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Kat. So, betwixt my lips and a glass of punch, you're the ass between two bundles of
Dur. Now I'm an ass-you're a bundle of sweet-since nobody's by, I'll make hay while the sun shineskiss me, Kathlane, and then I'll be in clover.
Kat. No; I'll not take such a rake as you when I go a hay-making, I assure you.
Dar. See there, now !
Kat. Ay, and see there again now--you know, Darby, I'm an heiress, and so take your answer : you're no match for me.
Dar. An heiress ! Why, though your father, old Jorum, that kept the Harp and Crown, left you well enough in the world, as a body may say, yet
Kat. Well enough, you disparaging fellow! Did'nt my noor father leave me a fortune of eleven pounds-a barrel of ale upon draught—the dappled mare, besides the furniture of the whole house, which 'praised to the matter of thirty-eight shillings! Well enough, indeed!
Dar. [Soothing. ] Nay, but Kathlane
Kat. (Passionate.] Well enough! And didn't he leave me the bald filly, you puppy?
Dar. Oh, now she's got upon the bald filly, the devil can't take her down. Kat. A pretty thing to say to a girl of my fortune!
Cheerful, handsome, and good-natur’d;
Awkward, clumsy, and ill-featur'd.
Darby gapes like any oven:
All is joy and gay sporting.
Breath as sweet as sugar-candy :
Darby's knocky-kneed and bandy:
Dermot walks a comely pace;
Darby like an ass goes stumping :
Silly booby, &c. (Exit Kathlane, L. Dar. Heigho! I must fall in love-I'd better have fell in the river. (Sighs.] Oh dear!
Bug. [Without, L.] Oh, Monsieur Darby!
Enter BAGATELLE, L., with a letter. Bag. Ah, ha! Monsieur Darby, begar I did look al} about, and I could no find you.
Dar. That's because I'm so wrapped in love.
Bag. Dis soldier Patrick did affront me before Mademoiselle Norah, and I vill have de satisfaction.Begar I vill kill soldier Pat, and you sall be my friend.
Dar. Can't you as well kill Dermot, and then you'll be my friend-but why kill Pat?
Bag. Ce Monsieur Pat, quel barbare !
Bag. Taisez vous ? you vill be my friend, if you vill give dis challenge to Monsieur Patrick.
Dar. Give it me-by the Lord Harry, man, he shall have it.
Bag. I vill not trust dat Lor Harry's man--give it yourself.
Dar. Well, I will.
Bag. My Lor Lofty's coachee did write it for me, as he is Englis.
Dar. Let's see. (Opens it and reads.] “ Sir, this comes hopping”—Hopping! I'll run all the way, if that will do--“ that you're in good health, as I am at this present writing. I tell you what, friend, -though you think yourself a great officer, you don't make me walk out of a window; and this comes to let you know I'll have Norah in spite of you-I'll be damned if I don't-and moreover than that, meet me in the Elm Grove, at seven in the evening, when you must give me satisfaction, but not with curling-ironstill then I'm yours, as in duty bound.”
Bag. Oui, dat is de etiquette of de challenge-I put no name for fear of de law.
Dar. It is not directed, but Pat shall have it.
Bag. Affront! begar he did take off bis hat and make
Bag. And den says he, Monsieur, I should be much oblige to you if you vill do me the honour to valk out of the vindre,
Dar. Well, you could not do less, he was so civil,
Bag. Ah ha, Monsieur, says 1, begar I vill make you valk down stairs ; vid dat I did lift my leg and give him one blow dat did kick him from de top to de bottom.
Dar. You kicked him down stairs! and for that he must give you satisfaction.
Bug. Dat is it. Monsieur Darby, I vou'd not trust de upper domestiques at the duke's, nor employ de lower servants upon dis affair of honour. You must come to de fight vid me, I have de pistols.
Dar. Pistols !
Dar. Pistols ! second! Eh, couldn't I be third or fourth ?
Bag. Ah, monsieur, you are wrong, toute autre chose.
[Looking at his feet. Bag. Non. Vell, Monsieur Darby, serviteur : now I have sent my challenge, I am ready in de duel to decide de point of honour, and so I vill go-brush my master's coat.
[Exit, L. Dar. Pistols ! I don't much like giving this challenge to Pat-he's a devil of a fellow since he turned soldier. He bid monsieur walk out of a window-he may desire ne to walk up the chimney. Ecod ! the boy at the alehouse shall give it him.
[Exit, L. Enter NORAH, R. Nor. Nowhere can I find him, and I fear my uncle will miss me from home. My letter must have con
vinced him how he wronged me by his suspicions. Unkind Patrick! if I could but once see him, a convent then is welcome, for I am determined never to give my hand to another.
And leave me here a mourning;
Must flow for thy returning
My careless love is straying;
And say for him I'm staying.
In vain, dear youth, to find thee ;
Nor leave thy love behind thee.
My careful watch still keeping ;
I'll lay me down a weeping
Enter PATRICK, L. Pat. My dear Norah, excuse my delay; but so many old acquaintances in the village
Nor. (R.) You had my letter?
Pat. (1.) Yes ; and I'm áshamed of my folly,-to be jealous of such a baboon, too.
Nor. Ay; but he'd soon be cashiered if bis master, Captain Fitzroy, knew of his presumption.
Pat. Ah, Norah, I feel more terror at that one captain's name, than I did at the sight of a whole army of enemies, drawn up in battle array against me.
Nor. My dearest Patrick, only be constant : love me as I think you do, and mine is fixed on such a basis of permanent affection, as never can be shaken.
Pat. And can you prefer a poor foot soldier, to a captain, my sweet Norah?
Nor. Ah, my Patrick, you may be only a private in the army, but you're a field officer here.
[Lays her hand to her heart. Pat. Charming, generous girl!
AIR-PATRICK. Though Leixslip is proud of its close shady bowers,
Its clear falling waters, and murmuring cascades, Its groves of fine myrtle, its beds of sweet flowers,
Its lads so well dress'd, and its neat pretty maids, As each his own village must still make the most of,
In praise of dear Carton I hope I'm not wrong; Dear Carton! containing what kingdoms may boast of,–
"Tis Norah, dear Norah, the theme of any song. Be gentlemen fine with their spurs and nice boots on,
Their horses to start on the Currah Kildare, Or dance at a ball with their Sunday new suits onLac'd waistcoat, white gloves, and their neat powder'd
hair; Poor Pat, while so bless'd in his mean humble station,
For gold or for acres he never shall long ; One sweet smile can give him the wealth of a nation,
From Norah, dear Norah, the theme of my song. Enter FITZROY behind, in a plain scarlet frock and round
hat, L. Fit. [Aside, L.) My little country wife in company with a common soldier !
Nor. Don't fail to come to our house as you promised, for at that time my uncle will be down at Dermot's.I've a notion 'twill be a match between him and Kathlane, my uncle's her guardian.-Adieu, my Patrick. You'll come early. [Parting tenderly-exit Noruh, R.
Pat. Happy Dermot! his Kathlane had not charms to attract the attention of this gentleman; but, because Norah is most beautiful, Patrick is most unhappy.
Fit. [Aside.] This is a timely and fortunate discovery -If I had married her, I should have been in a hopeful way. (Advancing.] A pretty girl you've got there, brother soldier.
Pat. She's handsome, sir.