We shall soon have a breeze, and a tempest will blow,
If what's up in the wind you don't presently show.
Pray be seated, there is no such great haste for the priest,
Till we're satisfied all on this subject at least.
What! oh, dear me! quick—water, she's fainting away!"
He cried out, as the dame 'gainst his arm her head lay.
While he knew, by the bye, just as much what to do,
As a pig does of making an Irish stew.
"No, no, brandy is better!" O'Flanagan said;
"Raise her head!" whispered Clare. "Lay her down here!" said Ted.