in the
play.

_Tinker_. That's true, young man; here's to you--where was I? Grey Moll
no sooner saw what my wife was about, than springing out of the cart, she
flew at my poor wife, clawed off her bonnet in a moment, and seized hold
of her hair. Lord bless you, young man, my poor wife, in the hands of
Grey Moll, was nothing better than a pigeon in the claws of a buzzard
hawk, or I in the hands of the Flaming Tinman, which when I saw, my heart
was fit to burst, and I determined to give up everything--everything to
save my poor wife out of Grey Moll's claws. "Hold!" I shouted. "Hold,
both of you--Jack, Moll. Hold, both of you, for God's sake, and I'll do
what you will: give up trade, and business, connection, bread, and
everything, never more travel the roads, and go down on my knees to you
in the bargain." Well, this had some effect; Moll let go my wife, and
the Blazing Tinman stopped for a moment; it was only for a moment,
however, that he left off--all of a sudden he hit me a blow which sent me
against a tree; and what did the villain then? why the flying villain
seized me by the throat, and almost throttled me, roaring--what do you
think, young man, that the flaming villain roared out?

_Myself_. I really don't know--something horrible, I suppose.

_Tinker_. Horrible, indeed; you may well say horrible, young man;
neither more nor less than the Bible--"A Bible, a Bible!" roared the
Blazing Tinman; and he pressed my throat so hard against the tree that my
senses began to dwaul away--a Bible, a Bible, still ringing in my ears.
Now, young man, my poor wife is a Christian woman, and, though she
travels the roads, carries a Bible with her at the bottom of her sack,
with which sometimes she teaches the children to read--it was the only
thing she brought with her from the place of her kith and kin, save her
own body and the clothes on her back; so my poor wife, half distracted,
runs to her sack, pulls out the Bible, and puts it into the hand of the
Blazing Tinman, who then thrusts the end of it into my mouth with such
fury that it made my lips bleed, and broke short one of my teeth which
happened to be decayed. "Swear," said he, "swear, you mumping villain,
take your Bible oath that you will quit and give up the beat altogether,
or I'll"--and then the hard hearted villain made me swear by the Bible,
and my own damnation, half-throttled as I was, to--to--I can't go on--

_Myself_. Take another draught--stout liq