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Updated: May 17, 2025
Well, if it hadn't been that his Holiness was in it, Father Tom 'ud have given him the contints of his tumbler betuxt the two eyes, for calling him a liar; and, in troth, it's very well it was in Latin the offence was conveyed, for, if it had been in the vernacular, there's no saying what 'ud ha' been the consequence. His Riv'rence was mighty angry anyhow.
"O begad, I had forgot," says the Pope, the good-natured ould crethur; "sure enough, you were only taking your part as a good Milesian Catholic ought agin the heretic Sassenagh. Well," says he, "fire away now, and I'll put up wid as many conthroversial compliments as you plase to pay me." "Well, then, answer me my question, you santimonious ould dandy," says his Riv'rence.
'Black, that is, 'white, lave out the 'that, by sinnalayphy, and you have the orthodox conclusion, 'Black is white, or by convarsion, 'White is black." "It's as clear as mud," says the Pope. "Bedad," says his Riv'rence, "I'm in great humor for disputin' to-night. I wisht your Holiness was a heretic jist for two minutes," says he, "till you'd see the flaking I'd give you!"
"I beg your pardon," says his Riv'rence, "that's not the cork at all," says he; "I dhrew the cork a good two minits ago, and it's very purtily spitted on the end ov this blessed corkshcrew at this prisint moment; howandiver you can't see it, because it's only its real prisince that's in it.
"All I can say," says his Riv'rence, "is that it was a rale accident, anyhow." "Ay," says the Pope, "the kiss you gev Eliza, you mane." "No," says his Riv'rence, "but the report I made." "I don't doubt you," says the Pope. "No cork could be dhrew with less noise," says his Riv'rence. "It would be hard for anything to be less nor nothing, barring algebra," says the Pope.
"Tu senex lathro," says he, "quomodo audes me mendacem prædicare?" "Et, tu, sacrilege nebulo," says the Pope, "quomodo audacitatem habeas, me Dei in terris vicarium, lathronem conwiciari?" "Interroga circumcirca," says his Riv'rence. "Abi ex ædibus meis," says the Pope. "Abi tu in malam crucem," says his Riv'rence. "Excimnicabo te," says the Pope. "Diabolus curat," says his Riv'rence.
Jist at that minit the clock sthruck twelve, and, before you could say thrap-sticks, Spring had the plateful of mate consaled. "Now," says his Riv'rence, "hand me over my pound, for I've won my bate fairly."
I wundher how the Prodesans can stand afore you at all." "Don't think to delude me," says his Riv'rence, "don't think to back out ov your challenge now," says he, "but come to the scratch like a man, if you are a man, and answer me my question. What's the rason, now, that Julius Cæsar and the Vargin Mary was born upon the one day, answer me that, if you wouldn't be hissed off the platform?"
"Clear it ov its coefficient, and we'll thry," says the Pope. "Hand me over the exponent then," says his Riv'rence. "What's that?" says the Pope. "The shcrew, to be sure," says his Riv'rence. "What for?" says the Pope. "To dhraw the cork," says his Riv'rence. "Sure, the cork's dhrew," says the Pope.
Howandiver, his Riv'rence went on explaining himself in such a way as no scholar could mistake. "Vesica mea," says he, "ab illo ultimo eversore distenditur, donec similis est rumpere. Verbis apertis," says he, "Vesthræ Sanctitatis præsentia salvata, aquam facere valde desidhero."
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