Teag. Arra, dear honey, I was three dozen all but two, and it is only but two years since, so I want only four years of three dozen yet, and when I live six dozen more, I’ll be older than I am, I’ll warrand you.
Tom. O but Pady, by your account, you are three dozen of years old already.
Teag. O what for a big fool are you now Tom, when you count the years I lay sick; which time I count no time at all.
A NEW CATECHISM, &c.
Tom. Of all the opinions professed in religion tell me now, Pady, of what profession art thou?
Pady. Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter to carry out of my own country: I was afraid that you English Presbyterians should pluck it away from me.
Tom. What, Pady, was your religion such a load that you could not carry it along with you?
Pady. Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about with me when at home, my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear button hole.
Tom. And what manner of worship did you perform by that?
Pady. Why I adored my cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed Oliver, as black as a crow, and swears myself a cut throat against all Protestants and church of Englandmen.