Lack. Damn you and Bob!
Mrs. Casey. What d'ye say, honey?
Lack. What, do you think a gentleman has nothing else to do, but to encumber his pockets, and to carry about lumps of cursed, heavy gold, when you and Bob take a fancy to thrust long scrawl papers into his hand?
Mrs. Casey. Why, didn't you desire me to get your bill? and hadn't you your purse out just now to pay me?
Lack. There, you see my purse out just now, but nothing in that.
Mrs. Casey. Well, upon my honour, this is a pretty caper!—all because I'm a lone woman—I see there's no doing without a bit of a man after all.
Lack. Well, I find marriage is the dernier resort after all.
1 Waiter. Your honour will remember the waiters?
Cook. The cook, your honour?
Boots. Your honour won't forget Jack Boots?