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_ ACT I - SCENE I
A Cottage.--A Table--Breakfast.
HONOR McBRIDE, alone.
Honor.
Phil!
--(calls)
--Phil, dear! come out.
Phil.
--(answers from within)
Wait till I draw on my boots!
Honor.
Oh, I may give it up: he's full of his new boots--and singing, see!
Enter PHIL McBRIDE, dressed in the height of the Irish buck-farmer fashion, singing,
"Oh the boy of Ball'navogue!
Oh the dasher! oh the rogue!
He's the thing! and he's the pride
Of town and country, Phil McBride--
All the talk of shoe and brogue!
Oh the boy of Ball'navogue!"
There's a song to the praise and glory of your
--of your brother, Honor! And who made it, do you think, girl?
Honor.
Miss Caroline Flaherty, no doubt. But, dear Phil, I've a favour to ask of you.
Phil.
And welcome! What? But first, see! isn't there an elegant pair of boots, that fits a leg like wax?--There's what'll plase Car'line Flaherty, I'll engage. But what ails you, Honor?--you look as if your own heart was like to break. Are not you for the fair to-day?--and why not?
Honor.
Oh! rasons.
(Aside)
Now I can't speak.
Phil.
Speak on, for I'm dumb and all ear--speak up, dear--no fear of the father's coming out, for he's leaving his bird (i.e. beard) in the bason, and that's a work of time with him.--Tell all to your own Phil.
Honor.
Why then I won't go to the fair--because--better keep myself to myself, out of the way of meeting them that mightn't be too plasing to my father.
Phil.
And might be too plasing to somebody else--Honor McBride.
Honor.
Oh, Phil, dear! But only promise me, brother, dearest, if you would this day meet any of the Rooneys--
Phil.
That means Randal Rooney.
Honor.
No, it was his mother Catty was in my head.
Phil.
A bitterer scould never was!
--nor a bigger lawyer in petticoats, which is an abomination.
Honor.
'Tis not pritty, I grant; but her heart's good, if her temper would give it fair play. But will you promise me, Phil, whatever she says--you won't let her provoke you this day.
Phil.
How in the name of wonder will I hinder her to give me provocation?
and when the spirit of the McBrides is up--
Honor.
But don't lift a hand.
Phil.
Against a woman?--no fear--not a finger against a woman.
Honor.
But I say not against any Rooney, man or woman. Oh, Phil! dear, don't let there be any fighting betwixt the McBride and Rooney factions.
Phil.
And how could I hinder if I would? The boys will be having a row,
especially when they get the spirits--and all the better.
Honor.
To be drinking! Oh! Phil, the mischief that drinking does!
Phil.
Mischief! Quite and clane the contrary--when the shillelah's up, the pike's down. 'Tis when there'd be no fights at fairs, and all sober, then there's rason to dread mischief. No man, Honor, dare be letting the whiskey into his head, was there any mischief in his heart.
Honor.
Well, Phil, you've made it out now cliverly. So there's most
danger of mischief when men's sober--is that it?
Phil.
Irishmen?--ay; for sobriety is not the nat'ral state of the craturs; and what's not nat'ral is hypocritical, and a hypocrite is, and was, and ever will be my contempt.
Honor.
And mine too. But--
Phil.
But here's my hand for you, Honor. They call me a beau and a buck, a slasher and dasher, and flourishing Phil. All that I am, may be; but there's one thing I am not, and will never be--and that's a bad brother to you. So you have my honour, and here's my oath to the back of it. By all the pride of man and all the consate of woman--where will you find a bigger oath?--happen what will, this day, I'll not lift my hand against Randal Rooney!
Honor.
Oh, thanks! warm from the heart. But here's my father--and where's breakfast?
Phil.
Oh! I must be at him for a horse: you, Honor, mind and back me.
Enter Old McBRIDE.
Old McB.
Late I am this fair day all along with my beard,
that was thicker than a hedgehog's. Breakfast, where?
Honor.
Here, father dear--all ready.
Old McB.
There's a jewel! always supple o' foot.
Phil, call to them to bring out the horse bastes,
while I swallow my breakfast--and a good one, too.
Phil.
Your horse is all ready standing, sir. But that's what I wanted to ax you, father--will you be kind enough, sir, to shell out for me the price of a daacent horse, fit to mount a man like me?
Old McB.
What ails the baste you have under you always?
Phil.
Fit only for the hounds:--not to follow, but to feed 'em.
Old McB.
Hounds! I don't want you, Phil, to be following the hounds at-all-at-all.
Honor.
But let alone the hounds. If you sell your bullocks well in the fair to-day, father dear, I think you'll be so kind to spare Phil the price of a horse.
Old McB.
Stand out o' my way, Honor, with that wheedling voice o' your own--I won't. Mind your own affairs--you're leaguing again me, and I'll engage Randal Rooney's at the bottom of all--and the cement that sticks you and Phil so close together. But mind, Madam Honor, if you give him the meeting at the fair the day--
Honor.
Dear father, I'm not going
--I give up the fair o' purpose, for fear I'd see him.
Old McB.
(kissing her)
Why then you're a piece of an angel!
Honor.
And you'll give my brother the horse?
Old McB.
I won't! when I've said I won't--I wont.
[Buttons his coat, and exit.]
Phil.
Now there's a sample of a father for ye!
Old McB.
(returning)
And, Mistress Honor, may be you'd be staying at home to
--Where's Randal Rooney to be, pray, while I'd be from home?
Honor.
Oh! father, would you suspect--
Old McB.
(catching her in his arms, and kissing her again and again)
Then you're a true angel, every inch of you.
But not a word more in favour of the horse
--sure the money for the bullocks shall go to your portion, every farthing.
Honor.
There's the thing!
(Holding her father)
I don't wish that.
Phil.
(stopping her mouth)
Say no more, Honor--I'm best pleased so.
Old McB.
(aside)
I'll give him the horse, but he sha'n't know it.
(Aloud)
I won't. When I say I won't, did I ever?
[Exit Old McBRIDE.]
Phil.
Never since the world stud--to do you justice, you are as obstinate as a mule. Not all the bullocks he's carrying to the fair the day, nor all the bullocks in Ballynavogue joined to 'em, in one team, would draw that father o' mine one inch out of his way.
Honor.
(aside, with a deep sigh)
Oh, then what will I do about Randal ever!
Phil.
As close a fisted father as ever had the grip of a guinea! If the guineas was all for you--wilcome, Honor! But that's not it. Pity of a lad o' spirit like me to be cramped by such a hunx of a father.
Honor.
Oh! don't be calling him names, Phil: stiff he is, more than close
--and any way, Phil dear, he's the father still--and ould, consider.
Phil.
He is,--and I'm fond enough of him, too, would he only give me the price of a horse. But no matter--spite of him I'll have my swing the day, and it's I that will tear away with a good horse under me and a good whip over him in a capital style, up and down the street of Ballynavogue, for you, Miss Car'line Flaherty! I know who I'll go to, this minute--a man I'll engage will lend me the loan of his bay gelding; and that's Counshillor Gerald O'Blaney.
[Going, HONOR stops him.]
Honor.
Gerald O'Blaney! Oh, brother!--Mercy!--Don't! any thing rather than that--
Phil.
(impatiently)
Why, then, Honor?
Honor.
(aside)
If I'd tell him, there'd be mischief.
(Aloud.)
Only--I wouldn't wish you under a compliment to one I've no opinion of.
Phil.
Phoo! you've taken a prejudice. What is there again Counshillor O'Blaney?
Honor.
Counshillor! First place, why do you call him counshillor?
He never was a raal counshillor sure--nor jantleman at all.
Phil.
Oh! counshillor by courtesy--he was an attorney once
--just as we doctor the apotecary.
Honor.
But, Phil, was not there something of this man's being
dismissed the courts for too sharp practice?
Phil.
But that was long ago, if it ever was. There's sacrets in all families to be forgotten--bad to be raking the past. I never knew you so sharp on a neighbour, Honor, before:--what ails ye?
Honor.
(sighing)
I can't tell ye.
[Still holding him.]
Phil.
Let me go, then!--Nonsense!
--the boys of Ballynavogue will be wondering, and Miss Car'line most.
[Exit, singing,]
"Oh the boys of Ball'navogue."
HONOR, alone.
Honor.
Oh, Phil! I could not tell it you; but did you but know how that Gerald O'Blaney insulted your shister with his vile proposhals, you'd no more ask the loan of his horse!--and I in dread, whenever I'd be left in the house alone, that that bad man would boult in upon me--and Randal to find him! and Randal's like gunpowder when his heart's touched!--and if Randal should come by himself, worse again! Honor, where would be your resolution to forbid him your presence? Then there's but one way to be right--I'll lave home entirely. Down, proud stomach! You must go to service, Honor McBride. There's Mrs. Carver, kind-hearted lady, is wanting a girl--she's English, and nice; may be I'd not be good enough; but I can but try, and do my best; any thing to plase the father.
[Exit HONOR.] _
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