"Tis not the marriage, but the man, we hate; 'Tis there we reafon and debate : For, give us but the man we love, We're fure the marriage to approve. Well, this barbarous will of parents is a great drawback on the inclinations of young people, Betty. Indeed and fo it is, Mem. For my part I'm no heiress, and therefore at my own I 2 difpofal; and if I was under the restraint of the act, and kept from men, I would run to feed, fo I would.-But la! Mem, I had forgot to acquaint you, I verily believes that I faw your Irith lover the captain; and I conceits it was he, and no cther, fo I do and I faw him go into the blue poftices, fo I did. Lucy. My Irish lover, Mifs Pert! I never fo much as faw his face in all my born days, but I hear he's a ftrange animal of a brute.-Pray, had he his wings on? I fuppofe they fav'd him in his paffage. Betty. Oh! Mem, you miftakes the Irishman. I am told they are as gentle as doves to our fex, with as much politeness and fincerity as if born in our own country. Enter Cheatwell. Cheat. Mifs, your most humble and obedient-I come to acquaint you of our danger :-our common enemy is just imported hither, and is inquiring for your father's houfe through every freet.-The Irish captain, in short, is come to London. Such a figure and fo attended by the rabble! Lucy. I long to fee him ;-and Irifhmen, I hear, are not fo defpicable: befides, the captain may be mifreprefented. (Afide.) Well, you know my father's defign is to have as many fuitors as he can, in order to have a choice of them all. Cheat. I have nothing but your prepoffeffions and fincerity to depend on. O here's my trusty Mercury. Enter Sconce. Well, Sconce, have you dogged the Captain? Sconce. Yes, yes.-I left him fnug in the Blue Pofts, devouring a large difh of potatoes and half a furloin of beef for his break faft.He's juft pat to our purpose; -eafily humm'd, as fimple and as undefigning as we would have him. Well, and what do you propose ? Cheat. Propofe! why to drive him back to his native bogs as faft as poffible. Lucy. Oh! Mr. Cheatwell-pray let's have a fight of the creter? Cheat. Oh! female curiofity. Why, child, he'd frighten thce he's above fix feet high Sconce. A great huge back and fhouldersgreat long fword, which he calls his Sweetlips. wears a Lucy. Lucy. I hear the Irish are naturally brave. Sconce. And carries a large oaken cudgel, which he calls his Shilela. Lucy. Which he can make ufe of on occafions, I fuppofe. [Afide. Sconce. Add to this a great pair of jack-boots, a Cumberland pinch to his hat, an old red coat, and a damn'd potatoe-face. Lucy. He must be worth feeing, truly. Cheat. Well, my dear girl, be conftant, with me fuc. cefs; for I fhall fo hum. fo roaft, and fo banter this fame Irish captain, that he'll scarce with himself in London again these feven years to come. Lucy. About it-Adieu-I hear my father. [Exeunt feverally. Capt SCENE A Street. Enter Captain O'Blunder and Sergeant. Tho' I will be dying, For Captain O'Brien, In the county of Kerry; Tho' I would be fad, I'll be very glad, That you will be merry. Upon my fhoul, this London is a pretty fort of a plash enough. And fo you tell me Chergeant, that Terence M'Gloodtery keeps a goon. Serg. Yes, Sir. Capt. Monomundioul !-but when I go back to Ireland, if I catches any of these spalpeen brats keeping a goon, to destroy the fhentleman's creation, but I will have 'em fot ftone dead first, and phipt thorrow the regiment afterwards. Serg. You mean that they fhall be whipped first, and then shot. Capt. Well, ifhn't it the fame thing? Phat the devil magnifies that? 'Tis but phipping and fhooting all the time; 'tis the fame thing in the end fure, after all your cunning ;-but ftill you'll be a wifeacre.- -Monomundioul, there isn't one of thefe fpalpeens that has a cabbin upon a mountain, with a bit of a potatoe-garden at the back of it, but will be keeping a goon ;-but that damn'd 1.3. damn'd M'Gloodtery is an old potcher, he fhoots all the rabbits in the country to ftock his own burrough withBut Chergeant, don't you think he'll have a fine time on't that comes after me to Ballyhans Duff. Serg. Why, Sir? Capt. Why, don't you remember that I left an empty hogfhead half full of oats there? Serg. You mean, Sir, that you left it half full, and it is empty by this time. Capt. Phat magnifies that, you fool? 'tis all the fame thing, fure. But, d'ye hear, Chergeant, ftop, and inquire for Mr. Tradwell's the merchant-at the fign of the-Oh! Cangrane, that's not it, but it was next door -Arrah, go afk phat fign my coufin Tradwell lives at next door to it. Enter a Mob, who ftare and laugh at him. I Mob. Twig his boots. 2 Mob. Smoke his fword, &c. &c. Capt. Well, you fcoundrels, you fons of whores, did you never fee an Irish fhentleman before? Enter Sconce. Sconce. O fie, gentlemen! are you not ashamed to mock a ftranger after this rude manner? Capt. This is a fhivel fort of a little fellow enough. [Afide. Sconce. If he is an Irishman, you may fee by his dress and behaviour that he is a gentleman. Capt. Yesh, you shons of whores, don't you fee by my drefs that I am a fhentleman? And if I have not better cloaths on now, phat magnifies that? fure I can have them on to-morrow. By my fhoul, if I take my fhilela to you, I'll make you skip like a dead falmon. Sconce. Oh, for fhame, gentlemen, go about your bu finefs: The first man that offers an infult to him, I fhall take it as an affront to myself. [Mob exeunt. Capt. (to Sconce.) Shir, your humble fervant; you feem to be a fhivel, mannerly kind of a gentlemen, and I shall be glad to be gratified with your nearer acquaint[Salute. Sconce. Pray, Sir, what part of England come you from? ance. Capt. The devil a part of England am I from, my dear; I am an Irishman. Sconce. An Irishman! Sir, I fhould not suspect that; you have not the least bit of the brogue about you.. Capt. Brogue! No, my dear; I always wear shoes, only now and then when I have boots on. Enter Cheatwell. Cheat. Captain O'Blunder!-Sir, you're extremely welcome to London-Sir, I'm your most fincere friend, and devoted humble fervant. Capt. Ara, then! how well every body knows me in London-to be sure they have read of my name in the newspapers, and they know my faafh ever fince-Shir, I'm your most engaging converfation. [Salute. Cheat. And, Captain, tell us how long are you ar rived? Capt. Upon my fhoul, I'm just now come into Lon don. Cheat. I hope you had a good paffage. Capt. Paffage d'ye call it ?-Devil split it for a paffage. By my fhoul, my own bones are shore after it— We were on the devil's own turnpike for eight-and-forty hours; to be fure we were all in a comical pickle. I'll tell you, my dear: We were brought down from Rings-end in the little young ship to the Pool-pheg, and then put into the great fhip-the horfe-ay, ay,-the Race-horse they call'd it.-But I believe, my dear, it was the devil's own poft-horse: for I was no fooner got into the little room down ftairs, by the corner of the hill of Hoath, but I was taken with fuch a headach in my ftomach, that I thought my guts would come out upon the floor;-fo, my dear, I call'd out to the landlord, the captain they call him, to ftop the fhip while I did die and fay my prayers.-So, my dear, there was a great noise above; I run up to fee what was the matter. -Oh hone, my dear, in one minute's time there wasn't a fheet or blanket but phat was haul'd up to the top of the house—————Oh, kingrann, says I, turn her about and let us go home again; but, my dear, he took no more notice of me than if I was one of the spalpeens below in the cellar going over to reap in harvest. reap Cheat. |