"For the tender mercy—"
"Goold! goold! you little vagabone!"
"Well, I'm going, if you let me."
"Divil a step." And here he nearly choked him.
"Oh! murder!—for God's sake!"
"Whisht!!—you thief,—how dar you say God, you divil's imp!!!"
The poor little man, between the suddenness of his waking and the roughness of the treatment he was under, was in such a state of bewilderment, that for the first time he now perceived he was lying amongst grass and under bushes, and, rolling his eyes about, he exclaimed,—
"Where am I?—God bless me!"
"Whisht! you little cruked ottomy—by the holy farmer, if you say God agin, I'll cut your throat."
"What do you hold me so tight for?"