human
Don't dear _me_, Sir Hurricane. I am not one of _your dears_--your dears are all in Dutchtown, more shame for you--an old man like you.
gpt
Old man!
human
Yes, old man; look at your hair--as grey as a goose's.
gpt
Why, as for my hair, that proves nothing, Mrs Jellybag, for though there may be snow on the mountains there is still heat in the valleys. What d'ye think of my metaphor?
human
I am no more a _metafore_ than yourself, Sir Hurricane; but I'll tell you what, you are a _cock-and-hen_ admiral, a dog-in-the-manger barrownight, who was jealous of my poor tom-cat, because--I won't say what. Yes, Sir Hurricane, all hours of the day you are leering at every young woman that passes out of our windows--and an old man too--you ought to be ashamed of yourself; and then you go to church of a Sunday, and cry, `Good Lord, deliver us.'