Pat. No, sir, but my rival is.

Fit. Oh, you've a rival?

Put. I have, sir.

Fit. Now for a character of myself. [Aside.] Some rich rascal, I suppose?

Pat. Sir, I envy his riches only, because they give him a superior claim to my Norah, and for your other epithet, I'm sure he don't deserve it.

Fit. How so?

Nor. Because he's an officer, and there.ore a man honour.

Fit. It's a pity, my friend, that you're not an officer: you seem to know so well what an officer should bepray, have you been in any action?

Pat. I have seen some service in America, sir.

Fit. Carolina?

Pat. Yes, sir; I was at the crossing of Beattie's Ford. Fit. [With emotion.] Indeed!

Pat. I'd an humble share, too, in our victory of the 15th March at Guildford, under our brave officers, Webster, Leslie, and Tarleton.

Fit. Were you in the action at Beattie's Ford?

Pat. Here's my witness. [Takes off his hat.] I received this wound in the rescue of an officer.

Fit. By heav'n! the very soldier that saved my life. [Aside.] Then I suppose he rewarded you handsomely? Pat. I looked for no reward, sir. I fought-'twas my duty as a soldier: to protect a fall'n man was but an office of humanity.-Good morning to your honour.— Fit. Where are you going now, my friend? Pat. To abandon my country for ever.

Fit. [Aside.] Poor fellow! -But, my lad, I think you'd best keep the field; for, if the girl likes you, she'll certainly prefer you to your wealthy rival.

Pat. And, for that reason, I'll resign her to him. As I love her, I'll leave her to the good fortune she merits; 'twould be only love to myself, should I involve her in my indigence.

Fit. Well, but, my lad, take my advice, and see the girl once again before you go.

་

Pat. Sir, I'm oblig'd to you-you must be a goodnatur'd gentleman, and I'll take your advice.--I will venture to see my Norah once more, for, if even Father Luke turns me out of his house, I shan't be much disappointed.

AIR. PATRICK.

Farewell, my dear Norah, adieu to sweet peace,— Ah! say, cruel fate, when my sorrow shall cease; I fear'd neither musket, nor cannon, nor sword,Farewell! is my terror, for death's in that word: Yet, farewell to Norah, adieu to sweet peace,Ah! say, cruel fate, when my sorrow shall cease. [Exit Patrick, R. Fit. What a noble spirit-there let the embroider'd epaulet take a cheap lesson of bravery, honour, and generosity, from sixpence a day and worsted lace."

Enter Boy with a letter, L.

Boy. Pray, sir, are you the man in the red coat? Fit. Ha, ha, ha! Why, yes, my little hero, I think I am the man in the red coat.

Boy. Then, Darby desir'd me to give you that.

-

duty

[Exit, unperceived, L. Fit. [Opening the letter.] Darby! a new correspondent.[Reads.]" This comes hopping, bound." A curious challenge; and pray, my little friend, where is this Mr. Darby. [Looks round.] Eh! why, the herald is off-my Norah seems to have plenty of lovers here-but how has my attachment transpired? "Seven o'clock--in the Elm Grove"-Well, we shall see what sort of stuff Mr. Darby is made of.

AIR. FITZROY, C.

Thou little cheat, return my heart,

For, if you've lost your own,

"Tis but at best a roguish art
To coax poor me with mine to part,
And yours for ever gone.

Hence, ye graces, smiles, and loves-
Tender sigh and falling tear;

Venus, harness all thy doves,-
Cupid, quit thy mansion here.

Heal my wound, and sooth my pain,-
Rosy Bacchus, cheer my soul;

If the urchin comes again,
Drown him in thy flowing bowl.

[Exit, R.

SCENE II.-Landscape, and Outside of Dermot's Cot

tage, R. S. E.

Enter FATHER LUKE and DERMOT, L.

F. Luke. Well, now, Dermot, I've come to your house with you-what is this business?

Der. Oh, sir, I'll tell you.

F. Luke. Unburden your conscience to me, child— speak freely--you know I'm your spiritual confessor, so I must examine into the state of your soul-tell me— have you tapp'd the barrel of ale yet?

Der. That I have, sir, and you shall taste it.

[Exit into the House, R. V. E. F. Luke. Ay, he wants to come round me for my ward, Kathlane. A wheedling son of a—

Re-enter DERMOT with ale, from House, R. S. E.

My dear child, what's that?

Der. Only your favourite brown jug, sir.

F. Luke. [Taking it.] Now, child, why will you do these things?. [Drinks. Der. [Aside.] I'll prime him well before I mention Kathlane. It's a hard heart that a sup can't soften.

F. Luke. I think, Dermot, that jug and I are old acquaintance.

Der. That you are, indeed, sir.

AIR.-DERMOT.

Dear sir, this brown jug, that now foams with mild ale,
Out of which I now drink to sweet Kate of the Vale,
Was once Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul,
As e'er crack'd a bottle, or fathom'd a bowl:
In boozing about, 'twas his praise to excel,
And amongst jolly topers he bore off the bell.

His body, when long in the ground it had lain,
And time into clay had resolv'd it again,

A potter found out in its covert so snug,

And with part of old Toby he form'd this brown jug,
Now sacred to friendship, to mirth and mild ale,—
So here's to my lovely sweet Kate of the Vale.

[Exit into the House, R. S. E.

Enter DARBY, L.

Dar. (c.) How do you do, Father Luke?

F. Luke. (R. C.) Go away, Darby,-you're a rogue. Dar. Father Luke, consent that I shall marry Kathlane.

F. Luke. You marry Kathlane, you reprobate!

Dar. Give her to me, and I'll give your rev'rence a sheep.

F. Luke. Oh, well, I always thought you were a boy that wou'd come to good-a sheep!-You shall have Kathlane-You've been very wicked.

Dar. Not I, sir.

F. Luke, What! an't I your priest, and know what wickedness is--but repent it and marry.

Dar. Yes, sir, I'll marry and repent it.

AIR.-FATHER LUKE.

You know I'm your priest, and your conscience is mine,
But, if you grow wicked, it's not a good sign;
So leave off your raking, and marry a wife,
And then, my dear Darby, you're settled for life.
Sing, Ballynomona Oro,

A good merry wedding for me.

The banns being publish'd, to chapel we go,
The bride and the bridegroom in coats white as snow;
So modest her air, and so sheepish your look,
You out with your ring, and I pull out my book.
Sing, Ballynomona Oro,

A good merry wedding for me.

I thumb out the place, and I then read away,—
She blushes at love, and she whispers obey;
You take her dear hand to have and to hoid,
I shut up my book, and I pocket your gold.

Sing, Ballynomona Oro,

The snug little guinea for me.

The neighbours wish joy to the bridegroom and bride; The piper before us, you march side by side;

A plentiful dinner gives mirth to each face,

The piper plays up, myself I say grace.

Sing, Ballynomona Oro.

A good wedding dinner for me.

F. Luke. You, my dear boy, shall have Kathlane, and

here she comes.

Dar. [Bowing.] Thank you, sir.

[Both retire, L.

Enter KATHLANE, R., with a bird in a cage ̧

AIR-KATHLANE, C.

Sweet bird, I caught thee in thy nest,
And fondling plac'd thee in my breast:
When thou wert helpless, weak, and young,
Urfledg'd, thou couldst not wing the air
I cherish thee with tender care,―

Be grateful-pay me with a song.

Ah! what to thee are groves and fields,
The tempting gifts gay Flora yields--
Why pant and flutter to be free?
Ten thousand dangers are abroad;
Then in thy small, but safe abode,

Content and cheerful sing for me.

Thou think'st not of the various ills,
The wintry blast that often kills,--
I'd fain thy little life prolong;
The ruffian hawk prescribes its date,
The levell'd gun is charg'd with fate,

Here brave them in thy warbling song.

[Father Luke and Darby advance, L.

Kat. [To Father Luke.] Is Dermot within, sir? F. Luke. Kathlane, don't think of Dermot. [Makes signs to Darby.] Go to her, man; put your best leg fore

most.

Dar. Oh, I must go and give her a kiss. [Kisses her.] He, he, he!--what sweet lips! he, he, he !-Speak for me, sir.

F. Luke. Hem !-Child Kathlane. [Aside to Darby.] Is the sheep fat?

Dar. As bacon!

F. Luke. Child, this boy will make you a good husband, won't you, Darby?

Dar. Yes, sir.

Kat. Indeed, Father Luke, I'll have nobody but Dermot.

F. Luke. I tell you, child, Dermot's an ugly man and a bad Christian.