Excerpt from Pygmalian, Act 1:
The patrons at a theatre are all leaving and discussing the rain. It is raining quite hard. There is a family with a mother, son and daughter talking about how they are going to get home. The son, Freddy, goes to get a cab for his family to ride in
Freddy: Oh, very well, I'll go, I'll go. (he opens his umbrella and dashes off Strandwards, but comes into collision with a flower girl who is hurrying in for shelter, knocking her basket out of her hands. A blinding flash of lightning, followed instantly by a rattling peal of thunder, orchestrates the incident.)
THE FLOWER GIRL: Nah then, Freddy: look wh' y' gowin, deah.
FREDDY: Sorry (he rushes off)
THE FLOWER GIRL: (picking up her scattered flowers and replacing them in the basket): Theres menners f' yer! Te-oo branches o voylets trod into the mad.
THE MOTHER: How do you know that my son's name is Freddy, pray?
THE FLOWER GIRL: Ow, eez ye-ooa san, is e? Wal, fewd dan y de-ooty bawmz a mather should, eed now bettern to spal a pore gels flahrzn than ran awy athaht pyin. Will ye-oo py me fthem? (here, with apologies, this desperate attempt to represent her dialect without a phonetic alphabet must be abandoned as unintelligible outside London).
There is a confrontation with a note taker and the flower girl
FLOWER GIRL: I've a right to be here if I like, same as you.
THE NOTE TAKER: A woman who utters such depressing and disgusting sounds has no right to be anywhere, no right to live. Remember that you are a human being with a soul and the divine gift of articulate speech: that your native language is the language of Shakespeare and Milton and The Bible; and don't sit there crooning like a bilious pigeon....You see this creature with her kerbstone English: the English that will keep her in the gutter to the end of her days. Well, sir, in three months I could pass that girl off as a duchess at an ambassadors garden party. I could even get her a place as lady's maid or shop assistant, which required better English.