Chapter 23

LUC. (_pretending to be a woman from Languedoc_).[12] Oh, yèu be yur, be'e! an' I've avoun thee to làs, àrter all this yur tràepsin' vùrwurd an' backward. Cans thee now, yèu rascal; cans leuk me in the fae-as?

MR. POUR. What is it this woman wants?

LUC. What do I want o' thee, yèu villun! Thee's mak wise neet to know me, disn? an' thee disn turn rid nuther, èempodent oseburd that thee art! What! thee witn turn colour vur to leuk me in the fae-as! (_To_ ORONTE) I baent sàaf, Maister, nif'tis yèu that they do zay 'ee weeshth vur to marry wi' the darter o'? but 'owsomever I zwear to yèu, I be the weiv o' un, an' that zeben yur agone when 'ee was a travellin' drue Pézenas, he made out, we' 'iz falseness, that 'ee knowth zo wul 'ow vur act vur to come over my 'art, an' zo by one way or tother vur to git me vur to gèe unmy 'an vur to marry un.

ORO. Oh! oh!

LUC. The rascal lef me dree yur àrterwurds, purtendin' that 'eed agot some bizness vur to deu in 'iz own country, an' ivur sinz I 'ant ayeard no news at all o' un; but when I wadn thinkin' nothin' 'tall 'bout 'ee, I yeard 'em say as 'ow 'ee was acomin' yur, into this yur town, vur to be amarried agee'an wi' another young ummun, that her father an' mother 'd apromised teu un athout knowin' nothin' 'ow that 'ee was amarried avore. Zo I starts toràcly, an' I be acome yur to this yur place so zeun's ivur I pausible keud, vur to staup this yur wicked marridge, an' vur to show op, avore all the wurld, the very wissest man that iver was.

MR. POUR. What wonderful impudence!

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!