Dennis. Be asy, my lambkin! the jontleman excuses it. You are not the first that has crack'd a bottle, you know.—Here's your beer, sir. [Taking it from his Wife.] I'm not of a blushing nation, or I'd be shame-faced to give it him.—[Aside.] My jewel, the jontleman was asking after one Mr. Thornberry.
[Delaying to give the Beer.
Mrs. Brul. What! old Job Thornberry of Penzance, sir?
Pereg. The very same. You know him, then?
Mrs. Brul. Very well, by hearsay, sir. He has lived there upwards of thirty years. A very thriving man now, and well to do in the world;—as others might be, too, if they would but follow my advice.
[To Dennis.
Pereg. I rejoice to hear it. Give me the beer, Landlord; I'll drink his health in humble malt, then hasten to visit him.
Dennis. [Aside.] By St. Patrick, then, you'll make wry faces on the road.
[Gives him the mug.
[As Peregrine is about to drink, a Shriek is heard at a small Distance.