(One day, I heard Mary say.) White man, never go away---- Tell me why need you? Stay, with your Wowski, stay: (Wowski will feed you.) Cold moons are now coming in; Ah, don't go grieve me! I'll wrap you in leopard's skin: (White man, don't leave me.) And when all the sky is blue, Sun makes warm weather, I'll catch you a cockatoo, (Dress you in feather.) When cold comes, or when 'tis hot, Ah, don't go grieve me! Poor Wowski will be forgot-- White man, don't leave me! Trudge. Zounds! leopard's skin for winter wear, and feathers for a summer's suit! Ha, ha! I shall look like a walking hammer-cloth, at Christmas, and an upright shuttlecock, in the dog days. And for all this, if my master and I find our way to England, you shall be part of our travelling equipage; and, when I get there, I'll give you a couple of snug rooms, on a first floor, and visit you every evening, as soon as I come from the counting-house. Do you like it? Wows. Iss. Trudge. Damme, what a flashy fellow I shall seem in the city! I'll get her a white boy to bring up the tea-kettle. Then I'll teach you to write and dress hair. Wows. You great man in your country? Trudge. Oh yes, a very great man. I'm head clerk of the counting-house, and first valet-de-chambre of the dressing-room. I pounce parchments, powder hair, black shoes, ink paper, shave beards, and mend pens. But hold! I had forgot one material point--you ar'n't married, I hope? Wows. No: you be my chum-chum! Trudge. So I will. It's best, however, to be sure of her being single; for Indian husbands are not quite so complaisant as English ones, and the vulgar dogs might think of looking a little after their spouses. But you have had a lover or two in your time; eh, Wowski? Wows. Oh, iss--great many--I tell you.

Song--Wowski Monologue from Inkle and Yarico: An opera, in three acts

Rehearse Song--Wowski's monologue