Flucker. “Yes, he can speak.”
Christie. “What does he say, puir body?”
Flucker. “He sat up, an' sought a gill fra' the wife—puir body!”
Christie. “Hech! hech! he was my pupil in the airt o' sobriety!—aweel, the young judge rises to deliver the sentence of the coort. Silence!” thundered Christie. A lad and a lass that were slightly flirting were discountenanced.
Christie. “'A pund o' that same mairchant's flesh is thine! the coort awards it, and the law does give it.'”
A young Fishwife. “There, I thoucht sae; he's gaun to cut him, he's gaun to cut him; I'll no can bide.” (Exibat.)
Christie. “There's a fulish goloshen. 'Have by a doctor to stop the blood.'—'I see nae doctor in the boend,' says the Jew body.”
Flucker. “Bait your hook wi' a boend, and ye shall catch yon carle's saul, Satin, my lad.”
Christie (with dismal pathos). “Oh, Flucker, dinna speak evil o' deegneties—that's maybe fishing for yoursel' the noo!—-'An' ye shall cut the flesh frae off his breest.'—'A sentence,' says Shylock, 'come, prepare.'”
Christie made a dash en Shylock, and the company trembled.