Ash. [Embraces her.] Now I can wi' pleasure hug my wold wife, and look my child in the vace again—I'll call her, and ax her about it; and if she dan't speak without disguisement, I'll be bound to be shot—Dame, be the colour of sheame off my face yet?—I never zeed thee look ugly before——Susan, my dear Sue, come here a bit, woollye?
Enter Susan.
Susan. Yes, my dear father.
Ash. Sue, we do wish to give thee a bit of admonishing and parent-like conzultation.
Susan. I hope I have ever attended to your admonitions.
Ash. Ees, bless thee, I do believe thee hast, lamb; but we all want our memories jogg'd a bit, or why else do parson preach us all to sleep every Zunday—Zo thic be the topic—Dame and I, Sue, did zee a letter gi'd to thee, and thee—bursted into tears, and lock'd un up in thic box—and then Dame and I—we—that's all.
Susan. My dear father, if I concealed the contents of that letter from your knowledge, it was because I did not wish your heart to share in the pain mine feels.
Ash. Dang it, didn't I tell thee zoo?
[To his wife.
Dame. Nay, Tummas, did I say otherwise?