O’Bla. Oh! don’t be bothering me any more. Have you no sinse? Can’t you get shut of Corkeran the cooper without me? Can’t ye quarrel with the items? Tear the bill down the middle, if necessary, and sind him away with a flay (flea) in his ear, to make out a proper bill—which I can’t see till to-morrow, mind. I never pay any man on fair-day.
Pat. (aside) Nor on any other day. (Aloud) Corkeran’s my cousin, counsellor, and if convanient, I’d be glad you’d advance him a pound or two on account.
O’Bla. ‘Tis not convanient was he twenty times your cousin, Pat. I can’t be paying in bits, nor on account—all or none.
Pat. None, then, I may tell him, sir?
O’Bla. You may—you must; and don’t come up for any of ‘em any more. It’s hard if I can’t have a minute to talk to myself.
Pat. And it’s hard if I can’t have a minute to eat my breakfast, too, which I have not. {Exit PAT.
O’Bla. Where was I?—I was popping the question to Honor McBride. The only thing is, whether the girl herself wouldn’t have an objection:—there’s that Randal Rooney is a great bachelor of hers, and I doubt she’d be apt to prefar him before me, even when I’d purpose marriage. But the families of the Rooneys and McBrides is at vareance—then I must keep ‘em so. I’ll keep Catty Rooney’s spirit up, niver to consent to that match. Oh! if them Rooneys and McBrides were by any chance to make it up, I’d be undone: but against that catastrophe I’ve a preventative. Pat Coxe! Pat Coxe! where are you, my young man?
Enter PAT, wiping his mouth.
Pat. Just swallowing my breakfast.
O’Bla. Mighty long swallowing you are. Here—don’t be two minutes, till you’re at Catty Rooney’s, and let me see how cliverly you’ll execute that confidential embassy I trusted you with. Touch Catty up about her ould ancient family, and all the Kings of Ireland she comes from. Blarney her cliverly, and work her to a foam against the McBrides.