Gyp. Luf me see, wha was I? "Come rest on dis yere head your aching breast." Dey all got dat, Katy, an'—an' (aside), well, I'se jest puzzled fur more: guess we'll hab some more poetry (aloud) an'—an'—
"We'll dance all night till broad daylight,
An' go home with de girls in de morning."
Katy. It's no such thing! Yer desavin' me, so yees are! Me Patsy wouldn't go home wid the girls at all, at all.
Gyp. See fur yerself, see fur yerself!
Katy (snatching letter). So I will. It's false and desateful yees are, for Miss Dora rid the lether, an'—an'—it was jist illegant, so it was an' it's yersilf.—bad luck to the loikes ov yees, whin yees can't rade! an' it's the blissid troth I'm tillin',—invintin' a bit uv blarney to make trouble betwane a poor girl an' her Patsy. Away wid yees!
[Exit door R.
Gyp. Well, I guess she fooled me dat time. No use. Dar's alwus trubble interferin' in lub affairs, jest like domestic affairs: when man and wife am fighting, ef you try to be a messenger ob peace, ef you don't look out, you'll git de broomstick onto yer own head.
[Exit.
YANKEE DIALECT RECITATIONS.