_What's_ that?
_Charles ?_ Why, then, is it about Charles you're crying?
Charles Nutter?
Phiat! woman dear! don't you think he's come to an age to take care of himself?
I'll hold you a crown he's in Dublin with the sheriff, going to cart that jade to Bridewell.

And why in the world didn't you send for _me_, when you wanted to discourse with Mary Matchwell?
Where was the good of my poor dear mother?
Why, she's as soft as butter.

'Twas a devil like me you wanted, you poor little darling.

Do you think I'd a let her frighten you this way--the vixen--I'd a knocked her through the window as soon as look at her.

She saw with half an eye she could frighten you both, you poor things.