Don't know what being bushed is?
Why, being lost, my lad.

There, you're a-romancing me, Master Nic.

You're a-making me a reg'lar old ruck-a-tongue.

I've got to do my work, and my work to-day's cowcumbers." Samson lifted the handles of his rough barrow, and went off without looking back, while Nic made off with his gun on his shoulder, bearing a little to his left, so as to pass round a shed, beyond which Brookes's voice could be heard.
As Nic reached the fence he saw that about fifty sheep were shut behind hurdles, and Leather was catching them by the wool, turning them on their sides, and then carrying them to where Brookes knelt, with a brush and a tub and a sheep before him, dividing the wool and applying some tarry mixture to sore places caused by the attacks of virulent flies--a cruel-looking process, but one which saved the poor animals' lives.
Brookes's back was towards Nic, and Leather's eyes on his work, over which he bent frowning, and using his great strength to master the struggling animals, and carry them to his companion, who went on loudly, as Leather slaved away, dripping with perspiration, in the hot sun.
"Government's mad, that's what government is, to let loose such a set o' scum to mix with honest men.

I dunno what things is coming to.