Oldbuck. Squire Croony's—O, that foot! Why, he must have a pretty good practice.
Maggie. Ye may will say that. He hasn't ate a morsel for three days, nor slipt for a wake.
Oldbuck. Now that's a lie—O, my foot! Bring me a footstool—do you hear? Quick!
Maggie. What's that?
Oldbuck. A footstool, quick, or I'll break this cane—
Maggie (snatching cane from him). Ye'll be civil, so yer will, or out uv this house ye go.
Oldbuck. Give me that cane—O, my foot! You torment.
Maggie. Be aisy now, misther, and till yer business.
Oldbuck. I want the doctor.
Maggie. He's away wid dacint sick folks, that don't howl and break canes, and the loike, ye ould hathen!