill. I'll joke you !-A hangel tips you a tart, and you plucks her feathers! Get on t'other side of the way, you little dirty devil, or I'll give you another smeller-cheap too. Off with you! Jack. No, Bill; no, please.

no, please. I'm wery sorry. I ain't so bad's all that comes to.

Bill. If you wants to go with Jim and me, then behave like a gen'leman.

Jim. I calls our Mattie a brick!
Bill. None o' your jaw, Jim! She ain't

your Mattie.

Enter THOMAS.

Tho. Childer, dun yo know th' way to Paradise-Row, or Road, or summat ?

Bill. Dunnow, sir. You axes at the Sunday-school.

Tho. Wheer's th' Sunday-school, chylt ?
Bill. Second door round the corner, sir.

Tho. Second dur reawnd th' corner! Which corner, my man ? Bill. Round any corner.

Second door 's all-ways Sunday-school. (Takes a sight. Exeunt boys.)

THOMAS sits down on a door-step. Tho. Eh, but aw be main weary! Surely th' Lord dunnot be a forsakin' ov mo. There's that abeawt th’ lost ship.

Oop yon, wheer th' angels keep greight flocks ov 'em, they dunnot like to lose one ov 'em, an' they met well be helpin' ov mo to look for mo lost lamb i' this awful plaze! What has th' shepherd o' th’ sheep himsel to do, God bless him! but go look for th’ lost ones and carry ’em whoam ! O Lord! gie mo mo Mattie. Aw'm a silly ship mosel, a sarchin' for mo lost lamb. (Boys begin to gather and stare.) She's o' the world to me. O Lord, hear mo, and gie mo mo Mattie. Nea, aw'll geet oop, and go

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look again. (Rises.) First Boy. Ain't he a cricket, Tommy? Second Boy. Spry, ain't he ?

Prod him, and see him jump. (General insult.)

Tho. Why, childer, what have aw done, that yo cry after mo like a thief?

First Boy. Daddy Longlegs! Daddy Long

legs !

They hustle and crowd him. Re-enter BILL.

THOMAS makes a rush. They run. He seizes Bill. They gather again.

Tho. Han yo getten a mother, lad ?

Bill. No, thank ye. 'Ain't got no mother. Come of a haunt, I do.

First Boy. Game!-ain't he?

Tho. Well, aw'll tak yo whoam to yor aunt-aw wull.

Bill. Will you'now, old chap? Wery well. (Squats.)

Tho. (holding him up by the collar, and shaking his stick over him). Tell mo wheer's yor aunt, or aw'll breyk every bone i' yor body.

Bill (wriggling and howling and rubbing his eyes with alternate sleeves). Let me go,

I say. Let me go and I'll tell ye. I will indeed, sir.

Tho. (letting go). Wheer then, mo lad?

Bill (starting up). I the church-cellar, sir—first bin over the left-feeds musty, and smells strong. Ho! ho! ho! (Takes a sight.)

THOMAS makes a dart. BilL dodges him. First Boy. Ain't he a cricket now, Tommy? Second Boy. Got one leg too many for a cricket, Sam.

Third Boy. That's what he jerks hisself with, Tommy

Tho. Boys, I want to be freens wi' yo.

Here's a penny.

One of the boys knocks it out of his hand.

A scramble. Tho. Now, boys, dun yo know wheer's a young woman bi th' name ov Mattie-somewheer abeawt Paradise Row ?

First Boy. Yes, old un.
Second Boy. Lots on 'em.

Third Boy. Which on em' do you want, Mr. Cricket ?

Fourth Boy. You ain't peticlar, I s'pose, old corner-bones?

First Boy. Don't you fret, old stilts. We'll find you a Mattie. There's plenty on 'em-all nice gals.

Tho. I want mo own Mattie.

First Boy. Why, you'd never tell one from t'other on 'em !

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