Christy. Then it all comes from the little finger getting to be the master of me; for I’m confident that when sober, I was not born to be a rogue nat’rally. Was not I honest Christy once? (ready to cry.) Oh, I’m a great penitent! But there’s no help for it now.
Biddy. True for you, sir.
Christy. I’m an unfortunate cratur, and all the neighbours know it.—So, Biddy dear, I’ve nothing for it but to take another glass.
Biddy. Oh! no, sir, not when you’ll be going up to the castle to the lady—you’ll be in no condition.
Christy. Tut, girl—‘twill give me heart. Let’s be merry any way. {Exit, singing,
“They say it was care killed the cat,
That starved her, and caused her to die;
But I’ll be much wiser than that,
For the devil a care will care I.”
SCENE III.
Widow LARKEN’S Cottage.