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"Why, blood alive, sir," replied Darby, "sure turnin' Protestant, I hope, isn't to prevent me from swearin' don't themselves swear through thick and thin? and, verily, some of the Parsons too, are as handy at it, as if they had sarved an apprenticeship to it." "Well, but about this fellow, the Spy?"
Yes, you're right, Connor; if the meadow were light, you could certainly mow comparatively a greater space in a day." "Be the livin' farmer, God pardon me for swearin', it's a pleasure to have dalins wid a gintleman like you, that knows things as cute as if you war a mower yourself, your honor. Bedad, I'll go bail, sir, it wouldn't be hard to tache you that same."
"You call it paradise, Garnet," said Grummidge, as the two carried a bundle of dried cod slung on a pole between them, "but if you, and the like of ye, don't give up swearin', an' try to mend your manners, the place we pitch on will be more like hell than paradise, no matter how comfortable and pretty it may be."
You can't never lose nothin' by swearin' 's it wa'n't you, 'n' 's far as my observation 's extended, a person 's starts out by tryin' to be honest 'n' sayin', 'Yes, I done it, soon finds themselves with the whole neighborhood laid at their door 'n' never no thanks for it, neither. "Mr.
Then we all o' us goes off to the choppin', to cut timber for his riverence's blessed little church, an' mugs-up in the woods widout comin' home, an' when we gets back to the harbor, maybe a few minutes afore sun-down, little Patsy Burke gives us the word as how Dick Lynch went off wid a gun, swearin' by the whole assembly of heaven as how he'd be blowin' yer heart out o' ye the minute he clapped eye on ye.
"I wa'n't swearin'. All I say is what's the use of an umbrella if you can't hist it in a storm? I wouldn't give a darn for a schooner load of 'em when 'twas fair weather. I I cal'late I I left it somewheres." "I cal'late you did. I'm goin' over to the village this mornin' and I'll stop in at that clubhouse, myself." "I I don't believe it's at the clubhouse, Hannah." "You don't? Why don't you?"
The rope took the feller's horns. 'Fore Dave could loose it that bull got mad, an' went squar' for the corral walls an' broke a couple o' the bars. Dave jumped fer it an' got clear. Then Jake comes hollerin' an' swearin' like a stuck hog, an' Dave he took it bad. Y' see no one could handle an outlaw like Dave. He up an' let fly at Jake, an' cussed back.
You hev to keep rigged up jest so stylish; you can't git no chance at the rum bottle, an' you even hev to go a leetle mite light on swearin'." IV. "Blasphemious Swearin'" "Steve Waterman's an awful nice feller," exclaimed Ivory Dunn just then.
He began to sing a hymn in his thin voice, and I came out wi' a chorus that was all cussin' an' swearin' at my horses, an' I began to know how I hated him. He were such a little chap, too. I could drop him wi' one hand down Garstang's Copper-hole a place where th' beck slithered ower th' edge on a rock, and fell wi' a bit of a whisper into a pit as no rope i' Greenhow could plump."
He 'd stop an' listen a minute, cock up one ear and wink, and then he 'd go to work at that lunch passel ag'in. I jest kept on swearin' harder and harder at him till I could taste brimstone. And at last it got too much for 'im. He took his paws down off 'n that stump an' marched off as dignified as a woman who 's heard you say somethin' you did n't mean her to.
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