SCENE, A Country Village.

FOR ſhame, Darby—Stay where you are—I hate to have any one by when I'm talking to my ſweetheart.

Now I always like to be by when I'm talk⯑ing to my ſweetheart.

Oh, that I was ſo unfortunate as to think her a pretty girl!

Upon my ſoul now, ſhe is grown very un⯑civil, for ſhe turns up her noſe at me.

I know one ſhe will have—the old ſoldier.

Is ſome old Frenchman to take the girl from poor Darby!

—I never dream but of poor Kathleen—But here we are under the window—Father Luke threatened poor Pat, that if he came to his ward, Norah, he would put him into the biſhop's court, and therefore, Pat, full of grief and vexation, went for a ſoldier.

Holeo! Kathleen—ſhe little dreams that her Dermot's under the window.

That ſinging would not wake an owl out of her ſleep.—I'll try.

Who is that?—Dermot?

Yes I am—Darby.

Stay I'll come down.

Oh, I knew I ſhould bring her down—I am a fine markſman.

So you muſt come ſinging at my window, but I tell you once for all, I won't have you—as I hope for man I won't.

That's a good joke!—hope for man, and not have me.

I'll tell you.

Have I not every thing comfortable about me? —A ſnug farm, heifers, and ſheep, and a pad to ride on to chapel on Sunday, and a potatoe garden to walk in on a week day—only look at me—I am as right a fellow as you have ever ſeen.

Don't think of talking to me.—Do you know that I am an heireſs?

You are a tight little heifer.—I believe your father, old Jorum, who kept the alehouſe, left you well enough in the world, as a body may ſay.

Left me well enough indeed!—Did he not leave me a great ſum of money, a matter of 11l. half a barrel of ale untapped, half a dozen plates, a three-legged ſtool, and a bald filly to ride on?

Now ſhe is got upon her bald filly, the devil himſelf would not take her down.

Now I am an heireſs, a huſband I'll have, this night, if I can.

SCENE II. A Country Houſe and Wood.

Here's the houſe that contains my charming Norah, I ſhall ſoon rouſe them, I warrant.

As I live that's the gentleman my guardian is always teazing me about.

My charming Norah, let us haſte from this place,—and our cares ſhall be few.

I cannot ſtay.

Perhaps my Norah will take a walk with me.—See the garden is yonder—The fine morning with you is charming, but appears to me nothing without you.

Pray, Sir, permit me to withdraw, as our villagers are very cenforious, and our being ſeen to⯑gether will neither add to your honour, or my repu⯑tation.

Monſieur—Monſieur!

What do you want?

I came to tell you—bleſs my ſoul, I run ſo faſt—I came to tell you—I am out of breath—it is all blown.

What's blown?—My love affair I ſuppoſe.

De Mareſchall Powder is all blown out of de vindow.

Then you muſt ſend to town for more.

I think I do very well, in the very village where I was born the people take me for a Frenchman, though I do not know one word of French.—Here lives my old ſweetheart Norah! O my dear Norah!

Once more returned to my native village after two long years abſence.—Up to the heart in love, and not a ſix-pence in my pocket.

Odds zounds—I am glad to ſee you—What my ſoldier returned?—How are you, my old friend?

I thank you, I am bravely.—How fares it?

Purely—except one thing—a cow ſtrayed from me laſt week.

How does my dear Norah?

She is very well.—How came you to liſt for a ſoldier?

When her uncle would not give his approba⯑tion to my marriage with Norah, and I could not have her without his conſent, I lifted for a ſoldier.

Well, and how do you like being a ſoldier?

A ſoldier is the fineſt life in the world.

Then how happy you live.

We will have all the neighbours here to day. A ſoldier's is a happy life.

Will you be a ſoldier?—then come with me, and I will introduce you to the ſerjeant.

Ecod, with all my heart, I think I ſhould look very well in regimentals.

Let me ſee how this hat will become you.

What cut is that on your forehead?

Only a wound I got in battle in endeavouring to ſave my captain's life—I was left for dead in the field of battle, bleeding in my country's cauſe—there was glory for you.

So they found you bleeding in your glory—here take your hat—I don't think regimentals would become me at all.

Why, what's the matter?

Nothing, only it's ſo conceited for a man to wear a black patch. Good bye, Pat.

Where are you going? This is the way to the ſerjeant's.

No, no, this is the way to my ſerjeant's—the devil row-de-dow me if you get me to be a ſoldier.

Now for my charming Norah! and then for a pitcher of friendſhip with all my acquaintances.

SCENE, Inſide of Father Luke's Houſe.

MADEMOISELLE Norah, open de door if you pleaſe.

Begone about your buſineſs.

My dear Norah, give me une petite kiſs.

Where is my ſweet girl, my Norah?

O be gar, here be ſomebody coming, what ſhall me do! Begar me go hide myſelf in dis cloſet.

Begone about your buſineſs; deſire you will leave the houſe directly.

What is this I hear; ſure I know that voice — A pretty compliment after two years abſence!

Is it you, my deareſt Pat?

Sweet Norah, if I was ever dear to you.

If I was ever dear to you, how could you leave me then?—but judge of me by theſe tears.

My charming girl, what tears are theſe?

They are tears of joy at your return.

Ah pauvre Bagatelle!

I think I hear a noiſe.

If it ſhould be my uncle, what will become of me? for he's more averſe to our union than ever.

I'll ſlip into the cloſet.

How you do, Sir? me hope you very well.

Are theſe your ſighs for my ab⯑ſence, and tears of joy at my return, to be lock'd up with a raſcally hair-dreſſer.

Raſcal—hair dreſſer,—You ſhall give me ſatisfaction—You ſhall meet me with—

What, with your curling irons—away with you, or I will beat you while I can hold a ſplinter of Shillelah, or do you chuſe to walk out of the win⯑dow?

Sir, to oblige you, I will walk out of the window—but I had much rather walk down ſtairs.

Begone.—

Ah! my dear Norah, could I think you would be ſo unkind to me?

Could you think me falſe?

If I did, my heart is my own, however.

SCENE II. A Wood.

Monſieur Darby — Monſieur Darby?

I believe that's Monſieur Bag and Tail.

I am glad I find you, Darby,—I was hunt⯑ing you all over the village, and could not find you.

That's becauſe I am ſo wrapt up in love.

You muſt know I am going to kill Pat the ſoldier, and you muſt be my friend.

Had not you better kill Dermet, and then I'd be your friend?

Oh, but Pat the ſoldier has affront me—you ſhall be my ſecond.

Your ſecond!—could not you make me your third or fourth?

By gar, this be de lettre de moi.

Oh, what, you'll leather him more!

C'eſt une autre choſe.

What, I muſt get two other ſhoes!

C'eſt un barbare.

What, becauſe you're a barber!

Oh!—this is de lettre Lord Lofty's coach⯑man did write for me—You read, Darby.

Let me ſee—"This comes hopping"—Oh, I'll run all the way if that's all—‘This comes hopping you're in good health, as I am at this preſent writing:—Tho' you think yourſelf a great officer, you ſhall not make me walk out of the window. I will have Norah in ſpite of you. Meet me at the Elm Groves at ſeven o'clock to give me ſatisfaction; but not with curling irons. I am your's, as in duty bound.’

You ſee I will not ſign my name, becauſe I do avoid the law. You muſt carry it for me.

I'll take care Pat ſhall have it.

Well, now I have ſettled this affair d'hon⯑neur, I will go—bruſh my maſter's coat.

Since Pat is turned ſoldier, I will not give it him, for as he wanted Monſieur Bag and Tail to walk out of de window, he may perhaps want me to walk up the chimney—the boy at the public houſe ſhall give it him.—Oh! my Kathleen, you have made me fall in love, it would have been well for me if I had fallen into the river.

I find more danger in encountering the eyes of my charming girl, than in a battle; and can you prefer your poor ſoldier to all mankind?

You are only a common ſoldier in the army, but to me you are a field officer in my heart.

What! do I ſee my laſs in company with a common ſoldier?

You will be ſure to come at the time you promiſed.

I will—moſt happy am I!

Good morrow, brother ſoldier—A good hand⯑ſome girl that?

She is thought ſo, Sir.

You ſeem to be well with her.

Yes, ſir, but I fear I ſhall ſoon loſe her.

You have a rival then, I ſuppoſe.

I have, Sir.

Now for a picture of myſelf.

Some rich raſcal, I ſuppoſe?

I envy him not his riches—and as to your other epithet, I am ſure he does not deſerve it.

How ſo?

Becauſe he is an officer, and therefore a man of honour.

It is a pity you was not an officer! You have been in the ſervice?

Yes, I have ſeen ſome ſervice. I was wound⯑ed at the battle of Johnſon's Ford, in America, in ſaving my captain's life.

(As I live, the very man who ſaved my life in that engagement.)

I hope that you got your reward?

I looked for none; I did no more than my duty in fighting for my country, and in defending my captain.

Where are you going?

I am going from her I love; becauſe fortune prevents our union.

Take my advice,—go and ſee her once more.

Sir, you ſeem a good-natur'd gentleman, I will venture to ſee her again, ſince you adviſe me.

What a noble ſpirit! Let the embroider'd epaulet diſtinguiſh the officer: Let him take a leſſon from this man. There is more merit to be found, perhaps, under this worſted lace, than under gold or ſilver taſſels.

Are you the man in the red coat?

Yes, my boy, I believe I am the man in the red coat; what's your buſineſs with me?

Darby deſir'd me to give you this.

Who?

Darby.

Let's ſee? reads. ‘This comes, hopping you are in good health as I am at preſent. You think yourſelf a great officer; but you ſhall not make me walk out of the window again. I will have Norah in ſpite of you. Meet me at the Elm Groves, at ſeven o'clock, to give me ſatisfaction; but not with curling irons. I am your's, as in duty bound.’

This Norah ſeems to have a number of ad⯑mirers. And ſo, my little hero—heyday, the he⯑rald is off—Seven o'clock—Smyth, go and ſee what ſort of ſtuff this challenger is made of.

SCENE III. Outſide of Dermot's Houſe.

Well, now, Dermot, I'm come to your houſe with you—what is this buſineſs?

I tell you, Sir.

Aye do; ſpeak freely—unburden your conſcience the ſame as if—Have you tapp'd that barrel of ale yet?

Indeed I have, and you ſhall taſte it.

Aye, he wanted to come round me now about my ward Kathleen; a wheedling ſon of a—

My dear child, what's that?

Your favourite brown jug, ſir.

Now, child, why will you do theſe things?

I'll prime him well before I ſpeak about Kathleen; 'tis a hard heart that a drop o' drink won't ſoften.

This jug and I have been old acquain⯑tance, Dermot.

You may ſay that, Sir.—

How do you do, Father Luke?

Go away, Darby, you're a rogue.

Will you conſent that I ſhall marry Kathleen?

Is it you? you reprobate!

Do, and I'll give your reverence a ſheep.

Oh, well, I always thought you were a boy that wou'd come to ſome good—a ſheep!—you ſhall have Kathleen — but you have been very wicked.

Not I, Sir.

What, an't I your prieſt, and know what wickedneſs is? but repent it and marry.

I will marry and repent it.

Is Dermot within Sir?

Don't think of him, child.—To her man, now, and put your beſt leg foremoſt.

I don't know which is my beſt leg.

Arrah go.

Oh how ſweet her lips are! ſpeak for me, Father Luke.

Hem! Kathleen, child!—

Is the ſheep fat?

As fat as bacon, Sir.

Child! this boy will make you a good huſband—now won't you, Darby?

Oh, the devil a better.

Indeed, Sir, I'll have no huſband but Dermot.

I tell you, child, Dermot is an ugly man and a bad chriſtian.

Dermot, you are a bad man and an ugly Chriſtian.

Here, you Dermot.—Take your jug again; you empty fellow! I am going to marry Kathleen, and you muſt give her away, Sir.

Faith, I muſt have her firſt; and I came now for your conſent.

Eh!—what!—you marry her!—No ſuch thing—put it out of your head, and don't make a Judy of yourſelf.

Oh, if that's the caſe, the two fat ſheep I intended to make you a preſent of, I'll drive to the fair to-morrow, and get drunk with the money.

Hay!—Two ſheep!—come back here, Dermot; 'tis a great ſin to get drunk, Sir—Darby, if you have nothing to do, get about your buſineſs.

Sir!

Dermot, child!—Is it not this evening that I am to marry you to Kathleen?

No, Sir, 'tis me you are to marry to her.

You! you ordinary fellow!

Yes—and I am to give you—

Two ſheep, is it!

Yes, Sir; two fine ſheep.

Darby, you don't marry Kathleen.

No! arrah, why ſo?

Bekeys 'tis two to one againſt you—ſo get away, Darby.

Aye, aye, get away, Darby.

Children, I expect Captain Fitzroy at my houſe about my niece Norah, and I'll couple you all as ſoon as I get my thumb upon matrimony.

SCENE V, An Elm Grove.

I wonder who this challenger can be; who comes here? I will ſtep aſide and watch.

Ah! Bag and Tail if I fall will you take my corpſe (not a very ugly one) to Dermot's wedding—I will ſtand behind you thus.

I might as well ſtand be⯑hind a pitch fork.—I had rather ſtand behind a Dutch weaver than a French church-warden.

Zounds! here is my maſter!

Did you ſend a challenge to me, you raſcal?

It was Lord Lofty's coachman wrote it.

I went to Father Luke's houſe—and there I got the letter—and ſo I went to Father Luke's houſe, and the letter was given to me—now I have it—and this is all I know about it. I did not go to ſchool for nothing.

Get you gone.

You had better ſtick to your ſpade than meddle with ſword and piſtol.

Hollo! Captain!

Now, Sir, I would wiſh to know whether you think me or Dermot the prettieſt boy for it.

Puppy!

Puppy!—You a Captain indeed!—Hollo, corporal!

I find I muſt go up to town to learn to ſpeak to this captain.

SCENE, Father Luke's Houſe.

If you do not conſent to marry Captain Fitzroy, the man of my choice, I will ſend you to France, and put you in a convent.

I am well content. I never will marry the man that I do not approve of.

You are content! You put me in a paſſion,—and then you are content! Go, get you gone into that room, and there ſtay until you go to France, Mrs. Knapſack.

Who is this that you are going to ſend to France?

My ward, Sir, who won't conſent to marry you. She is robunxious.

Will you reſign her to me, Sir?

With that key I deliver up my authority; and now if I find Mr. Patrick, her lover, I will ſend him to the county jail for a vagabond.—A jade! to loſe the opportunity of making herſelf a lady.

Here comes the ſoldier.

I came as I promiſed.

Was you ever brought to the halberts?— How came you abſent from your regiment?—Have you a furlough?

No, Sir, not about me.

I have the honour to bear his majeſty's com⯑miſſion; and I will have you taken up for a deſerter, for the good of the ſervice. I have a perſon here ready to take you into cuſtody.

What a cruel piece of treachery!

Dear Norah, ſince you have refuſed my hand, will you permit me to reward your conſtancy, by putting you into the hands of your lover?

I'm all amazement, my Patrick!

Let us kneel and thank our deliverer.

To keep you no longer in ſuſpence, know then that I am that officer whoſe life you ſaved at Johnſon's Ferry at Carolina, in America; I have a commiſſion to beſtow,

which I now deſire, gallant youth, you will take from me as a reward for your honour, bravery and generoſity.— I wanted to find you out.—Here, heaven bleſs you both.

I could ſcarcely think you would remember your poor Soldier—but my gratitude is too great for utterance.

Oh! here he is, Darby, lay hold of him.

Not I—I am no conſtable.

Then the ſerjeant ſhall lay hold of him.

O, don't you ſee the white ſerjeant has hold of him already?

What brings you with that fellow [...]

Come, Sir, don't abuſe the man you'll ſhort⯑ly make your nephew.

Me bring a foot ſoldier into my family!

He's no longer ſo, Sir, I having a commiſſion to diſpoſe of, have given it to him.

An officer! Oh! that alters the caſe en⯑tirely.

Pat an officer!—Upon my ſoul, I'll liſt to⯑morrow morning in ſpight of the black patch.

Dear Norah, I wiſh you joy.

Hold your tongue, and don't make ſo free with a captain's lady.

But captain, why do you give up my niece?

Becauſe Sir, I have found ſuch ſuperior merit in this POOR SOLDIER.