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‘But, as I have ſurrendered at diſcretion, I am in hopes that my ſincere confeſſion will ſomewhat mitigate your anger. It were a ſmall matter, ſir, to you to make an honeſt man of me. Were you but to diſmiſs me with a viaticum out of your brewer’s copper;—or pluck me a ſcore of ſloes out of your garden-hedge, as you did for the hungry traveller, who, though he bit away one of his teeth at your fruit, found all the ſloes metamorphoſed into little balls of gold;—or if you would make me a preſent of one of the eight golden ſkittles you have left, ſince you gave the ninth to the ſtudent from Prague for beating you at bowls;—or only your milk-pan, which changes curds into gold;—or, if I deſerve puniſhment, beat me, as you did the ſhoe-maker, with a golden rod, and then give it me as a memorial of the adventure, according to the ſtory the lads of the laſt tell of you, as they ſit hammering ſoles—my fortune were made at

once.