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Nay, nay, he’s noan at Gimmerton. I’s niver wonder but he’s at t’ bothom of a bog-hoile. This visitation worn’t for nowt, and I wod hev’ ye to look out, Miss – yah muh be t’ next. Thank Hivin for all! All warks togither for gooid to them as is chozzen, and piked out fro’ th’ rubbidge! Yah knaw whet t’ Scripture ses.’  – No, no, he’s not at Gimmerton. I don’t wonder if he’s at the bottom of a bog-hole. This visitation (storm) wasn’t for nothing, and I would have you to look out (advise you to be aware), Miss – you might be the next. Thank Heaven for all! It all works out for good for those that are chosen (by God), and picked out from the rubbish! You know what the Scripture says.

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Running after t’ lads, as usuald! If I war yah, maister, I’d just slam t’ boards i’ their faces all on ’em, gentle and simple! Never a day ut yah’re off, but yon cat o’ Linton comes sneaking hither; and Miss Nelly, shoo’s a fine lass! shoo sits watching for ye i’ t’ kitchen; and as yah’re in at one door, he’s out at t’other; and, then, wer grand lady goes a-courting of her side! It’s bonny behaviour, lurking amang t’ fields, after twelve o’ t’ night, wi’ that fahl, flaysome divil of a gipsy, Heathcliff! They think I’m blind; but I’m noan: nowt ut t’ soart! – I seed young Linton boath coming and going, and I seed yah’ (directing his discourse to me), ‘yah gooid fur nowt, slattenly witch! nip up and bolt into th’ house, t’ minute yah heard t’ maister’s horse-fit clatter up t’ road.’  – Running after the lads as usual! If I were you, master, I’d just slam the doors in their faces, all of them, gentle and simple! Never a day when you’re away, but that cat Linton comes sneaking here; and Miss Nelly, she’s a fine lass! she sits watching for you in the kitchen; and as you are in at one door, he’s out at the other; and then our grand lady goes a-courting herself! It’s fine behaviour, lurking in the fields, after twelve at night, with that foul, frightening devil of a gypsy, Heathcliff! They think I’m blind; but I’m not: nothing of the sort! – I saw young Linton both coming and going, and I saw you, you good for nothing, slovenly witch! run up and into the house, the minute you heard the master’s horse coming up the road.

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Nelly, we’s hae a crowner’s ’quest enow, at ahr folks’. One on ’em ’s a’most getten his finger cut off wi’ hauding t’ other fro’ stickin’ hisseln loike a cawlf. That’s maister, yeah knaw, ’at ’s soa up o’ going tuh t’ grand ’sizes. He’s noan feared o’ t’ bench o’ judges, norther Paul, nur Peter, nur John, nur Matthew, nor noan on ’em, not he! He fair likes – he langs to set his brazened face agean ’em! And yon bonny lad Heathcliff, yah mind, he’s a rare ’un. He can girn a laugh as well ’s onybody at a raight divil’s jest. Does he niver say nowt of his fine living amang us, when he goes to t’ Grange? This is t’ way on ’t: – up at sun-down: dice, brandy, cloised shutters, und can’le-light till next day at noon: then, t’fooil gangs banning und raving to his cham’er, makking dacent fowks dig thur fingers i’ thur lugs fur varry shame; un’ the knave, why he can caint his brass, un’ ate, un’ sleep, un’ off to his neighbour’s to gossip wi’ t’ wife. I’ course, he tells Dame Catherine how her fathur’s goold runs into his pocket, and her fathur’s son gallops down t’ broad road, while he flees afore to oppen t’ pikes!  – Nelly, we’ll have a coroner’s inquest soon, at our place. One of them almost got his finger cut off stopping the other from sticking himself like a calf. That’s the master, you know, that is so set on going to the Grand Assizes (periodic courts dealing mostly with serious crimes). He’s not afraid of the bench of judges, neither Paul, nor Peter, nor John, nor Matthew, not any of them! He fair likes (would like) – he longs to set his defiant face against them! And that bonny (sweet, nice) lad Heathcliff, you mind, he’s a rare one. He can grin and laugh as well as anybody right at a devil’s jest. Does he never say anything of his fine living among us when he goes to the Grange? This is the way of it: up at sundown, dice, brandy, closed shutters, and candlelight till next day at noon: then the fool goes cursing and raving to his chamber, making decent folk dig their fingers in their ears for the very shame; and the knave, why, he can count his money, and eat and sleep, and off to his neighbour’s to gossip with the wife. Of course, he tells lady Catherine how her father’s gold runs into his pocket, and her father’s son gallops down the broad road (to ruin), while he flies before to open the gates!