O'Carrol. Escape!—By my soul, lady, one would think you had been a young man, from the very first day you were born. Och! what a piece of work a little trimming and drapery makes in a good fellow's fancy! A foot is a foot, all the world over;—but take the foot of the sweetest little creature that ever tripped over green sward, and if it doesn't play at bo-peep under a petticoat—'faith, I don't know the reason of it; but it gives a clean contrary turn to a man's imagination. But what is it you would be after now, Lady Julia?
Julia. Something I will do; and it must be speedy: at all hazards, we will to the English camp, O'Carrol:—opportunity must shape the rest.
O'Carrol. The camp?—O, 'faith, that's my element; and Heaven send us success in it! If an Irishman's prayers, lady, could make you happy, your little heart should soon be as light as a feather-bed.
Julia. I thank thee, my honest fellow: thy care for me shall not long go unrewarded.
O'Carrol. Now the devil fetch rewarding, say I! If a man does his best friends a piece of service, he must be an unconscionable sort of an honest fellow, to look for more reward than the pleasure he gets in assisting them.
Julia. Well, well! each moment now is precious! Haste thee, O'Carrol; Time has wings.
O'Carrol. Och! be asey, madam; we'll take the ould fellow by the forelock, I warrant him. When honest gentlemen's business calls them on a small walk to the gallows, a man may set out a quarter of an hour behind them, and be certain of meeting them upon the road:—and, now I bethink me, madam, if we go out at the draw-bridge, from the citadel, hard by the house here, we may be at the camp, ere the poor souls have marched their body round the battlements.
Julia. Thou say'st well; and we will forth that way:
'Twill be most private too. Thou'lt follow me, O'Carrol?
O'Carrol. Ay, that I would, to the end of the wide world, and a thousand miles beyond it.