Aim. Foigard! a very good name for a clergyman. Pray, Doctor Foigard, were you ever in Ireland? Foi, Ireland! no, joy. Fat sort of plaace is dat saam Ireland? Dey say de people are catched dere when dey qre young.
Aim. And some of 'em when they are old:—as for example.—[Takes Foigard by the shoulder.] Sir, I arrest you as a traitor against the government; you're a subject of England, and this morning showed me a commission, by which you served as chaplain in the French army. This is death by our law, and your reverence must hang for it.
Foi. Upon my shoul, noble friend, dis is strange news you tell me! Fader Foigard a subject of England! de son of a burgomaster of Brussels, a subject of England! ubooboo—— [68]
Aim. The son of a bog-trotter in Ireland! Sir, your tongue will condemn you before any bench in the kingdom.
Foi. And is my tongue all your evidensh, joy?
Aim. That's enough.
Foi. No, no, joy, for I vill never spake English no more.
Aim. Sir, I have other evidence.—Here, Martin!
Re-enter Archer.
You know this fellow?