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You came here to make pace between two dacent men's childher, an' you're as bad, if not worse, yourselves! Oh, wurrah dheelish, what's this! I'm in downright agony! Oh, murdher sheery! Has none o' yez a hand to thry if there's e'er a dhrop of relief in that bottle? or am I to die all out, in the face o' the world, for want of a sup o' somethin' to warm me?" "Darby, thry the horn," said M'Kenna.
Perhaps it was the very fact that the circumstances of the case released her from confessing her love, that paved the way for her to action that would else have been impossible. "By this light," said Beatrice to Benedick, "I take thee for pure pity." It was a vast consolation to Beatrice to say this, no doubt. Achilles stopped Savourneen Dheelish by his welcome to the newcomer.
Mr. Cheever was from Ireland, she said, and he had told the girl that Dheelish was the Irish word for dear, and they had adopted it in place of Althea, which, though a very nice name, very nice indeed, was, as they thought, too old and too formal; and besides, added my companion, she is a dear, you know. I did know, and knew, too, there was another girl, not far away who was also a dear.
"'That would be a pity, Jack, says she, 'for there are worse heads on worse shoulders; but will you give me the shovel? 'Will I give you the shovel, is it? Och thin, wouldn't I be a right big baste to do the likes of that, any how? says Jack; 'what! avourneen dheelish! to stand up with myself, and let this hard shovel into them beautiful, soft, white hands of your own!
"Sorra matter, Nancy dheelish, we'll take with all that just try your hand at a slice of it. I rode eighteen miles since I dined, and I feel a craving, Nancy, a whacuum in my stomach, that's rather troublesome."
Musha, throw your little things aside, an' stay where ye are today: you can't bring out the childre under the teem of rain an' sleet that's in it. Wurrah dheelish, but it's the bitther day all out!
Then, in a clear mezzo-soprano voice, she sang the first verse of one of the most popular Irish ballads: "O Arrah, ma dheelish, the distant dudheen Lies soft in the moonlight, ma bouchal vourneen: The springing gossoons on the heather are still, And the caubeens and colleens are heard on the hills."
Then, in a clear mezzo-soprano voice, she sang the first verse of one of the most popular Irish ballads: "O Arrah ma dheelish, the distant dudheen Lies soft in the moonlight, ma bouchal vourneen: The springing gossoons on the heather are still, And the caubeens and colleens are heard on the hill."
"Ah! when I had him!" exclaimed the distracted widow, "I never had occasion to trouble aither friend or neighbor; but he s gone an' now it's otherwise wid me glory be to God for all his mercies a wurrah dheelish!
"Glory be to them that giv it to me then! that I am at the present time, padre dheelish.
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