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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Yes, your honor; he is half-mad, or whole mad, as a good many people think." "I am told he is fond of liquor." "He is seldom sober, Sir Thomas." "Will you go into Ballytrain, and try to see him? But first see the butler, and desire him, by my orders, to give you a bottle of whiskey. I don't mean this moment, sirra," he said, for Gillespie was proceeding to take him instantly at his word.
Where's any of my men? give him your Cloake, sirra; Fetch him cleane Band and Cuffs. I embrace thee, Pike; And hugg thee in my armes: scorne not to weare A Spanish livery. Pike. Oh, my Lord, I am proud of't. Mac. He shalbe with a Convoy sent to the King.
And you; but I must schoole you, sirra. Enter Pike, shackled, & his Jaylour. Jay. Boon Coragio, man! how is't? Pike. Not very well & yet well enough, considering how the cheating dice of the world run. Jay. I dare not, though I have a care of you, ease you of one Iron unles I desire such Gyves my selfe. Pike.
I'll unkennel you whoever may be afraid of you, I'm not my name's O'Driscol, sirra Fitzgerald O'Driscol, commonly called for brevity's sake, Fitzy O'Driscol a name, sir, that ought to strike terror into you and if it didn't, it isn't here I'd be hunting you out with you now surrendher, I say, or if you don't upon my honor and conscience you're a dead man. 'What's the matter, sir? I asked 'in Heaven's name, who have you there? 'Who is in the coalhole, father? asked Fergus, with a face whose gravity showed wonderful strength of muscle.
Gyr. Heard you this, sirra? Buz. As sure as I heare you now. Alq. And you'le be sworne 'twas he that so cryde out? Buz. If I were going to be hangd Ide sweare. Clark. Mac. All this is but presumption: if this be all The shott you make against him your bullets stick In a mud wall, or if they meete resistance They backe rebound & fly in your owne face. Med.
My life is twisted in a Thread with thine; Were't not defenced, there could nothing come To make this cheeke looke pale, which at your Eye Will not fall dead before you. Enter Buzzano. Sirra, let all your care and duty bee Employed to cheere this Lady: pray, be merry. Buz. Oh, sir, yonders such doings. Hen.
Now on my life this boy does sing as like the boy at the Whitefryers as ever I heard: how say you Captain? Suc. I, and the Musicks like theires: come, Sirra, whoes your Poett? Crac. Some mad wag, I warrant him: is this a new song? Mus. Tis the first edition, sir: none else but we had ever coppie of it. Suc. But you wilbe intreated to let a gent have it? Mus.
"Give them a comic song," said I, in a whisper. "A comic song! No, sirra, my style is purely sentimental. I will give the ladies and gentlemen the 'Ivy Green."
What have you brought him here for, sirra? 'Your wisdom will regard him as you see fit, may it please you, said the corporal.
"Why, sir, I gave out that you're young and handsome, God pardon me." "How, sirra," said his master, laughing, "do you mean to say that I am not?" "Well, sir, wait till you hear, and then you may answer yourself; as for me, afther what I've seen, I'll not undertake to give an opinion on the subject.
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