{CATTY sighs and groans, striking the back of one hand reiteratedly into the palm of the other—rises—beats the devil’s tattoo as she stands—then claps her hands again.
Mr. Carv. That woman has certainly more ways of making a noise, without speaking, than any woman upon earth. Proceed, Philip.
Phil. Depind on it, it’s all lies, Mrs. Rooney, says I, ma’am. No, but you lie, flourishing Phil, says she. With that every McBride to a man, rises from the table, catching up chairs and stools and toomblers and jugs to revenge Honor and me. Not for your life, boys, don’t let-drive ne’er a one of yees, says I—she’s a woman, and a widow woman, and only a scould from her birth: so they held their hands; but she giving tongue bitter, ‘twas hard for flesh and blood to stand it. Now, for the love of heaven and me, sit down all, and be quite as lambs, and finish your poonch like gentlemen, sir, says I: so saying, I tuk Mrs. Rooney up in my arms tenderly, as I would a bould child—she screeching and screeching like mad:—whereupon her jock caught on the chair, pocket-hole or something, and give one rent from head to fut—and that was the tattering of the jock. So we got her to the door, and there she spying her son by ill-luck in the street, directly stretches out her’ arms, and kicking my shins, plase your honour, till I could not hold her, “Murder! Randal Rooney,” cries she, “and will you see your own mother murdered?”
Randal. Them were the very words, I acknowledge, she used, which put me past my rason, no doubt.
Phil. Then Randal Rooney, being past his rason, turns to all them Roonies that were in no condition.
Mr. Carv. That were, what we in English would call drunk, I presume?
Randal. Something very near it, plase your honour.
Phil. Sitting on the bench outside the door they were, when Randal came up. “Up, Roonies, and at ‘em!” cried he; and up, to be sure, they flew, shillelahs and all, like lightning, daling blows on all of us McBrides: but I never lifted a hand; and Randal, I’ll do him justice, avoided to lift a hand against me.
Randal. And while I live I’ll never forget that hour, nor this hour, Phil, and all your generous construction.
Catty. (aside) Why then it almost softens me; but I won’t be made a fool on.