Biddy. With all the pleasure in life, if I had not a fut to stand upon.
{Exit Mr. HOPE.—BIDDY follows with a dish smoking hot.
Biddy. And I hope you’ll find it an iligant Scotch hash, and there’s innions plinty—sure the best I had I’d give you; for I’m confident now he’s the true thing—and tho’ he is Scotch, he desarves to be Irish, every inch of him.
{Exit BIDDY DOYLE.