Tom. What, Pady, do you think that you are to come alive again when you are dead?
Pady. O yes, we that are true Roman Catholicks we will live a long time after we are dead; when we die in love with the priests, and the good people of our profession.
Tom. And what assurance can your priests give you of that?
Pady. Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, and a good shoul, who can repeat a patter-noster, and Ave Maria, which will fright the very horned devil himself and make him run for it, until he be like to fall and break his neck.
Tom. And what does he give you when you are dying that makes you come alive again?
Pady. Why he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a wafer, gives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and direction in our right-hand, who to call for at the ports of Purgatory?
Tom. And to whom do they direct the dead?
Pady. Why the English Romans when they die are all directed to shaint George, the Scots to shaint Andrew, the Welch to shaint David, and our own dear countrymen must every shoul of them go to shaint Patrick, but them that have no money to pay the priest for a pardon, or those that are drown’d or die by themselves in the fields without a priest, is lost, and sent away as black-guard scoundrels, to wander up and down while the world stands, among the brownies, fairies, mermaids, sea-devils, and water kelpies.
Tom. And what money design you to give the priests for your pardon?