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that, and like our family. I never saw lady O'Nale, your mother-in-law, who, poor crater, is dead, and can never be a mother-in-law again, till the week before I married her; and I did not care if I had never seen her then; which is a comfort, too, in case of death, or accidents in life.

Whit. But you don't understand me, Sir Pa

Sir Pat. Mr. Whizzle, your humble servant. -It gives me great pleasure, that an old jontleman of your property will have the honour of being united with the family of the O'Nales! We have been too much jontlemen not to spend our estate, as you have made yourself a kind of jon-trick. I saytleman by getting one. One runs out one way, and t'other runs in another; which makes them both meet at last, and keeps up the balance of Europe.

Whit. I am much obliged to you, Sir Patrick; I am an old gentlemen, you say true; and I was thinking

Sir Pat. And I was thinking, if you were ever so old, my daughter can't make you young again: She has as rich tine thick blood in her veins as any in all Ireland. I wish you had a swate crater of a daughter like mine, that we might make a double cross of it.

Whit. That would be a double cross, indeed!

[Aside. Sir Pat. Though I was miserable enough with my first wife, who had the devil of a spirit-and the very model of her daughter-yet a brave man never shrinks from danger, and I may have better luck another time.

Whit. Yes; but I am no brave man, Sir Patrick; and I begin to shrink already.

Sir Pat. I say, how can that be, when we both spake English?

Whit. But you mistake my meaning, and don't comprehend me.

Sir Pat. Then you don't comprehend yourself, Mr. Whizzle; and I have not the gift of prophecy to find out, after you have spoke, what never was in you.

Whit. Let me entreat you to attend to me a little.

Sir Pat. I do attend, man; I don't interrupt you-out with it?

Whit. Your daughter-

Sir Pat. Your wife that is to be. Go onWhit. My wife that is not to be-Zounds! will you hear me?

Sir Pat. To be, or not to be, is that the question? I can swear, too, if he wants a little of that.

Whit. Dear Sir Patrick, hear me! I confess myself unworthy of her; I have the greatest regard for you, Sir Patrick; I should think myself honoured by being in your family; but there are many reasons

Sir Pat. To be sure, there are many reasons why an old man should not marry a young woman; but that was your business, and not mine. you

Sir Pat. I have bred her up in great subjection; she is as tame as a young colt, and as tinder as a sucking chicken. You will find her a true jontlewoman; and so knowing, that you can teach her nothing: She brings every thing but money, and you have enough of that, if have nothing else; and that is what I call the balance of things.

Whit. But I have heen considering your daughter's great deserts, and my great ageSir Pat. She's a charming crater; I would venture to say that, if I was not her father. Whit. I say, sir, as I have been considering your daughter's great deserts, and as I own I have great demerits

Sir Pat. To be sure you have; but you can't help that: And if my daughter was to mention any thing of a fleering at your age, or your stinginess, by the balance of power, but I would make her repate it a hundred times to your face, to make her ashamed of it. But mum, old jontleman, the devil a word of your infirmities will she touch upon: I have brought her up to softness, and to gentleness, as a kitten to new milk; she will spake nothing but no and yes, as if she were dumb; and no tame rabbit or pigeon will keep house, or be more inganious with her needle and tambourine.

Whit. She is vastly altered then, since I saw her last, or I have lost my senses; and, in either case, we had much better, since I must speak plain, not come together.

Sir Pat. Till you are married, you mane? With all my heart, it is the more gentale for

Whit. I have wrote a letter to your daughter, which I was in hopes you had seen, and brought me an answer to it.

Sir Pat. What the devil, Mr. Whizzle! do you make a letter-porter of me? Do you imagine, you dirty fellow, with your cash, that Sir Patrick O'Nale would carry your letters? I would have you know that I despise your letters, and all that belong to them; nor would I carry a letter to the king, Heaven bless him! unless it came from myself.

Whit. But dear Sir Patrick, don't be in a passion for nothing.

Sir Pat. What! is it nothing to make a penny postman of me? But I'll go to my daughter directly, for I have not seen her to-day; and if I find that you have written any thing that I won't understand, I shall take it as an affront to my family; and you shall either let out the noble blood of the O'Nales, or I will spill the last drop of the red puddle of the Whizzles. [Going, and returns.] Harkye, you Mr. Whizzle, Wheezle, Whistle, what's your name? You must not stir, till I come back; if you offer to ate, drink, or sleep, till my honour is satisfied, 'twill be the worst male that you ever took in your life; you had better fast a year, and die at the end of six months, than dare to

lave your house. So now, Mr. Weezle, you are to d as you plase. [Exit SIR PA Whit. Now the devil is at work, indeed! If some miracle don't save me, I shall run mad, like my nephew, and have a long Irish sword through me into the bargain. While I am in my senses, I won't have the woman: and therefore, he that is out of them shall have her, if I give half my fortune to make the match. Thomas!


Whit. Sad work, Thomas!

Tho. Sad work, indeed! why would you think of marrying? I knew what it would come to. Whit. Why, what is it come to? Th. It is in all in the papers.

Whit. So much the better; then nobody will believe it.

Tho. But they come to me to inquire.
Whit. And you contradict it?

Tho. What signifies that? I was telling Lady Gabble's footman at the door just now, that it was all a lie; and your nephew looks out of the two-pair-of-stairs window, with eyes all on fire, and tells the whole story: Upon that, there gathered such a mob !

Whit. I shall be murdered, and have my house pulled down into the bargain!

Tho. It is all quiet again. I told them the young man was out of his senses, and that you were out of town; so they went away quietly, and said they would come and mob you another


Whit. Thomas, what shall I do ?

Tho. Nothing you have done, if you will have matters mend.

Whit. I am out of my depth, and you won't lend me your hand to draw me out.

Tho. You are out of your depth to fail in love; swim away as fast as you can; you'll be drowned, if you marry.

Whit. I'm frightened out of my wits. Yes, yes, 'tis all over with me; I must not stir out of my house; but am ordered to stay to be murdered in it, for aught I know. What are you muttering, Thomas? Pr'ythee speak out, and comfort me!

Tho. It is all a judgment upon you; because your brother's foolish will says, the young man must have your consent, you won't let him have her, but will marry the widow yourself! That's the dog in the manger; you can't eat the oats, and won't let those who can.

Whit. But I consent that he shall have both the widow and the fortune, if we can get him into his right senses.

Tho. For fear I should lose mine, I'll get out of bedlam as soon as possible; you must provide yourself with another servant.

Whit. The whole earth conspires against me! You shall stay with me till I die, and then you shall have a good legacy; and I won't live long, I promise you! [Knocking at the door.

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Enter WIDOW, as LIEUTENANT O'NEALE, seemingly fluttered, and putting up his sword, THOMAS following.

Tho. I hope you are not hurt, captain?

Wid. O not at all, at all; 'tis well they run away, or I should have made them run faster; I shall teach them how to snigger, and look through glasses at their betters. These are your Maccaroons, as they call themselves: By my soul, but I would have stood till I had overtaken them. These whipper-snappers look so much more like girls in breeches, than those I see in petticoats, that fait and trot, it is a pity to hurt them: The fair sex in London here, seem the most masculine of the two. But to business: friend, where is your master?

Tho. There, captain; I hope he has not offended you.

Wid. If you are impartinent, sir, you will of fend me. Lave the room.

Tho. I value my life too much not to do that. -What a raw-boned Tartar! I wish he had not been caught and sent here.

[Aside to his master, and exit. Whit. Her brother, by all that's terrible! And as like her as two tygers! I sweat at the sight of him; I'm sorry Thomas is gone-He has been quarrelling already.

Wid. Is your name Whittol?
Whit. My name is Whittle, not Whittol.

Wid. We shan't stand for trifles-And you were born and christened by the name of Thomas?

Whit. So they told me, sir.

Wid. Then they told no lies, fait! so far, so good. Takes out a letter.]—Do you know that hand-writing?

Whit. As well as I know this good friend of mine, who helps me upon such occasions.

[Showing his right hand, and smiling. Wid. You had better not show your teeth, sir, till we come to the jokes-the hand-writing is yours?

Whit. Yes, sir, it is mine.

[Sighs. Wid. Death and powder! What do you sigh for? are you ashamed or sorry for your handywork?

Whit. Partly one, partly t'other.

Wid. Will you be plased, sir, to rade it aloud, that you may know it again when you

bare it?

Whit. [Takes his letter and reads.] Madam Wid. Would you be plased to let us know what madam you mane? for women of quality, and women of no quality, and women of all qualities, are so mixt together, that you don't know one from t'other, and are all called madams. You should always read the subscription before you open the letter.

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Wid. In answer to this love epistle, you pitiful fellow, my sister presents you with her tinderest wishes: and assures you, that you have, as you desire, her pity, and she generously throws her contempt, too, into the bargain.

Whit. I'm infinitely obliged to her. Wid. I must beg lave, in the name of all our family, to present the same to you.

Whit. I am ditto to all the family.

Wid. But as a brache of promise to any of our family was never suffered without a brache into somebody's body, I have fixed upon myself to be your operator; and I believe that you will find that I have as fine a hand at this work, and will give you as little pain, as any in the three kingdoms. [Sits down and loosens her knee bands. Whit. For Heaven's sake, captain, what are you about?

Wid. I always loosens ny garters for the advantage of lunging: it is for your sake as well as my own; for I will be twice through your body before you shall feel me once.

Whit. What a bloody fellow it is! I wish Thomas would come in.

Wid. Come, sir, prepare yourself; you are Whit. I beg your pardon, sir. I don't like not the first, by half a score, that I have run this ceremony. [Aside.] To Mrs. Brady in Pall-through and through the heart, before they knew


Wid. Now prosade-Fire and powder, but I would

Whit. Sir! what's the matter?

Wid. Nothing at all, sir; pray go on.

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Whit. [Reads.] Madam, as I prefer your happiness, to the indulgence of my own pas

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what was the matter with them.

Whit. But, captain, suppose I will marry your sister?

Wid. I have not the laste objection, if you recover of your wounds, Callagon O'Connor lives very happy with my great aunt, Mrs. Dea small asthma he got by my running him borah O'Nale, in the county of Galway; except through the lungs at the Curragh: He would have forsaken her, if I had not stopped his perfidy, by a famous family styptic I have here. O ho! my little old boy, but you shall get it. [Draws. Whit. What shall I do?-Well, sir, if I Whit. I must confess, that I am unworthy must, I must: I'll meet you to-morrow morning of your charms and virtuesin Hyde-Park, let the consequence be what it will.

Wid. I will not prefer your happiness to the indulgence of my passions-Mr. Whittol;

rade on.

Wid. Very unworthy, indeed.


Rade on, Whit. I have for some days had a severe struggle between my justice and my passion’—

Wid. I have had no struggle at all: My justice and passion are agreed.

Whit. The former has prevailed; and I beg leave to resign you, with all your accomplishments, to some more deserving, though not more admiring servant, than your most miserable and devoted,'


Wid. And miserable and devoted you shall be-To the postscript; rade on.

Wid. For fear you might forget that favour, I must beg to be indulged with a little pushing now. I have set my heart upon it; and two birds in hand, is worth one in the bushes, Mr. Whittol-Come, sir.

Whit. But I have not settled my matters. Wid. O we'll settle them in a trice, I warrant you. [Puts herself in a position. Whit. But I don't understand the sword; I had rather fight with pistols.

Wid. I am very happy it is in my power to oblige you. There, sir, take your choice: I will plase you if I can. [Offers pistols.

Whit. Out of the pan into the fire! there's no putting him off. If I had chosen poison, I dare swear he had arsenic in his pocket. Look ye,

young gentleman, I am an old man, and you'll get no credit by killing me; but I have a nephew as young as yourself, and you'll get more honour in facing him.

Wid. Ay, and more pleasure too -I expect ample satisfaction from him, after I have done your business. Prepare, sir!

Whit. What the devil! won't one serve your turn? I can't fight, and I won't fight: I'll do any thing rather than fight. I'll marry your sister. My nephew shall marry her: I'll give him all my fortune. What would the fellow have? Here, Nephew! Thomas! murder, murder!

[He flies, and she pursues.


Neph. What's the matter, uncle? Whit. Murder, that's all; That ruffian there would kill me, and eat me afterwards.

Neph. I'll fine a way to cool him! Come out, sir, I am as mad as yourself. I'll match you, I warrant you. [Going out with him.

Wid. I'll follow you all the world over. [Going after him. Whit. Stay, stay, nephew: you shan't fight: We shall be exposed all over the town; and you may lose your life, and I shall be cursed from morning to night. Do, nephew, make yourself and me happy; be the olive-branch, and bring peace into my family. Return to the widow. I will give you my consent, and your fortune, and a fortune for the widow! five thousand pounds! Do persuade him, Mr. Bates.

Bates. Do sir; this is a very critical point of your life. I know you love her; 'tis the only inethod to restore us all to our senses.

Neph. I must talk in private first with this hot young gentleman.

Wid. As private as you plase, sir.

Whit. Take their weapons away, Mr. Bates: and do you follow me to my study to witness my proposal: It is all ready, and only wants signing. Come along, come along! [Exit. Bates. Victoria, victoria! give me your swords and pistols: And now do your worst, you spirited, loving, young couple; I could leap out of my skin! [Exit. Tho. [Peeing in.] Joy, joy to you, ye fond, charming pair! the fox is caught, and the young lambs may skip and play. I leave you to your transports! [Exit. Neph. O my charming widow, what a day have we gone through!

Wid. I would go through ten times as much to deceive an old amorous spark like your uncle, to purchase a young one like his nephew.

Neph. I listened at the door all this last scene; my heart was agitated with ten thousand fears. Suppose my uncle had been stout, and drawn his sword?

Wid. I should have run away as he did. When two cowards meet, the struggle is, who

shall run first; and sure I can beat an old man at any thing.

Neph. Permit me thus to seal my happiness; [Kisses her hand.] and be assured, that I am as sensible as I think myself undeserving of it.

Wid. I'll tell you what, sir; were I not sure you deserved some pains, I would not have taken any pains for you: And don't imagine now, because I have gone a little too far for the man I love, that I shall go a little too far when I'm your wife. Indeed I shan't: I have done more than I should before I am your wife, because I was in despair; but I won't do as much as I may when I am your wife, though every Irish woman is fond of imitating English fashions.

Neph. Thou divine adorable woman!
[Kneels and kisses her hand.


Bates. Confusion! [Aside. Whit. [Turning to BATES.] Hey-day! I am afraid his head is not right yet! he was kneeling, and kissing the captain's hand.

[Aside to BATES. Bates. Take no notice; all will come about.

[Aside to WHITILE. kissing better than fighting: he swears I am as Wid. I find, Mr. Whittol, your family loves like my sister as two pigeons. I could excuse his raptures, for I would rather fight the best friend I have, than slobber and salute him à la Françoise.


Sir Pat. I hope, Mr. Whizzle, you'll excuse my coming back to give you an answer, without having any to give. I hear a grate dale of news about myself, and came to know if it be true. They say my son is in London, when he tells me himself by letter here, that he's at Limerick; and I have been with my daughter to tell her the news, but she would not stay at home to receive it, so I am come-O gra ma chree, my little din ousil craw, what have we got here? a piece of mummery! Here is my son and daughter too, fait! What, are you wearing the breeches, Pat, to see how they become you when you are Mrs. Weezel?

Wid. I beg your pardon for that, sir! I wear them before marriage, because I think they be come a woman better than after.

Whit. What, is not this your son? [Astonished. Sir Pat. No, but it is my daughter, and that's the same thing.

Wid. And your niece, sir, which is better than either.

Whit. Mighty well! and I suppose you have not lost your wits, young man!

Neph. 1 sympathize with you, sir; we lost

them together, and found them at the same


Whit. Here's villainy! Mr. Bates, give me the paper. Not a farthing shall they have, till the law gives it them.

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Bates. We'll cheat the law, and give it them [Gives NEPHEW the paper. Whit, He may take his own, but he shan't have a sixpence of the five thousand pounds I promised him.

Bates. Witness, good folks, he owns to the promise.

Sir Pat. Fait! I'll witness dat, or any thing else in a good cause.

Whit. What am I choused again?

Bates. Why should not my friend be choused out of a little justice for the first time? Your hard usage has sharpened your nephew's wits; therefore beware, don't play with edge-tools

you'll only cut your fingers.

Sir Pat. And your trote, too: which is all one: Therefore, to make all azy, marry my daughter first, and then quarrel with her afterwards; that will be in the natural course of things.

Whit. Here, Thomas! where are you?


Whit. Here are fine doings! I am deceived, tricked, and cheated!

Tho. I wish you joy, sir; the best thing could have happened to you; and, as a faithful servant, I have done my best to check you. Whit. To check me!

Tho. You were galloping full speed, and down hill, too! and, if we had not laid hold of the bridle, being a bad jockey, you would have hung by your horns in the stirrup, to the great joy of the whole town.

Whit. What, have you helped to trick me? Tho. Into happiness. You have been foolish a long while, turn about, and be wise. He has got the woman and his estate. Give them your blessing, which is not worth much, and live like

a Christian for the future.

Whit. I will if I can: But I can't look at them; I can't bear the sound of my voice, nor the sight of my own face. Look ye, I am distressed and distracted! and can't come to yet! I will be reconciled, if possible: but don't let me see or hear from you, if you would have me forget and forgive you-I shall never lift up my head again!

if you won't trouble me with your afflictions, I shall sincerely rejoice at your felicity.

Neph. It would be a great abatement of my present joy, could I believe that this lady should be assisted in her happiness, or be supported in her afflictions, by any one but her lover and husband.

Sir Pat. Fine notions are fine tings, but a fine estate gives every ting but ideas; and them too, if you will appale to those who help you to spend it-What say you, widow?

Wid. By your and their permission, I will tell my mind to this good company; and for fear my words should want ideas too, I will add an Irish tune, that may carry off a bad voice and bad matter.


A widow bewitched with her passion,
Though Irish, is now quite ashamed,
To think that she's so out of fashion,
To marry, and then to be tamed:
'Tis love, the dear joy,
That old fashioned boy,
Has got in my breast with his quiver;
The blind urchin he

Struck the Cush la maw cree,
And a husband secures me for ever!

Ye fair ones I hope will excuse me ;
Though vulgar, pray do not abuse me ;
I cannot become a fine lady,

O love has bewitched Widow Brady.

Ye critics, to murder so willing,

Pray see all our errors with blindness;
For once change your method of killing,
And kill a fond widow with kindness.

If you look so severe,
In a fit of despair,
Again I will draw forth my steel, sirs:
You know I've the art,

To be twice through your heart,
Before I can once make you feel, sirs.
Brother soldiers, I hope you'll protect me,
Nor let cruel critics dissect me;
To favour my cause be but ready,
And grateful you'll find Widow Brady.

Ye leaders of dress and the fashions,
Who gallop post-haste to your ruin,
Whose taste has destroyed all
your passions,
Pray what do you think of my wooing?
You call it damned low,


Your heads and arms so, listless, so loose, and so lazy;

But pray, what can you

That I cannot do?

Wid. I hope, Sir Patrick, that my preferring the nephew to the uncle will meet with your approbation; Though we have not so much money, we shall bave more love; one mind, and half a purse in marriage, are much better than two minds and two purses. I did O fie my dear craters be azy! not come to England, nor keep good company, till it was too late to get rid of my country prejudices.

Sir Pat. You are out of my hands, Pat; so,

[Mimicks them.

Ye patriots and courtiers so hearty,
To speech it, and vote for your party;
For once be both constant and steady,
And vote to support Widow Brady.

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