Out upon you, I say, you vile pantry, cellar, sink, sewer; abominable body! what vile thing are you not?
And think you, beggar! to have the upper hand of me?
Make a leg to that man if you dare, without my permission.

This smell is intolerable; but turn from it, if you can, unless I give the word.

Bolt this yam!--it is done.

Carry me across yon field!--off we go.

Stop!--it's a dead halt.