"'Then tak your boend, an' your pund o' flesh, but in cutting o' 't, if thou dost shed one drop of Christian bluid, thou diest!" Jean Carnie. "Hech!" Christie. "'Thy goods are by the laws Veneece con-fis-cate, confiscate!" Then, like an artful narrator, she began to wind up the story more rapidly. "Sae Shylock got to be no sae saucy.
"I'm saying, mairriage is quick wark, in some pairts here there's an awfu' trouble to get a man." A young Fishwife. "Ay, is there." Omnes. "Haw! haw! haw!" Christie. "Fill your taupsels, lads and lasses, and awa to Veneece." "I'll no gang to sea this day." Christie. "Noo, we are in the hall o' judgment. Here are set the judges, awfu' to behold; there, on his throne, presides the Juke." Flucker.