LUC. Eempurence! Baent yeu ashee'amd o' yurzul vur to mak sport o'
me, 'stid o' bein' abroke down wi' eenward feelins, that thee wicked
'art aurt vur to gee thee?

MR. POUR. Do you mean to say that I am your husband?

LUC. Villun! dis dare to zay tidn zo? Ah! thee's know wul 'nuf, wiss
luck to me, that tis all zo treu's the Gauspel; an' I weesh to Heben
twadn zo, an' that thee'ds alef me so eenocent an' so quiet like eens
I used to be, avore thy charms an' thy trumpery, bad luck, made me
vur to 'sake it all! I nivur sheudn abin abrought down vur to be the
pour weesh thing that I be now--vur to zee my man, cruel like, mak a
laughin' sport of all the love that I've a 'ad vorn, an' lef me
athout one beet o' pity, vur the mortal pain I've abeared, 'bout the
shee'amful way 'eev asard me.

ORO. Really, I feel quite ready to weep. Go! you are a wicked man!




SCENE IX.--MR. DE POURCEAUGNAC, NERINE, LUCETTE, ORONTE.

NER. (_pretending to be from Picardy_).[Footnote: Lowland Scotch
is employed here.] Oh! Aa can stand nowt more; aa'm rait winded! Ah!
good for nowt, thou's made me run well for it; thou'lt not 'scape me
now. Joostice! Joostice! Aa forbid the weddin. (_To_ ORONTE)
He's my ain man, Mast-ther, and as sh'd joost loik to ave him stroong
up, the precious hang-dog there.