LUC. Yur Franky! Yur Jinny, come both o' ee, come both o' ee, come
an' mak yur bad rascal of a father own to 'ow ee've asard all o' us.

NER. Coom hither, Maggy, maa cheel, coom heere quick, an' shame your
fayther of th' impudence 'at he's gotten.




SCENE X.--MR. DE POURCEAUGNAC, ORONTE, LUCETTE, NERINE, SEVERAL
CHILDREN.

CHI. Fayther! fayther! fayther!

MR. POUR. Deuce take the little brats!

LUC. What yeu, villun, artn thee fit to drap, vur to tak to yur
chillurn arter jis farshin, an' to keep thee eyes vas, 'feerd thee
mids show lig a father teu 'em? Thee shetn git away vrom me, yeu
scaulus oseburd! I'll volly thee ivery place, and cry op thee
wickedness 'gin I've asard thee out, an' 'gin I've amade thee zwing.
Rascal, I sheud like vur to mak thee zwing vor't, an' that I sheud.

NER. Wilt not bloosh to spaik yon words, an' to tak no thowt o'th
kissin' o' yon poor cheel? Thou'lt not get clear o' ma claws; aa can
tell thee! an spoit o' thy showin' thy teeth, aa'l mak thee know 'at
aa'm thy woif, an' aa'l mak thee hang for it.

CHIL. Fayther! fayther! fayther!