“And surely ‘Boro’ must be a corruption of the Spanish word ‘Burro,’ which signifies ‘an ass’?”
Then Pat grew eloquent on the deeds of his great ancestor, who at the age of eighty gained a most glorious victory over the invading Danes on the celebrated plains of Clontarf. Equally eloquent was he also on the demerits of the Englishmen of that ancient time, until cried out the British sergeant with a fine scorn:
“I like to hear a fellow of your kind, with your beggarly Irish pride, talking of records and historical facts! Look to the history of your own country to learn its disgrace. What have you ever done or achieved except through murders, robbery, cruelty, bloodshed and treachery? Have you not always been fighting amongst yourselves, or against your masters, since we did you the honour of conquering you?”
“If we compare notes about murder and treachery, you need not fear being left in the background,” retorted the Irishman; “and as to the honour of being conquered, faith! I cannot cope with you in your dignities there, for I cannot deny that you have been honoured in that way by Romans, and by Danes, and by Saxons, and by Picts, and by Scots.”
“Your arguments,” at last said the Englishman, after some further exchange of historical fragments, “might pass without contempt had they not been delivered with such a disgusting brogue. I should recommend you to go back again to some charity school—I mean, in England.”
“If I intended to go to a charity school, it should certainly be in England. In my country it is only the destitute who go; but in yours it is the rich men who send their sons on to the ‘foundations’ of the public schools which were originally intended for the education of poor clergymen’s sons. With respect to my brogue, which you civilly term disgusting, it is our national accent and not disgusting to native ears, although to us the language is foreign. But I should like to know with what accent your countrymen spoke bastard French when it was crammed down their throats with a rod of iron for upwards of three hundred years?”
“A language does not go down the throat,” said the Englishman; “it comes up, at least in every other country except Ireland. I make you a present of the bull, although there is no necessity for the donation, for all bulls are Irish.”
“How are all bulls Irish?”
“Because England, your mother-country, has ceded all bulls to you as being legitimately Irish.”
“I don’t understand how you make out England to be our mother-country. Step-mother is the proper term to give her; and, faith! a true step-mother she has proved herself to be.”