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Why, then, you're a good cratur. But who tould you I was a vixen, dear plase your honour? Mr. Carv. Your friend that is gone. Catty. O'Blaney? Randal. Frind! He never was frind to none least of all to hisself. Catty. Oh! the double-distilled villain! he tould your honour I was a vixen, and fond of law. Now would you believe what I'm going to till you? he tould me of his honour Mr. Carv.
Take breath, man alive What of Catty? Pat. Catty! Oh, murder! No time to be talking of Catty now! Sure the shupervizor's come to town. O'Bla. Blood! and the malt that has not paid duty in the cellar! Pat. O'Bla. Pat Coxe! man! Re-enter PAT. O'Bla. Would there be any fear of any o' the boys informin? Pat. Enter Old McBRIDE, at the opposite side. Gerald O'Blaney, the counsellor, be within? O'Bla.
My master, sir, Mr. O'Blaney, is it? Will I run? Mr. Carv. No, no stand still till I have breath. What I want is a copy of a letter I dropped some where or other here I think it must have been, when I took out my handkerchief a copy of a letter to his Excellency of great consequence. Pat. What's this? an old bill: that is not it. Would it be this, crumpled up?
Oh, worse and worse! to make all public; and if once we go to law, there's an end of love for ever. O'BLANEY'S House. O'BLANEY and CATTY ROONEY. Catty. And didn't ye hear it, counshillor? the uproar in the town and the riot? oh! you'd think the world was throwing out at windows. See my jock, all tattered! Didn't ye hear! O'Bla.
And you the same, Mrs. Rooney, tinfold. Mr. O'Blaney has his sarvices to you, ma'am: no, not his sarvices, but his compliments, that was the word his kind compliments, that was the very word. Catty. The counshillor's always very kind to me, and genteel. Pat.
McBride you see it was not for the fortune. Honor. Oh! Phil, didn't I tell you her heart was right? Catty. We will work hard cheer up, McBrides. Now the Roonies and McBrides has joined, you'll see we'll defy the world and O'Blaney, the chate of chates. Honor. Randal's own mother! Catty. Ay, now, we are all one family now pull together. Don't be cast down, Phil dear.
GERALD O'BLANEY alone at a desk covered with Papers. O'Bla. Of all the employments in life, this eternal balancing of accounts, see-saw, is the most sickening of all things, except it would be the taking the inventory of your stock, when you're reduced to invent the stock itself; then that's the most lowering to a man of all things!
Old McB. Why then he has a great opinion of you too, counsellor for he has been advising of, and telling of me, O'Blaney, of your proposhal, sir and very sinsible I am of the honour done by you to our family, sir and condescension to the likes of us though, to be sure, Honor McBride, though she is my daughter, is a match for any man. O'Bla. Is a match for a prince a Prince Ragent even.
I'm made for life I don't care what comes. Honor. Nor I: so it is not to touch you, I'm happy. Catty. Oh! your honour, spake quick, this time I beg pardon! Mr. Carv. Then I have to confess that for once I have been deceived and mistaken in my judgment of a man; and what is more, of a man's circumstances completely O'Blaney. Old McB. What of his circumstances, oh! sir, in the name of mercy? Mr.
RANDAL ROONEY . . . . . Son of the Widow Catherine Rooney a Lover of Honor McBride. MR. GERALD O'BLANEY . . . . A Distiller. PATRICK COXE . . . . . Clerk to Gerald O'Blaney. MRS. CARVER . . . . . Wife of Mr. Carver. MISS BLOOMSBURY . . . . . A fine London Waiting-maid of Mrs. Carver's. MRS. CATHERINE ROONEY, commonly called CATTY ROONEY . . . . A Widow Mother of Randal Rooney.
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