"Oh, Misther Flanagan, consider it's prime butther. I'll back my girls for making up a bit o' butther agen any girls in Ireland; and my cows is good, and the pasture prime."
"'T is a farthing a poun' too high, Mat; and the market not lively."
"The butther is good, Mr. Flanagan; and not decenther girls in Ireland than the same girls, though I'm their father."
"I'm thinking I'll marry one o' them, Mat."
"Sure, an' it's proud I'll be, sir; and which o' them is it, maybe?"
"Faith, I don't know myself, Mat. Which do you think yourself?"
"Throth, myself doesn't know—they're all good. Nance is nice, and Biddy's biddable, and Kitty's cute."
"You're a snug man, Mat; you ought to be able to give a husband a trifle with them."
"Nothing worth your while, anyhow, Misther Flanagan. But sure one o' my girls without a rag to her back, or a tack to her feet, would be betther help to an honest industherin' man than one o' your showy lantherumswash divils out of a town, that would spend more than she'd bring with her."
"That's thrue, Mat. I'll marry one o' your girls, I think."