Larry. Nine ships, five hundred men, and a lord governor! Och! St. Patrick's blessing be upon them; they'll make this land flow with buttermilk like green Erin. What say you, master page, isn't this a nice neat patch to plant potatoes—I mean, to plant a nation in?
Kate. There's but one better.
Larry. And which might that be?
Kate. E'en little green Erin that you spoke of.
Larry. And were you ever—och, give me your fist—were you ever in Ireland?
Kate. It's there I was born—
Larry. I saw its bloom on your cheek.
Kate. And bred.
Larry. I saw it in your manners.
Kate. Oh, your servant, sir. [Bows.] And there, too, I fell in love.