Act. I Boniface: I dont know how, sir; she would not let the ale take its natural course, sir; she was for qualifying it every now and then with a dram, as the saying is; and an honest gentleman that came this way from Ireland, made her a present of a dozen bottles of usquebaugh - but the poor woman was never well after: but, howeer, I was obliged to the gentleman, you know.
Act. II Gibbet: Ah! poor woman! I pitied her; - from a poor lady just eloped from her husband. She had made up her cargo, and was bound for Ireland, as hard as she could drive; she told me of her husbands barbarous usage, and so I left her half-a-crown. But I had almost forgot, my dear Cherry, I have a present for you.
Act III
Foigard: Save you, gentlemens, bote.
Aimwell: [Aside.] A Frenchman! [To Foigard.] Sir, your most humble servant.
Foigard: Och, dear joy, I am your most faithful shervant, and yours alsho.
Gibbet: Doctor, you talk very good English, but you have a mighty twang of the foreigner.
Foigard: My English is very veil for the vords, but we foreigners, you know, cannot bring our tongues about the pronunciation so soon.
Aimwell: [Aside.] A foreigner! a downright Teague, by this light! [Aloud.] Were you born in France, doctor?
Act IV
Foigard [to Gipsy]: Dat is according as you shall tauk it. If you receive the money beforehand, twill be logice, a bribe; but if you stay till afterwards, twill be only a gratification.
Gipsy: Well, doctor, Ill take it logice. But what must I do with my conscience, sir?
Foigard: Leave dat wid me, joy; I am your priest, gra; and your conscience is under my hands.
[...]
Aimwell: O sir, your servant! Pray, doctor, may I crave your name?
Foigard: Fat naam is upon me? My naam is Foigard, joy.
Aimwell: Foigard! a very good name for a clergyman. Pray, Doctor Foigard, were you ever in Ireland?
Foigard: Ireland! no, joy. Fat sort of plaace is dat saam Ireland? Dey say de people are catched dere when dey are young.
Aimwell: And some of em when they are old: - as for example. - [Takes Foigard by the shoulder.] Sir, I arrest you as a traitor against the government; youre a subject of England, and this morning showed me a commission, by which you served as chaplain in the French army. This is death by our law, and your reverence must hang for it.
Foigard: Upon my shoul, noble friend, dis is strange news you tell me! Fader Foigard a subject of England! de son of a burgomaster of Brussels, a subject of England! Ubooboo ...
Aimwell: The son of a bog-trotter in Ireland! Sir, your tongue will condemn you before any bench in the kingdom.
Foigard: And is my tongue all your evidensh, joy?
Aimwell: Thats enough.
Foigard: No, no, joy, for I vill never spake English no more.
Aimwell: Sir, I have other evidence. - Here, Martin! |