Dan. Ees; past all condemption. We be the undonestest family in all Cornwall. Your ale be as dead as my grandmother; mistress do set by the fire, and sputter like an apple a-roasting; the pigs ha' gotten the measles; I be grown thinner nor an old sixpence; and thee hast drank up all the spirity liquors.
Dennis. By my soul, I believe my setting up the Red Cow, a week ago, was a bit of a Bull!—but that's no odds. Haven't I been married these three months?—and who did I marry?
Dan. Why, a waddling woman, wi' a mulberry feace.
Dennis. Have done with your blarney, Mr. Dan. Think of the high blood in her veins, you bog trotter.
Dan. Ees; I always do, when I do look at her nose.
Dennis. Never you mind Mrs. Brulgruddery's nose. Was'nt she fat widow to Mr. Skinnygauge, the lean exciseman of Lestweithel? and did'nt her uncle, who is fifteenth cousin to a Cornish Baronet, say he'd leave her no money, if he ever happen'd to have any, because she had disgraced her parentage, by marrying herself to a taxman? Bathershan, man, and don't you think he'll help us out of the mud, now her second husband is an Irish jontleman, bred and born?
Dan. He, he! Thee be'st a rum gentleman.
Dennis. Troth, and myself, Mr. Dennis Brulgruddery, was brought up to the church.
Dan. Why, zure!
Dennis. You may say that, I open'd the pew doors, in Belfast.