Then there’s my master, who ought to stroke me down and pet me to make me turn wool and carded cotton; he says if he gets hold of me he’ll tie me naked to a tree and double the tale of lashes on me. These tenderhearted gentry should consider that it’s not merely a squire, but a governor they are asking to whip himself; just as if it was ‘drink with cherries.’ 743 Let them learn, plague take them, the right way to ask, and beg, and behave themselves; for all times are not alike, 744 nor are people always in good humour. I’m now ready to burst with grief at seeing my green coat torn, and they come to ask me to whip myself of my own free will, I having as little fancy for it as for turning cacique.”