"Is it so with you, Robert? I find that spicy. I like a man to speak his mind. What has gone wrong?"
"The machinery of all my nature; the whole enginery of this human mill; the boiler, which I take to be the heart, is fit to burst."
"That suld be putten i' print; it's striking. It's almost blank verse. Ye'll be jingling into poetry just e'now. If the afflatus comes, give way, Robert. Never heed me; I'll bear it this whet [time]."

"Why, what has gone wrong?"
"The machinery of all my nature; the whole engine of this human mill; the boiler, which I take to be the heart, is fit to burst."
"Ye'll be jingling into poetry, Robert."
