A pretty fellow I should be, now, if I were to let him follow his own will.

If he once sets up on my beat, he's a lost man, his ribs will be stove in, and his head knocked off his shoulders.

There, you are crying, but you shan't have your will, though; I won't be the young man's destruction--If, indeed, I thought he could manage the tinker--but he never can; he says he can hit, but it's no use hitting the tinker;--crying still! you are enough to drive one mad.

I say, young man, I believe you understand a thing or two, just now you were talking of knowing hard words and names--I don't wish to send you to your mischief--you say you know hard words and names; let us see.

Only on one condition I'll sell you the pony and things; as for the beat it's gone, isn't mine--sworn away by my mouth.