SONG.—O'CARROL.
Oh! the moment was sad when my love and I parted;
Savourna deligh shighan ogh!
As I kiss'd off her tears, I was nigh broken hearted;
Savourna deligh shighan ogh;
Wan was her cheek, which hung on my shoulder;
Damp was her hand, no marble was colder;
I felt that I never again should behold her.
Savourna deligh shighan ogh!
Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true love;
Savourna deligh shighan ogh!
All my pay and my booty I hoarded for you, love;
Savourna deligh shighan ogh!
Peace was proclaim'd,—escaped from the slaughter,
Landed at home—my sweet girl I sought her;
But sorrow, alas! to the cold grave had brought her.
Savourna deligh shighan ogh!
Enter John de Vienne and Ribaumont.
De Vienne. Nay, nay, my lord! you're welcome.
Yet, were I private here, some prudent qualms,
Which you well wot, I trow, my noble lord!
Might cause me flatly sound that full toned welcome,
Which breathes the mellow note of hospitality.
Yet, being Governor of Calais here——
But take me with you, Count,—I can discern
Your noble virtues; ay, and love them too;
Did not a father's care—but let that pass.—
Julia, my girl—the Count of Ribaumont:—
Thank the brave champion of our city.
Julia. Sir!
Tho' one poor simple drop of gratitude,
Amid the boisterous tide of general thanks,
Can little swell the glory of your enterprise,
Accept it freely.—You are welcome, sir.
Rib. Cold does it seem to me.—'Sdeath! this is ice!
Freezing indifference:—down, down, my heart!
[Aside.
I pray you, lady, do not strain your courtesy.
If I have reap'd a single grain of favour,
From your fair self, and noble father here,
I have obtain'd the harvest of my hope.
De Vienne. Heyday! here's bow, and jut, and cringe, and scrape!—
Count! I have served in battle; witness for me
Some curious scars, the soldier's coxcombry,
In which he struts, fantastically carved
Upon the tough old doublet nature gave him.
Let us, then, speak like brothers of the field;
Roundly and blunt. Have I your leave, my lord?
Rib. As freely, sir, as you have ask'd it.
De Vienne. Thus, then:
I have a daughter, look you; here she stands;
Right fair and virtuous;—
[Count attempts to speak.
Nay, Count, spare your speech;
I know I've your assent to the position:
I have a king too; and from whom 'tis signified
My daughter must be match'd with (speedily)
A certain lord about the royal person.—
Now, tho' there may be some, whose gallant bearing
(And glean from this, Count, what it is I aim at,)
I might be proud to be allied to, yet
Being a veteran French soldier, stuff'd
With right enthusiastic loyalty,
My house, myself, my child—Heaven knows I love her!—
Should perish, piece-meal, ere I could infringe
The faintest line or trace of the proceeding,
The king, our master, honours me in marking.
Rib. I do conceive you, sir.
De Vienne. Why, then, conceiving,
Once more, right welcome, Count. I lodge you here,
As my good friend—and Julia's friend—the friend
To all our city.—Tut, Count, love is boys' play;
A soldier has not time for't.—
Come, Count.——Within there, hoa! we need refreshment,
Which you have furnish'd.—Love? pish! love's a gew-gaw.
Nay, come, Count, come.
[Exit.
Julia. Sir, will it please you follow?
Rib. I fain would speak one word, and—'sdeath! I cannot.—
Pardon me, madam; I attend.—Oh, Julia!
[Exit, leading out Julia.
O'Carrol. Och ho! poor dear creatures, my heart bleeds for them. To be sure the ould gentleman means all for the best, and what he talks must be right: but if love is a gew-gaw, as he says, by my soul! 'tis the prettiest plaything for children, from sixteen to five-and-twenty, that ever was invented!
[Exit.