⸻To us, Jonathan, who know not what want or care is⁠—who live here in the service of two of the best of masters⁠—(bating in my own case his majesty King William the Third, whom I had the honour to serve both in Ireland and Flanders)⁠—I own it, that from Whitsontide to within three weeks of Christmas,⁠—’tis not long⁠—’tis like nothing;⁠—but to those, Jonathan, who know what death is, and what havock and destruction he can make, before a man can well wheel about⁠—’tis like a whole age.⁠—O Jonathan! ’twould make a good-natured man’s heart bleed, to consider, continued the corporal (standing perpendicularly), how low many a brave and upright fellow has been laid since that time!⁠—And trust me, Susy, added the corporal, turning to Susannah, whose eyes were swimming in water,⁠—before that time comes round again,⁠—many a bright eye will be dim.⁠—Susannah placed it to the right side of the page⁠—she wept⁠—but she court’sied too.⁠—Are we not, continued Trim, looking still at Susannah⁠—are we not like a flower of the field⁠—a tear of pride stole in betwixt every two tears of humiliation⁠—else no tongue could have described Susannah’s affliction⁠—is not all flesh grass?⁠—’Tis clay,⁠—’tis dirt.⁠—They all looked directly at the scullion,⁠—the scullion had just been scouring a fish-kettle.⁠—It was not fair.⁠⸺⁠

—What is the finest face that ever man looked at!⁠—I could hear Trim talk so forever, cried Susannah,⁠—what is it! (Susannah laid her hand upon Trim’s shoulder)⁠—but corruption?⁠⸺⁠Susannah took it off.

Now I love you for this⁠—and ’tis this delicious mixture within you which makes you dear creatures what you are⁠—and he who hates you for it⁠⸻all I can say of the matter is⁠—That he has either a pumpkin for his head⁠—or a pippin for his heart,⁠—and whenever he is dissected ’twill be found so.