LUC. Eempurence! Baent yèu ashèe'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 èenocent 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 pàin I've abeared, 'bout the shee'amful way 'eev asàrd me. ORO. Really, I feel quite ready to weep. Go! you are a wicked man! SCENE IX.--MR. DE POURCEAUGNAC, NÉRINE, LUCETTE, ORONTE. NER. (_pretending to be from Picardy_).[13] 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. MR. POUR. Another! ORO. What a devil of a man! LUC. An' what be yèu a-tullin' o', wai yur vurbèedin' an' yur 'àngin'? Thiki man's yo-ur ùzban, is ur? NER. You're rait, Missis, an aa'm joost his woif. LUC. That's a lie then; 'tis me that's the rail weiv o' un; an eef 'ee ought vur to be a'ànged, why 'tis me that ought vur to 'ave it adeud. NER. Me; aa can mak nowt o' that soort o' talk. LUC. I do tul 'ee 'ow that I be 'is weiv. NER. His woif? LUC. Ees fie! NER. Aa tell ye once more, that it's me at's joost that. LUC. An' I vows an' declares as 'ow tez me, my own zul. NER. 'Twere fowr yeer agone 'at he wed me. LUC. An' me, tez zeben yur sinz 'e teuk me vur 'iz weiv. NER. Aa can proove aal 'at aa say. LUC. All my naibours knowth ut. NER. Owr town can well witness to it. LUC. All Pézénas zeed us amarried. NER. All Sin Quintin helpt at owr weddin'. LUC. Thur cant be nort more saafur. NER. Nowt can be more sartin. LUC. (_to_ MR. DE POURCEAUGNAC). Dis thee dare to zay òrt gin ut, yèu villun? NER. (_to_ MR. DE POURCEAUGNAC). Canst thou deny me, wicked man? MR. POUR. One is as true as the other. LUC. What èemperence! What, yèu rogue, yèu don't mind poor leedle Franky an' poor leedle Jinny--they that be the outcomin's o' our marridge? NER. Joost look, there's cheek! What! thou's forgot yon poor cheel, owr little Maggy, 'at thou's lef me for a pledge o' thy faith? MR. POUR. What impudent jades! 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 asàrd all o' us. NER. Coom hither, Maggy, maa cheel, coom heere quick, an' shame your fayther of th' impudence 'at he's gotten.