"Here's the things for your honour now," said she in her most soothing tone.
"I wish the d—l had you and them!" said O'Grady.
"Gusty, dear!" said his wife. She might have said stormy instead of gusty.
"Oh! they'll do you good, your honour," said the nurse-tender, curtsying, and uncorking bottles, and opening a pill-box.
"Curse them all!" said the squire. "A pretty thing to have a gentleman's body made a perfect sink for these blackguard doctors and apothecaries to pour their dirty stuff into—faugh!"
"Now, sir, dear, there's a little blisther just to go on your chest—if you plaze——"
"A what!"
"A warm plasther, dear."
"A blister you said, you old divil!"
"Well, sure, it's something to relieve you."