Catty. Why, then, you’re a good cratur. But who tould you I was a vixen, dear—plase your honour?
Mr. Carv. Your friend that is gone.
Catty. O’Blaney?
Randal. Frind! He never was frind to none—least of all to hisself.
Catty. Oh! the double-distilled villain!—he tould your honour I was a vixen, and fond of law. Now would you believe what I’m going to till you? he tould me of his honour—
Mr. Carv. Of me, his patron?
Catty. Of you, his patron, sir. He tould me your honour—which is a slander, as we all here can witness, can’t we? by his honour’s contempt of Pat Coxe—yet O’Blaney said you was as fond and proud of having informers about you as a rat-catcher is of rats.
Mr. Carv. Mistress Catherine Rooney, and all you good people,—there is a great deal of difference between obtaining information and encouraging common informers.
Catty. There is, I’m sinsible. (Aside to her son) Then he’s a good magistrate—except a little pompous, mighty good. (Aloud to Mr. CARVER) Then I beg your honour’s pardon for my bad behaviour, and bad language and all. ‘Twas O’Blaney’s fau’t—but he’s down, and don’t trample on the fallen.
Old McB. Don’t defind O’Blaney! Oh! the villain, to rob me of all my hard arnings. Mrs. Catty, I thank you as much as a heavy heart can, for you’re ginerous; and you, Randal, for your—