Lord A. I can feel for the unfortunate girl as well as you; but the idea of marrying her is too ridiculous.
O’Ded. The unfortunate girl never knew misfortune till she knew you, my lord; and I heartily wish your lordship may never look more ridiculous than you would do in performing an act of justice and mercy.
Lord A. You presume strangely, sir, on my confidence and condescension!
O’Ded. What! are you coming over me now with the pride of your condescension. That for your condescension! When a great man, my lord, does me the honour to confide in me, he’ll find me trusty and respectful; but when he condescends to make me an agent and a partner in his iniquity, by your leave from that moment there’s an end of distinction between us.
Lord A. There’s no enduring this! Scoundrel!
O’Ded. Scoundrel! ditto, my lord, ditto! If I’m a scoundrel, it was you that made me one, and by St. Patrick, there’s a brace of us.
Lord A. (aside) The fellow has me in his power at present—you see me irritated, and you ought to bear with me—let us think of this no more. The father and daughter must both be provided for out of that money which sir Rowland still holds in trust for me.
O’Ded. And if you depend upon that money to silence the old man, you might as well think to stop a mouse-hole with toasted cheese.
Lord A. Pray explain, sir.
O’Ded. Devil a penny of it is there left. Sir Rowland ventured it in a speculation, and all is lost—Oh! blister my tongue, I’ve let out the secret, sure enough!