, joy!--But cussen
Mackshane, vil you not put a remembrance upon me?

_Foi_. Mackshane! by St. Paatrick, dat ish my naam
shure enough! [_Aside_.

_Aim_. I fancy, Archer, you have it. [_Aside to Archer_.

_Foi_. The devil hang you, joy! by fat acquaintance are
you my cussen? {92}

_Arch_. Oh, de devil hang yourshelf, joy! you know we
were little boys togeder upon de school, and your
foster-moder's son was married upon my nurse's
chister, joy, and so we are Irish cussens.

_Foi_. De devil taake de relation! vel, joy, and fat school
was it?

_Arch_. I tinks it vas--aay--'twas Tipperary.

_Foi_. No, no, joy; it vas Kilkenny. {100}

_Aim_. That 's enough for us--self-confession,---come, sir,
we must deliver you into the hands of the next
magistrate.

_Arch_. He sends you to jail, you 're tried next assizes, and
away you go swing into purgatory.

_Foi_. And is it so wid you, cussen?

_Arch_. It vil be sho wid you, cussen, if you don't
immediately confess the secret between you and Mrs.
Gipsy. Look 'ee, sir, the gallows or the secret, take
your choice. {110}

_Foi_. The gallows! upon my shoul I hate that saam
gallow, for it is a diseash dat is fatal to our family.
Vel, den, dere is nothing, shentlemens, but Mrs.
Shullen would spaak wid the Count in her chamber
at midnight, and dere is no haarm, joy, for I am to
conduct the Count to the plash, myshelf.

_Arch_. As I guessed.--Have you communicated the
matter to the Count?

_Foi_. I have not sheen him since. {120}

_Arch_. Right again! Why then, doctor--you shall conduct
me to the lady instead of the Count.

_Foi_. Fat, my cussen to the lady! upon my shoul, gra,
dat is too much upon the brogue.

_Arch_. Come, come, doctor; consider we have got a
rope about your neck, and if you offer to squeak,
we 'll stop your windpipe, most certainly: we shall
have another job for you in a day or two, I hope.

_Aim_. Here 's company coming this way; let's into my
chamber, and there concert our affairs farther. {130}

_Arch_. Come, my dear cussen, come along. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter Boniface, Hounslow, and Bagshot at one
door, Gibbet at the opposite_.

_Gib_. Well, gentlemen, 'tis a fine night for our enterprise.

_Houn_. Dark as hell.

_Bag_. And blows like the devil; our landlord here has
showed us the window where we must break in, and
tells us the plate stands