_Mrs. Dig._ Sir, I am asham’d to see your face--my errors I acknowledge--and for the future-- _O’Dogh._ Pooh, pooh--I will have no submissions nor acknowledgments; if you have settled every thing with your brother, that is sufficient. _Mrs. Dig._ I hope he is satisfied--and it shall be the business of my life-- _O’Dogh._ Pooh, pooh! say no more I tell you, but come, give me a kiss, and let us be friends at once--there--so, in that kiss, now, let all tears and uneasiness subside with you, as all fears and resentment shall die with me. _Coun._ Come, sister, give me your hand, for I must have my kiss of peace too. I own I have been a little severe with you, but your disease required sharp medicines. _O’Dogh._ Now we are friends, Nancy, I have a favour or two to beg of you. _Mrs. Dig._ Pray, command them. _O’Dogh._ Why, then, the first thing that I ask, is, that you will send away that French rascal the cook, with his compots and combobs, his alamodes and aladobes, his crapandoes and frigandoes, and a thousand outlandish kickshaws, that I am sure were never designed for Christian food; and let the good rough rumps of beef, the jolly surloins, the geese and turkies, cram fowls, bacon and greens; and the pies, puddings and pasties, that used to be perfectly shoving one another off of the table, so that there was not room for the people’s plates; with a fine large cod too, as big as a young alderman--I say, let all those French kickshaws be banished from my table, and these good old Irish dishes be put in their places; and then the poor every day will have something to eat. _Mrs. Dig._ They shall, sir. _O’Dogh._ And as to yourself, my dear Nancy, I hope I shall never have any more of your London English; none of your this here’s, your that there’s, your winegars, your weals, your vindors, your toastesses, and your stone postesses; but let me have our own good plain, old Irish English, which I insist upon is better than all the English English that ever coquets and coxcombs brought into the land. _Mrs. Dig._ I will get rid of these as fast as possible. _O’Dogh._ And pray, above all things, never call me Mr. Diggerty--my name is Murrogh O’Dogherty, and I am not ashamed of it; but that damn’d name Diggerty always vexes me whenever I hear it. _Mrs. Dig._ Then, upon my honour, Mr. O’Dogherty, it shall never vix you again.