'Sick man--sick grandmother's aunt! If you can't speak like a man o' sense, _don't_ spake, at any rate, like a justice o' the pace.

Sick man, indeed! why there's not a crature livin' barrin' a natural eediot, or an apothecary, that doesn't know the man's dead; he's _dead_, Sir; but 'tisn't so with me, an' I can't get on without vittles, and vittles isn't to be had without money; that's logic, Mr.Justice; that's a medical fact Mr.Docthor.

An' how am I to get my five hundred guineas?
I say, _you_ and _you_--the both o' ye--that prevented me of going last night to his brass castle--brass snuff-box--there isn't room to stand in it, bedad--an' gettin' my money.

I hold you both liable to me--one an' t'other--the both o' ye.' 'Why, Sir,' said Lowe, ''tis a honorarium.' ''Tis no such thing, Sir; 'tis a contract,' thundered Dillon, pulling Dangerfield's note of promise from his pocket, and dealing it a mighty slap with the back of his hand.
'Contract or no, Sir, there's nobody liable for it but himself.' 'We'll try that, Sir; and in the meantime, what the divil am I to do, I'd be glad to know; for strike me crooked if I have a crown piece to pay the coachman.

Trepan, indeed; I'm nately trepanned myself.' 'If you'll only listen, Sir, I'll show you your case is well enough.