1900's textile cart driver: "Zeeser
Gottenyu! You've poisoned my horse! Oh thank God, here come the bulls.
Monk
Eastman: "'ello officer Fitzpatrick, this cart-driver's waving a gun at me!"
Corrupt 1900's cop: "'ey, ye sold me wife some moth-eaten fabric about a week ago, and now yer falseley accusin' this nice fella o' poisonin' yer horse, I oughta hall ye in!"
cart driver: "this man poisoned my horse, and you're
halling me in? You filthy Irish pig! And you, horse-poisoner, a
shande, a shande for the Goyim!"
Eastman: "the Goy is my hand-servant, good luck jackass!"