Mr. Carv. But you can hear reason, madam, I presume, from the voice of authority.
Catty. No, plase your honour—I’m deaf, stone deaf.
Mr. Carv. No trifling with me, madam; give me leave to advise you a little for your good.
Catty. Plase your honour, it’s of no use—from a child up I never could stand to be advised for my good. See, I’d get hot and hotter, plase your honour, till I’d bounce! I’d fly! I’d burst! and myself does not know what mischief I mightn’t do.
Mr. Carv. Constable! take charge of this cursing and cursed woman, who has not respect for man or magistrate. Away with her out of my presence!—I commit her for a contempt.
Randal (eagerly) Oh! plase your honour, I beg your honour’s pardon for her—my mother—entirely. When she is in her rason, she has the greatest respect for the whole bench, and your honour above all. Oh! your honour, be plasing this once! Excuse her, and I’ll go bail for her she won’t say another word till she’d get the nod from your honour.
Mr. Carv. On that condition, and on that condition only, I am willing to pass over the past. Fall back, constable.
Catty. (aside) Why then, Gerald O’Blaney mislet me. This Carver is a fauterer of the Scotch. Bad luck to every bone in his body! (As CATTY says this her son draws her back, and tries to pacify her.)
Mr. Carv. Is she muttering, constable?
Randal. Not a word, plase your honour, only just telling herself to be quiet. Oh, mother, dearest, I’ll kneel to plase you.