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Updated: June 25, 2025
Swiney was an ardent Irishman who had, for some mysterious reason, formed a friendship with Rich, and his advice and energy often stood the manager of Drury Lane in good stead.
Swiney was content. The famous singer Nicolini had come over, and the town was impatient to hear him. This compact held for a short time. It was broken then by quarrels behind the scenes. In 1709 Wilks, Dogget, Cibber, and Mrs. Oldfield treated with Swiney to be sharers with him in the 'Haymarket' as heads of a dramatic company.
"The tears live in an onion that shall water his grave. Though, perhaps, I am forgetting Swiney." Then, in a brisker tone, "Come, Richard. What like is the muscadine you keep at Lupton House?" "I have abjured all wine," said Richard. "A plague you have!" quoth Trenchard, understanding less and less. "Have you turned Mussuman, perchance?" "No," answered Richard sternly; "Christian."
"Bless me," the fat one said, "bless me, Pat Swiney, but I think the Frenchers will never return, and so we must die here like starved dogs." "Och," answered the thin one, "they have gone to kill game. By St. Patrick, I wish it would come, raw or cooked, for my bowels are twisting like worms on a hook." "Oh, Pat, be a good man; can't you go and pick some berries? my stomach is like an empty bag."
"Oh, Sir Rowland?" cried the old sinner, as though Sir Rowland were some matter long forgotten. He sighed. "Alas, poor Swiney! I fear I've cheated him." "You mean?" "Art slow at inference, Dick. Sir Rowland has passed away in the odour of villainy." Richard clasped nervous hands together and raised his colourless eyes to heaven. "May the Lord have mercy on his soul!" said he.
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