------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.----

'To us, Jonathan, who know not want or care - who live here in the service of two of the best of masters (excepting his majesty King William the Third) - I admit that from Whitsuntide to within three weeks of Christmas is not long; - but to those, Jonathan, who know what death is, and what havoc and destruction he can make - 'tis a whole age. O Jonathan! 'twould make a man's heart bleed,' continued the corporal, 'to consider how low many a brave and upright fellow has been laid since that time!
'And trust me, Susy,' he added, turning to Susannah, whose eyes were swimming, 'before that time comes round again, many a bright eye will be dim.' Susannah wept - but she curtsied too.
Trim continued, still looking at her, 'Are we not like a flower of the field - is not all flesh grass? 'Tis clay, - 'tis dirt.'
- They all looked at the scullery maid.
