You still inflict on me that terrible face?
You show no mercy?—Not for Her dear sake,
The sainted spirit's, whose soft breath even now
Blows on my cheek—(don't you feel something, sir?)
You 'll tell?
Go tell, then! Who the devil cares
What such a rowdy chooses to ...
Aie—aie—aie!
Please, sir! your thumbs are through my windpipe, sir!
Ch—ch!