zounds

Zounds, cousin, he talks to me, as if I were a scurvy tragedian.

Zounds, signor, I hope you are not in a passion, but I think you look six feet high again.

Look at the impudent son of a gipsy—Sat himself down—Zounds!

Zounds, madam, if you are resolved to be a drooping little figure till you die, you might at least do it in another street.

You are right—it was less than nothing—but in order to put aside useless discussion and to be frank, Zounds!