Pereg. Ha! the voice of a female in distress? Then 'tis a man's business to fly to her protection.
[Dashes the Mug on the Ground. Exit.
Mrs. Brul. Wheugh! what a whirligigg! Why, Dennis, the man's mad!
Dennis. I think that thing.
Mrs. Brul. He has thrown down all the beer, before he tasted a drop.
Dennis. That's it: if he had chuck'd it away afterwards, I shou'dn't have wonder'd.
Mrs. Brul. Here he comes again;—and, I declare, with a young woman leaning on his shoulder.
Dennis. A young woman! let me have a bit of a peep. [Looking out.] Och, the crater! Och, the—
Mrs. Brul. Heyday! I should'n't have thought of your peeping after a young woman, indeed!
Dennis. Be asy, Mrs. Brulgruddery! it's a way we have in Ireland.—There's a face!