Mrs. T. I give charge of him, your worship.
Mr. T. And I take it—off with him to the black hole.
Tom. Aye, aye, take him up the spout.
Mr. T. My dear wife! (Embraces Mrs. Tartar). My dear Sally Tartar.
M’L. His wife! Och, by the powers, then I’ve caught a Tartar.
Mr. T. Take him away.
M’L. Och, sure I’m the boy that cares for nobody—so there’s my coat, there’s my hat, there’s my rattle and lanthorn,—and to the devil I pitch the whole of you. (He is carried off).
Kate. They musn’t get off so easily. (Aside).
Tom. A fortunate turn-up for us, faith.
Mr. T. Gentlemen, you are at liberty.