Clara. “What noise is that, unlike the former sound?”
Sir W. Only some man, singing in honour of St. Patrick, I suppose.
Enter CHRISTY GALLAGHER, BIDDY trying to hold him back.
Christy. Tut! let me in: I know the lady is here, and I must thank her as becoming—
{CLARA puts her hand before her face and retires as he advances.
Miss G. Oh! father, keep out—you’re not in a condition.
Sir W. John! Thomas! carry this man off.
Christy. Ah, now, just let me remark to his honour—did he ever hear this song in England? (He struggles and sings, while they are carrying him off,)
“O’Rourke’s noble feast shall ne’er be forgot,
By those who were there, or by those who were not.”
But it was not O’Rourke’s noble feast at all, it was O’Hara’s noble feast, to the best of my knowledge—I’ll take my affidavit; and am not I here, on the spot, ready and proud to fight any one that denies the contrary? Let me alone, Florry, for I’m no babby to be taken out of the room. Ready and proud, I say I am, to fight any tin men in the county, or the kingdom itself, or the three kingdoms entirely, that would go for to dare for to offer to articulate the contrary. So it’s Miss O’Hara for ever, huzza! a! a! a! a!