Maggie. Troth, I think ye've give nine good raisins why no smart gurl would loike to take the head uv yer establishment. She'd be loike the ould woman that lived in a shoe.
Dennis. An' ye couldn't be prevailed upon yeself to share my fortunes?
Maggie. What's that, ye loonytic? Away wid ye's. I'll have none uv yer Molly's childers distractin' my shlumbers. So ye can take yer hat, misther, and yer lave to onct.
Dennis. O, now, pity the sorrows of a poor lone, afflicted widower.
Maggie. Git out er that, or I'll break yer skull. Away wid ye's. (Dennis runs off, L. Runs into Oldbuck, who enters.)
Oldbuck. O, murder! my foot! you villain! you scoundrel!
Dennis. I ax yer pardon. Sind me the bill.
[Exit, L.
Oldbuck. Confound you for a blundering fool! Girl, give me a chair. (Maggie sets chair, R. C. Oldbuck, groaning, hobbles to it, and sits.) Now, then, where's the doctor?
Maggie. Sure he's at Squire Croony's.