Crusty. Not when such a likely young man as Tonsor offers? The mean old scamp!
Mike. That’s thrue for yez, sir. He won’t let her go wid a young man, or have a young man come uv courtin’ her.
Crusty. The miserable old scoundrel!
Mike. And swears by all that’s blue that he’ll cut her off widout a shilling if she marries widout his consent.
Crusty. The miserly old vagabond! Look here, Tonsor, you must marry this girl directly.
Ton. Marry her!
Crusty. Marry her?—yes! Confound you! don’t you want to?
Ton. But her father—
Crusty. Who cares for him? The mean old scamp! I’d like to play him a trick, and I will too. Here, you just take my chaise,—it’s at the door,—get the young lady, go down to Hobson, get a license, and then be off to Parson Sanborn, and get married at once.