_Jack_. You might ha' guv me a bite, anyhow, Bill. _Bill_. It ain't desirable, Jack--size o' trap dooly considered. Here comes your share. _Re-enter_ JIM. _Gives a bun to_ JACK. _Jim_. I tell you what, Bill--she ain't _your_ Mattie. She ain't nobody's Mattie; she's a hangel. _Bill_. No, Jim, she ain't a hangel; she 'ain't got no wings, leastways outside her clo'es, and she 'ain't got clo'es enough to hide 'em. I wish I wos a hangel! _Jack_. At it again, Bill! I _do_ like to hear Bill a wishin' of hisself! Why, Bill? _Bill_. Acause they're never 'ungry. _Jack_. How do you know they ain't? _Bill_. You never sees 'em loafin' about nowheres. _Jim_. Is Mattie your sister, Bill? _Bill_. No, Jim; I ain't good 'nough to have a sister like she. _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. 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 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 Longlegs!