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country, so he has-you've two thousand a year? [Fitzroy bows.] Your hand, you shall marry my niece.

Fit. My dear good man, you're the best of priests; but there's one thing that I'd wish to be certain of-Are you sure your niece's heart is totally disengaged?

F. Luke. Why, sir, she did give her heart away, but I made her take it back again: she had a sort of a lover, that I think she was a little fond of.

Fit. How?

F. Luke. Don't be alarm'd, sir, for lord knows what has become of poor Patrick, since he was sent off for America: upon my refusing Nora to him, he took on so that, one day, full of ale and vexation, the fool went and listed for a soldier.

Fit. Ah! I could wish that

F. Luke. You can wish for no more than you shall have she's your's-I say the word—and I'm her uncle, her guardian, and her clergy. Here, Norah, child. [Calls at the window.] I fancy she's not awake yet.

[Going in. Fit. Hold, sir! I would not have her disturb'd for the world.

F. Luke. Well, 'faith! you're good-natured enough, considering you've been fighting in America.

Fit. My dear Father Luke, you know I'm down here at the duke's upon a visit, and you have sense enough to know, likewise, that, notwithstanding your niece's beauty and merit, and the reverence due to your character, such is the ridiculous pride and assumed privilege of birth and fortune, that I should be most egregiously rallied, and, perhaps, obstacles thrown in the way of my happiness, should this affair be talked of there.

F. Luke. Not a word,-my lips are seal'd.

Fit. That's right, my dear friend: the ceremony once over, with pride I shall publish my felicity to the world. I have already sent up to Dublin, for some trifling ornaments for my sweet Norah; I expect them every hour; this night you shall join our hands, and then I'll introduce my lovely bride as such, to my friends at Carton House.

Enter DARBY, R.

Dar. Father Luke, I want to speak a word with you, if you please, sir. [Fitzroy walks up the stage. F. Luke. What do you mean, you free fellow? Don't

you see I'm in company, and in company with a gentleman, too? Eh, you wicked boy?

Dar. I am not wicked.

F. Luke. Eh! how, child? what, an't I your priest, and don't I know what wickedness is?

Dar. Well, sir, to be sure I've been a young rake, as a body may say, but now I'm going to take a wife to myself.

F. Luke. [To Darby.] Get away.-I beg your worship's pardon. [To Fitzroy. Fit. Oh, no apology, sir. The shepherd must look to his flock.

F. Luke. Ah! I'm shepherd to a blessed flock of goats. Now, would think it, sir? that Darby, that fellow that looks so sheepish, is the most notorious reprobate in the whole parish.

Dar. [To Fitzroy.] Sir, I'll tell you why Father Luke is always at me. He, he, he! when one plays or so among the girls, you know one must give them a kiss or two to keep them in good humour; and then the long winter nights, before a fine fire, I'm so frolicsome among 'em, that, when we play at forfeits, it may come to twenty or thirty kisses a-piece; these they must all confess to him, and, ecod! of a cold morning they keep Father Luke 'till his fingers are numb'd, and his nose is blue, he, he, he! You know, sir, you know that's the reason you don't like poor Darby.

F. Luke. Get along, you profligate.

Dar. Well, sir, I'll go.

F. Luke. Come back, here. Where are you going, now? I warrant you're posting away to the alehouse; but I'll follow you; I'll meet you there, and, if I catch you guzzling, if you dare call for a quart of ale before


Dar. You'll drink half of it.

F. Luke. Go along, go. [Pushes him off, L.] Oh, dear me! I'm only a poor parish priest here; and I profess I have more to do than a bishop.

Fit. I wish, father, you were a bishop.

F. Luke. I wish to heaven I was.

Fit. Well, well-who knows-all in good time-we shall have his grace's interest.-Such a thing may be done.

*F. Luke. Oh, that nothing may hinder it


An humble curate here am I,
The boys and girls' director;
Yet something whispers, by and by,
I may be made a rector;
Then I'll preach

And teach

My sheep and rams.-
So well I'll mind my duty;

And oh, my pretty ewes and lambs!
Your pastor shall be true t'ye.
For, though a simple fisherman,
A dean'ry if I fish up,

So good, I'll do the best I can,
And pray-to be a bishop.
To my preaching,

Then farewell,

No more with duty hamper'd

But plump and sleek,

My reverend cheek;

Oh, how my lordship's pamper'd.

F. Luke. But, Sir, you're sure of my niece, Norah; and now I must attend some duties of my function among my parishioners.


Fit. Love for a young man! This is not so well. The first impression of love upon the heart of an innocent young woman, is not easily, if ever, erased; yet the coldness of her carriage to me rather checks my hopes than abates the ardour of my affections. [Father Luke's door opens.] 'Tis she; I fear to speak to her, lest I should [Retires. be observed by some of the villagers.

Enter NORAH, from the House, L.


The meadows look cheerful, the birds sweetly sing,
So gayly they carrol the praises of spring:
Though nature rejoices, poor Norah shall mourn,
Until her dear Patrick again shall return.

Ye lasses of Dublin, ah, hide your gay charms!
Nor lure her dear Patrick from Norah's fond arms;
Though satins and ribbons, and laces, are fine,
They hide not a heart with such feelings as mine.

B 3


Nor. If the grass is not too wet, perhaps Kathlane will take a walk with me-but she's gone to walk with her sweetheart, Dermot. Well, if Patrick hadn't forsook me, I shouldn't now want a companion. [Fitzroy advances.] Oh, dear! here's the gentleman that my uncle is always teasing me about.

Fit. (c.) A fine morning, madam; but your presence gives additional lustre to the beauties of this charming


Nor. (L. c.) Sir !

[Courtesies. Fit. [Taking her hand.] Nay, do not avert those lovely eyes-look kindly on me.

Bag. [Without, R.] Oh, maitre ! maitre!


For you, dearest maiden, the pride of the village,
The town and its pleasures I freely resign.
Delight springs from labour, and science from tillage,
Where love, peace, and innocence sweetly combine.
Soft tender affection, what bliss in possessing,

How bless'd when 'tis love that insures us the bless.

Caress'd, oh what rapture in mutual caressing!
What joy can I wish for, was Norah but mine.

The feasts of gay fashion with splendour invite us,
Where luxury, pride, and her follies attend;

The banquet of reason alone should delight us,

How sweet the enjoyment, when shar'd with a friend!
Be thou that dear friend, then, my comfort, my

A look is my sunshine, a smile is my treasure ;
Thy lips, if consenting, give joy beyond measure:

A rapture so perfect, what joy can transcend !

Nor. Do, sir, permit me to withdraw: our village is very censorious; and a gentleman being seen with me, will neither add to your honour or my reputation.

[Exit into house, L.

Bag. [Without, R.] Ah, mon maitre
Fit. What does this blockhead want?

Enter BAGATELLE, R., out of breath.

Bag. Ah, monsieur-ah-ah!
Fit. Well, what's the matter?


Bag. Ah, monsieur, I'm come-I'm come-to tell you -that-I'm out of breath. Fit. What's the matter? Bag. It is all blown-—

Fit. I suppose my love affair here is discover'd.

[Half aside. Bag. Oui, monsieur, I have discover dat all your mareschal poudre is blown out of de vindre, and I must go to town for more.

Fit. And is this the discovery that has made you run about the roads after me?

Bag, Non, monsieur; but I did like to forget to tell you, dat my Lor Lofty and all de fine ladies wait for your honour's company in de breakfast parlour.

Fit. Damn your impertinence, sirrah; why didn't you tell me that at first? Follow me, and be in the way. [Exit, R.

Bag. Ah, mon maitre! Je vous remercie tres humblement temeraire? Ah!-ah, ah, begar dis is de priest's house, and I did meet him in de village. Fort bien, ah! 'tis bon opportunité to make de love to his niece; Í vill finish de affaire with de coup d'eclat-Somebody come -Now for Mademoiselle Norah.

[Exit into Father Luke's house, L.

SCENE II.-A Rural View.


Pat. Well, here I am, after all the dangers of war, returned to my native village, two years older than I went; not much wiser, up to the heart in love, and not a sixpence in my pocket. [Darby sings without, L.] Isn't that Darby? "Tis, indeed, and as foolish as ever.

Enter DARBY, L., singing, stops short; looks with surprise at Patrick.

Dar. (L.) Is it-Pat? [Runs to him.] My dear boy, you're welcome, you're welcome, my dear boy.

Pat. (c.) Thank you, Darby ; but how are all friends since I left them.

Dar. Finely; except a cow of mine that died last Michaelmas.

Pat. But how is my dear Norah?

Dar. As pretty as ever. I musn't tell him of the

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