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Oh, counshillor, now, if you wouldn't be flattering a wake woman. O'Bla. Wake woman! not a bit of woman's wakeness in ye. Oh, my cat-o'-cats! let any man throw her from him, which way he will, she's on her legs and at him again, tooth and claw. Catty. With nine lives, renewable for ever. O'Bla.
I'll tell her the story we agreed on, of Honor McBride meeting of Randal Rooney behind the chapel. O'Bla. That will do don't forget the ring; for I mane to put another on the girl's finger, if she's agreeable, and knows her own interest. But that last's a private article. Not a word of that to Catty, you understand. Pat. Oh!
No doubt: still, counshillor, I'm in dread of my life that that great big veshel won't be implied in a hurry. O'Bla. Won't it? but you'll see it will, though; and what's more, them spirits will turn into water for the shupervisor. Pat. Water! how? O'Bla. Asy the ould tan-pit that's at the back of the distillery. Pat. I know what of it? O'Bla.
Oh, I know you're every thing every thing on earth particularly with ould McBride; and you know how to speak so well and iloquent, and I'm so tongue-tied and bashful on such an occasion. Mr. Carv. Well, well, I'll speak for you. O'Bla. A thousand thanks down to the ground. Mr. Carv. O'Bla.
In half an hour, I'll warrant, you'll have as fine a fight in town as ever ye seen or hard. O'Bla. That's iligantly done, Pat. But I hope Randal Rooney is in it? Pat. In the thick of it he is, or will be. So I hope your honour did not forgit to spake to Mr. Carver about that little place for me? O'Bla. Forgit! Do I forgit my own name, do you think? Sooner forgit that then my promises. Pat. Oh!
Certainly, sir; but not such an object as your daughter to me: since we are got upon business, however, best settle all that out of the way, as you say at once. Of the five hundred, I have two in my hands already, which you can make over to me with a stroke of a pen. In business 'tis always most haste, worse speed. O'Bla.
Carver of Bob's Fort himself, in all his glory this fair-day. See then how he struts and swells. Did ever man, but a pacock, look so fond of himself with less rason? But I must be caught deep in accounts, and a balance of thousands to credit. Carver of Bob's Fort? Oh! the honour Mr. Carv. Don't stir, pray I beg I request I insist. I am by no means ceremonious, sir. O'Bla. Mr. Carv.
For him and all his tribe, coursing officers and all. I'd desire no better sport than to hear the whole pack in full cry after me, and I doubling, and doubling, and safe at my form at last. With you, Pat, my precious, to drag the herring over the ground previous to the hunt, to distract the scent, and defy the nose of the dogs. Pat. Then I am proud to sarve you, counshillor. O'Bla.
A score of bullocks I had in the fair half a score sold in my pocket, and owing half that's John Dolan, twelve pound tin and Charley Duffy nine guineas and thirteen tin pinnies and a five-penny bit: stay, then, put that to the hundred guineas in the stocking at home. O'Bla.
But there's one comfort in this distillery business come what will, a man has always proof spirits. Enter PAT COXE. Pat. The whole tribe of Connaught men come, craving to be ped for the oats, counsellor, due since last Serapht fair. O'Bla. Can't be ped to-day, let 'em crave never so. Tell 'em Monday; and give 'em a glass of whiskey round, and that will send 'em off contint, in a jerry. Pat.
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