Enter Pat Murphy, L.
Pat. Where’s the kaper of the brute, I’d like to know? Where’s the hathin that sinds wild bastes a rarin’ an’ a tarin’ into the paceful quarthers of the globe?
Silas. What’s the matter with yeou, Pat Murphy?
Pat. Aha, owld gint, ’tis there ye are. It’s a mighty foine scrape yer in this time, wid yer drinkin’ an’ rollickin’.
Silas. Come, come, Pat Murphy, keep a civil tongue in your head.
Pat. O, blarney! It’s an ondacent man ye are, by me sowl! Wasn’t I sittin’ on my own doorstep last night, a smokin’ my pipe genteelly, wid de childers innercently amusin’ theirselves a throwin’ brickbats at one another, an’ Biddy a washin’ in the yard (as beautiful a picture of domestic felicity as ye don’t often say), when an oogly black snout kim over the fence, an’, afore ye could spake, away wint the fence, an’ away wint Biddy into the tub, an’ the childers into the pig-pen, an’ mesilf ilevated to the top of the woodshed by that same oogly black baste!
Harry. Ah, the elephant on another frolic!
Pat. Frolic—is it? Bedad, it must be paid for, ony how. An’ so, owld gint, I’ll jist throuble yez for the damages—to mesilf, a broken constitution, Biddy, a wake’s washin’ intirely spoiled, and the childers, bliss their dirthy faces! for a scare, an’ the fright to the pig, an’ the broken fence. Come down, owld gint. Them as jig must pay the piper.
Bias. Das a fac’, das a fac’. Down wid de dust, ole gint, for de dust dat ar bullephant kicked up.