Rory. Phoo! don’t be playing the innocent, now. Where have you lived all your life (I ask pardon, my lard) not to know a bogberry when you see or hear of it? (Turns to Talbot.) But what are ye standing idling here for? Sure, there’s Wheeler, and Bursal along with him, canvassing out yonder at a terrible fine rate. And haven’t I been huzzaing for you there till I’m hoarse? So I am, and just stepped away to suck an orange for my voice—(sucks an orange.) I am a thorough going friend, at anyrate.
Talb. Now, Rory, you are the best fellow in the world, and a thorough going friend; but have a care, or you’ll get yourself and me into some scrape, before you have done with this violent thorough going work.
Rory. Never fear! never fear, man!—a warm frind and a bitter enemy, that’s my maxim.
Talb. Yes, but too warm a friend is as bad as a bitter enemy.
Rory. Oh, never fear me! I’m as cool as a cucumber all the time; and whilst they tink I’m tinking of nothing in life but making a noise, I make my own snug little remarks in prose and verse, as—now my voice is after coming back to me, you shall hear, if you plase.
Talb. I do please.
Rory. I call it Rory’s song. Now, mind, I have a verse for everybody—o’ the leading lads, I mean; and I shall put ’em in or lave ’em out, according to their inclinations and deserts, wise-a-wee to you, my little frind. So you comprehend it will be Rory’s song, with variations.
Talbot and Lord John. Let’s have it; let’s have it without further preface.
Rory sings.
“I’m true game to the last, and no Wheeler for me.”