_Dennis._ Oh, with all the pleasure in life.--Give me good words, and I'm as aisy as an ould glove: but bite my nose off with mustard, and have at you with pepper,--that's my way.--There's a little crature at my house;--she's crying her eyes out;--and she won't get such another pair at the Red Cow; for I've left nobody with her but Mrs. Brulgruddery. _Frank._ With her? with who? Who are you talking off? _Dennis._ I'd like to know her name myself, sir;--but I have heard but half of it;--and that's Mary. _Frank._ Mary!--Can it be she?--Wandering on a heath! seeking refuge in a wretched hovel! _Dennis._ A hovel! O fie for shame of yourself, to misbecall a genteel tavern! I'd have you to know my parlour is clean sanded once a week. _Frank._ Tell me, directly--what brought her to your house? _Dennis._ By my soul, it was Adam's own carriage: a ten-toed machine the haymakers keep in Ireland. _Frank._ Damn it, fellow, don't trifle, but tell your story; and, if you can, intelligibly. _Dennis._ Don't be bothering my brains, then, or you'll get it as clear as mud. Sure the young crature can't fly away from the Red Cow, while I'm explaining to you the rights on't--Didn't she promise the gentleman to stay till he came back? _Frank._ Promised a gentleman!--Who?--who is the gentleman? _Dennis._ Arrah, now, where did you larn manners? Would you ax a customer his birth, parentage, and education? "Heaven bless you, sir, you'll come back again?" says she--"That's what I will, before you can say, parsnips, my darling," says he. _Frank._ Damnation! what does this mean?--explain your errand, clearly, you scoundrel, or-- _Dennis._ Scoundrel!--Don't be after affronting a housekeeper. Havn't I a sign at my door, three pigs, a wife, and a man sarvant? _Frank._ Well, go on. _Dennis._ Damn the word more will I tell you. _Frank._ Why, you infernal---- _Dennis._ Oh, be asy!--see what you get, now, by affronting Mr. Dennis Brulgruddery. [_Searching his Pockets._] I'd have talk'd for an hour, if you had kept a civil tongue in your head!--but now, you may read the letter. [_Giving it._ _Frank._ A letter!--stupid booby!--why didn't you give it to me at first?--Yes, it is her hand. [_Opens the Letter._ _Dennis._ Stupid!--If you're so fond of letters, you might larn to behave yourself to the postman. _Frank._ [_Reading and agitated._]--_Not going to upbraid you--Couldn't rest at my father's--Trifling assistance_--Oh, Heaven! does she then want assistance?--_The gentleman who has befriended me_--damnation!--the gentleman!--_Your unhappy Mary._--Scoundrel that I am!--what is she suffering!--but who, who is this gentleman?--no matter--she is distress'd, heart breaking! and I, who have been the cause;--I, who----here----[_Running to a Writing Table, and opening a Drawer_] Run--fly--despatch!-- _Dennis._ He's mad!