[28]
before he has got three hundred yards out of town.
What's wrong now?—Diable!—a rope's broke!—a knot has slipt!—a staple's drawn!—a bolt's to whittle!—a tag, a rag, a jag, a strap, a buckle, or a buckle's tongue, want altering.———
Now true as all this is, I never think myself impower'd to excommunicate thereupon either the post-chaise, or its driver—nor do I take it into my head to swear by the living G—, I would rather go a foot ten thousand times—or that I will be damn'd if ever I get into another—but I take the matter coolly before me, and consider, that some tag, orrag,
