(Aside.) Though, to tell the truth, the old rogue richly deserves it, and for my part I enjoy the joke. (Sir H. takes snuff.) Ald. S. Now, sir, I will have amends, sir, before I leave the place, sir; how durst you use me thus ? Ald. S. Sir, I say that I will have satisfaction. Oh! sir, with all my heart. (Throws snuff in his Sir H. eyes.) Ald. S. Oh! murder, blindness, fire! oh! John, John! get me some water! water, fire, water! (Exit with John.) Sir H. How pleasant is resenting an injury without passion! 'tis the beauty of revenge. Let statesmen plot, and under business groan, IRISH COURTESY. SELECTION V. STRANGER-O'CALLAGHAN.-Sedley. Stranger. I have lost my way, good friend; can you assist me in finding it? O'Callaghan. Assist you in finding it, sir? ay, by my faith and troth, and that I will, if it was to the world's end and further too. Str. I wish to return by the shortest route to the Black Rock. O'Cal. Indade, and you will, so plase your honor's honorand O'Callaghan's own self shall show you the way, and then you can't miss it, you know. Str. I would not give you so much trouble, Mr.. O'Callaghan. O'Cal. It is never a trouble, so plase your honor, for an Irishman to do his duty. (Bowing.) Str. Whither do you travel, friend? O'Cal. To Dublin, so plase your honor-sure all the world knows that Judy O'Flannaghan will be married to-morrow, God willing, to Pat Ryan; and Pat, you know, is my own fosterbrother, because why, we had but one nurse betwane us, and that was my own mother-but she died one day, the Lord rest her swate soul! and left me an orphan, for my father married again, and his new wife was the devil's own child, and did nothing but bate me from morning till night-Och, why did I not die before I was born to sec that day, for, by St. Patrick, the woman's heart was as cold as a hailstone. Str. But what reason could she have for treating you so unmercifully, Mr. O'Callaghan? O'Cal. Ah, your honor, and sure enough there are always rasons as plenty as pratees for being hardhearted. And I was no bigger than a dumpling at the time, so I could not help myself, and my father did not care to help me, and so I hopped the twig, and parted old Nick's darling; och, may the devil find her wherever she goes.—But here I am alive and lapeing, and going to see Pat married; and faith, to do him justice, he's as honest a lad as any within ten miles of us, and no disparage. ment neither, and I love Pat, and I love all his family, ay, by my shoul do I, every mother's skin of them-and by the same token, I have traveled many a long mile to be present at his wedding. Str. Your miles in Ireland are much longer than ours, I believe. O'Cal. Indade, and you may belave that, your honor, because why, St. Patrick measured them in his coach, you know. Och, by the powers!—the time has been-but, 'tis no matter, not a single copper at all at all now belongs to the family-but as I was saying, the day has been, ay, by my troth and the night too, when the O'Callaghans, good luck to them, held their heads up as high as the best; and though I have not a rod of land belonging to me, but what I hire, I love my country, and would halve my last pratee with every poor creature that has none. Str. Pray how does the bride appear, Mr. O'Callaghan ? O'Cal. Och, by my shoul, your honor, she's a nate articleand then she will be rigged out as gay as a lark and as fine as a peacock; because why, she has a great lady for her godmother, long life and success to her, who has given Judy two milch cows, and five pounds in hard money—and Pat has taken as dacent apartments as any in Dublin-a nate comely parlor as you'd wish to see, just six fate under ground, with a nice beautiful ladder to go down-and all so complate and gentale, and comfortable as a body may say— Str. Nothing like comfort, Mr. O'Callaghan. O'Cal. Faith, and you may say that, your honor. (Rubbing his hands.) Comfort is comfort, says I to Mrs. O'Callaghan, when we are all sated so cleverly around a great big turf fire, as merry as grigs, with the dear little grunters snoring so swately in the corner, defying wind and weather, with a dry thatch, and a sound conscience to go to slape upon Str. A good conscience makes a soft pillow. O'Cal. Och, jewel, sure it is not the best beds that make the best slapers; for there's Kathleen and myself can slape like two great big tops, and our bed is none of the softest-because why, we slape on the ground, and have no bed at all at all. Str. It is a pity, my honest fellow, that you should ever want one. There-(Giving him a guinea.)-Good by, Mr. O'Callaghan. O' Cal. I'll drink your honor's health, that I will—and may God and the blessed Virgin bless you and yours, as long as grass grows and water runs. SELECTION VI. ROBIN-SNACKS-SERVANT.-Allingham. (A table with decanters and glasses.) Robin. Well, Snacks, this is very good stuff, I don't know as ever I drank any before; what do you call this, Snacks? Snacks. Red port wine; an it please your lordship. Rob. Yes, red port wine pleases his lordship.-I wonder where this comes from.-Oh! from the Red Sea, I suppose. Snacks. No, my lord; there's plenty of spirits there, but not wine, I believe. Rob. Well, one more thing full; only one, because you know, now I am a lord, I must not make a beast of myself;— that's not like a nobleman, you know. Snacks. Your lordship must do as your lordship pleases. Rob. Must I then give us t'other sup. Snacks. I think his lordship is getting rather forward.I'll bring my daughter upon the carpet presently. (Aside.) (Enter Servant.) Serv. Please you, master Snacks, here's John the carter says he's so lame he can't walk, and he hopes you'll let him have the pony, to-morrow, to ride by the wagon. Snacks. Can't walk, can't he?-lame is he? Serv. Yes, sir. Snacks. And what does he mean by being lame at this busy time?-tell him he must walk; it's my will. Rob. (Aside to Servant.) You, sir, bring me John's whip, will you ?-(Exit Servant.)-That's right, Snacks; the lazy fellow, what business has he to be lame! Snacks. Oh, please your lordship, it's as much as I can do to keep these fellows in order. Rob. Oh, they are sad dogs-not walk, indeed! I never heard of such impudence. Snacks. Oh, shameful, shameful! if I were behind him, I'd make him walk. (Enter Servant with a whip which he gives to Robin.) Rob. Come, Snacks, dance me a hornpipe. Snacks. What? Rob. A hornpipe. Snacks. A hornpipe! I can't dance, my lord. Rob. Come, none of your nonsense; I know you can dance; why, you was made for dancing-there's a leg and foot.-Come, begin! Rob. Isn't there? then I'll soon make some.-Look ye, here's my fiddlestick; how d'ye like it ?-Come, Snacks, you must dance; it's my will. Snacks. Indeed I'm not able. Rob. Not able! Oh, shameful, shameful! Come, come, you must dance; it's my will. (Whips him.) Snacks. Must I?—Then here goes.-(Hops about.) Rob. What, do you call that dancing fit for a lord? Come quicker, quicker. (Whips Snacks round the stage, who roars out.) There, that will do; now go and order John the carter the pony-will you? Snacks. What a cunning dog it is!-he's up to me now, but I think I shall be down upon him by and by. (Aside, exit.) Rob. Ha, ha, ha! how he hopped about and hallooed-but I'll work him a little more yet. (Re-enter Snacks.) Well, Snacks, what d'ye think of your dancing-master? Snacks. I hope your lordship won't give me any more lessons at present; for, to say the truth, I don't much like the accompaniment. Rob. You must have a lesson every day, or you'll forget the step. Snacks. No;-your lordship has taken care that I shan't forget it for some time. Rob. I can't think where Dolly is; I told her to come to me Snacks. My daughter's very beautiful. Rob. Why, you talk a great deal about your daughter, and I'll have a peep at her. I wish Dolly would come. Snacks. Oh, don't think of her. Rob. Not think of her! why, pray? Snacks. Oh, she's too low for your lordship. Rob. Take care, Snacks, or I shall make you dance another hornpipe. Too low why what was I just now? If I though riches would make me such a rascal as to use the poor girl ill, a fig for 'em all; I'd give 'em up, and be plain Robin, honest Robin, again. SELECTION VII. MORDENT-CHEVERIL.-Holcroft. Cheveril. Grumble no more, guardy! Have done with prognosticating evil. "Tis all in vain: your gloomy reign is ended: I am of age! Mordent. To play the fool. Chev. I'm free! I'm alive! I'm beginning to exist!— Mor. Like a wretch at the stake, when the flames first reach him! Chev. The whole world is before me; its pleasures are spread out, and I long to fall on. The golden apples of delight hang inviting me to pluck, eat, and— Mor. Be poisoned. Chev. Hang guardianship! I have been guarded too long. Years out of number have I been fed with lean Latin, crabbed Greek, and an abominable olio of the four faculties: served up with the jargon of Aristotle, the quirks of Thomas Aquinas, and the quibbles and quodlibets of Doctor Duns Scotus Mor. Take warning Chev. Fined for Horace; horsed for Homer; and plucked because I could not parrot over their premises and predicates, majors and minors, antecedents and consequents. My brain was a broker's shop; the little good furniture it contained all hid by lumber. Mor. Let me tell you, young sir— Chev. Not now: your day is done. I am my own man! breathe! I am abroad! I am on the wing to visit the regions of fruition and Paradise; to banquet with the gods, and sip ambrosia from the lips of Venus and Hebe, the loves, and the graces! Mor. You are a lunatic! Chev. No; I am just come to my senses-for I am just come to my estate. High health, high spirits, eight thousand a year, and one-and-twenty. |