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!"