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thank your honour, says I, for the load of your civility: and I'll take your kind offer: I therefore mounted upon the back of the eagle, and held him tight enough by the throat, and up he flew in the air like a lark, Little I knew the trick he was going to serve me, Up—up—up—God knows how far up he flew. Why, then said I to him—thinking he did not know the right road home—very civilly, because why?—I was in his power entirely;—sir, says I, please your honour's glory, and with humble submission to your better judgment, if you'd fly down a bit, you're now just over my cabin, and I could be put down there, and many thanks to your worship.
Arrah, Dan, said he, do you think me a fool? Look down in the next field, and don't you see two men and a gun? By my word it would be no joke to be shot this way, to oblige a drunken blackguard, that I picked up off a could stone in a bog. Bother you, said I to myself, but I did not speak out, for where was the use? Well, sir, up he kept, flying, flying, and I asking him every minute to fly down, and all to no use. Where in the world are you going, sir? says I to him.—Hold your tongue, Dan, says he; mind your own business, and don't be interfering with the business of other people.—Faith, this is my business, I think, says I. Be quiet, Dan, says he; so I said no more.
