_Mrs. Brul._ There's a hog;--for he's as drunk as one, I know, by his beastly bawling.

_Enter DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY, singing._

_Whack doodlety bob,_ _Sing pip._

_Mrs. Brul._ "Sing pip," indeed! sing sot! and that's to your old tune.

_Mary._ Hav'n't you got an answer?

_Mrs. Brul._ Hav'n't you got drunk?

_Dennis._ Be aisy, and you'll see what I've got in a minute.

[_Pulls a Bottle from his Pocket._

_Mrs. Brul._ What's that?

_Dennis._ Good Madeira, it was, when the butler at the big house gave it me. It jolts so over the heath, if I hadn't held it to my mouth, I'd have wasted half. [_Puts it on the Table._]--There, Miss, I brought it for you; and I'll get a gla.s.s from the cupboard, and a plate for this paper of sweet cakes, that the gentlefolks eat, after dinner in the desert.

_Mary._ But, tell me if--

_Dennis._ [_Running to the Cupboard._] Eat and drink, my jewel; and my discourse shall serve for the seasoning. Drink now, my pretty one! [_Fills a Gla.s.s._] for you have had nothing, I'll be bound.--Och, by the powers! I know the ways of ould mother Brulgruddery.

_Mrs. Brul._ Old mother Brulgruddery!

_Dennis._ Don't mind her;--take your prog;--she'd starve a saint.

_Mrs. Brul._ I starve a saint!

_Dennis._ Let him stop at the Red Cow, as plump as a porker, and you'd send him away, in a week, like a weasel.--Bite maccaroony, my darling! [_Offering the Plate to MARY._

_Mary._ I thank you.

_Dennis._ 'Faith, no merit of mine; 'twas the butler that stole it:--take some. [_Lets the Plate fall._] Slips by St. Patrick!

_Mrs. Brul._ [_Screaming._] Our best china plate broke all to shivers!

_Dennis._ Delf, you deceiver; delf. The cat's dining dish, rivetted.

_Mary._ Pray now, let me hear your news.

_Dennis._ That I will.--Mrs. Brulgruddery, I take the small liberty of begging you to get out, my lambkin.

_Mrs. Brul._ I shan't budge an inch. She needn't be asham'd of any thing that's to be told, if she's what she should be.

_Mary._ I know what I should be, if I were in your place.

_Mrs. Brul._ Marry come up! And what should you be then?

_Mary._ More compa.s.sionate to one of my own s.e.x, or to any one in misfortune. Had you come to me, almost broken hearted, and not looking like one quite abandoned to wickedness, I should have thought on your misery, and forgot that it might have been brought on by your faults.

_Dennis._ At her, my little crature! By my soul, she'll bother the ould one!--'Faith, the Madeira has done her a deal of service!

_Mrs. Brul._ What's to be said, is said before _me_; and that's flat.

_Mary._ Do tell it, then, [_To DENNIS._] but, for others' sakes, don't mention names. I wish to hide nothing now, on my own account; though the money that was put down for me, before you would afford me shelter, I thought might have given me a little more t.i.tle to hear a private message.

_Mrs. Brul._ I've a character, for virtue, to lose, young woman.

_Dennis._ When that's gone, you'll get another--that's of a d.a.m.n'd impertinent landlady. Sure, she has a right to her parlour; and hav'n't I brought her cash enough to swallow up the Red Cow's rent for these two years?

_Mrs. Brul._ Have you!--Well, though the young lady misunderstands me, it's always my endeavour to be respectful to gentlefolks.

_Dennis._ Och, botheration to the respect that's bought, by knocking one shilling against another, at an inn! Let the heart keep open house, I say; and if charity is not seated inside of it, like a beautiful barmaid, it's all a humbug to stick up the sign of the christian.

_Mrs. Brul._ I'm sure Miss shall have any thing she likes, poor dear thing! There's one chicken--

_Dennis._ A chicken!--Fie on your double barbarity! Would you murder the tough dunghill c.o.c.k, to choke a customer?--A certain person, that shall be nameless, will come to you in the course of this day, either by himself, or by friend, or by handwriting.

_Mary._ And not one word--not one, by letter, now?

_Dennis._ Be asey--won't he be here soon? In the mean time, here's nineteen guineas, and a seven shilling piece, as a bit of a postscript.

_Mrs. Brul._ Nineteen guineas and----

_Dennis._ Hold your gab, woman.--Count them, darling!-- [_Putting them on the Table--MARY counts the Money._

_Mrs. Brul._ [_Drawing DENNIS aside._] What have you done with the rest?

_Dennis._ The rest!

_Mrs. Brul._ Why, have you given her all?

_Dennis._ I'll tell you what, Mrs. Brulgruddery; it's my notion, in summing up your last accounts, that, when you begin to dot, ould Nick will carry one; and that's yourself, my lambkin.

_Shuff._ [_Without._] Holo? Red Cow!

_Dennis._ You are call'd, Mrs. Brulgruddery.

_Mrs. Brul._ I, you Irish bear!--Go, and [_Looking towards the window._]--Jimminy! a traveller on horseback! and the handsomest gentleman I ever saw in my life. [_Runs out._

_Mary._ Oh, then it must be he!

_Dennis._ No, 'faith, it isn't the young squire.

_Mary._ [_Mournfully._] No!

_Dennis._ There--he's got off the outside of his horse: it's that flashy spark I saw crossing the court yard, at the big house.--Here he is.

_Enter TOM SHUFFLETON._