Billy. You sorry! I’m sorry for my supper, you damn dog.
Mr. J. (To Landlord). Vhat! sarve up a turkey without sassiges,—you’re a nice man I don’t think.
Jack. (To Landlord). I tell you vhat, young man, vhen you talk to gemmen, larn to take off your hat.
Jemmy. Vy there’s no lemon to the weal, nor hoyster sasse to the rump stakes.—It’s shocking, infamous neglect, that’s vot it is.
Mr. J. (To Landlord). Vy, who do you suppose would eat rump stakes without ayesters? I’ve a great mind to smash your countenance for you!—You ought to have your head punched you ought!
Jemmy. Here’s no filberds to the Port, nor devils to the Madery, nather.
Land. Egad, I think there’s devils enough to it. (Aside). Gentlemen, the deficiencies shall be supplied directly. (He is hunted off).
Mr. J. Hit him; he’s got no friends.
Jemmy. We must go to some hother tavern, if we’re neglected in this here manner.
Mr. J. You may do as you please, gemmen, but for my part, I shall certainly use some other hotel.