Christy. Not at all, plase your honour—I say it was well but I got a kick of the baast. But it’s all for the best now; for see, I’m now as sober as a jidge, and quite as any lamb; and if I’d get lave only just to keep in this here corner, I would be no let or hinderance to any. Oh! dear miss! spake for me! I’m an ould man, miss, that your father’s honour was partial to always, and called me honest Christy, which I was once, and till his death too.
Sir W. What a strange mixture is this man!
Clara. Pray let him stay, uncle—he’s sober now.
Sir W. Say not one word more, then; stand still there in your corner.
Christy. And not a word for my life—not breathe, even—to plase you! becaase I’ve a little business to mintion to the lady. Sixty guineas to resave from Mr. Gilbert, yonder. Long life to you, miss! But I’ll say no more till this Scotchman has done with his fiddle and his musics.
Sir W. I thought, sir, you were not to have spoken another syllable.
{CHRISTY puts his finger on his lips, and bows to Sir WILLIAM and to CLARA.
Sir W. Now, Mr. Hope.
Mr. HOPE sings, and the Band join in chorus,
Though Bannow’s heiress, fair and young,
Hears polish’d praise from ev’ry tongue;
Yet good and kind, she’ll not disdain
The tribute of the lowly swain.
The heart’s warm welcome, Clara, meets thee;
Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee.
That open brow, that courteous grace,
Bespeaks thee of thy generous race;
Thy father’s soul is in thy smile—
Thrice blest his name in Erin’s isle.
The heart’s warm welcome, Clara, meets thee;
Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee.
The bright star shining on the night,
Betokening good, spreads quick delight;
But quicker far, more glad surprise,
Wakes the kind radiance of her eyes.
The heart’s warm welcome, Clara, meets thee;
Thy native land, dear lady, greets thee{1}.