Hunt. A gentleman is a gentleman, your honour (is always a gentleman, and to tell you the honest truth)—
Brodie. Great heavens! answer in three words, and be hanged to you! What are you, and where are you from?
Hunt. A patter-cove from Seven Dials.
Brodie. Is it possible? All my life long have I been pining to meet with a patter-cove from Seven Dials! Embrace me, at a distance. (A patter-cove from Seven Dials!) Go, fill yourself as drunk as you dare, at my expense. Anything he likes, Mrs. Clarke. He’s a patter-cove from Seven Dials. Hillo! what’s all this?
Ainslie. Dod, I’m for nae mair! (At back, and rising.)
Players. Sit down, Ainslie.—Sit down, Andra.—Ma revenge!
Ainslie. Na, na, I’m for canny goin’. (Coming forward with bottle.) Deacon, let’s see your gless.
Brodie. Not an inch of it.
Moore. No rotten shirking, Deacon!
(Ainslie. I’m sayin’, man, let’s see your gless.