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 GARRICK 
 The Irish Widow 
 
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 PR 
 
 3467 
 
 17 

 
 THE MINOR DRAMA 
 
 TUE ACTING EDITIOX. 
 
 No. CLXVIII. 
 
 THE 
 
 IRISH WIDOW 
 
 BY DAVID OARRICK. 
 
 TO WHICH ARE ADDED 
 
 A Description of the Costume — Cast of the Characters — Kntrances and Exits- 
 Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and 
 the whole of the Stage Business 
 
 AS PERFORMED AT 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL ENGLISH AND AMERICAN THEATERS. 
 
 -♦— ♦- 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 SAMUEL FRENCH, 
 122 Nassau Street, (Up Stairs.)
 
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 THE IRISH WIDOW. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 SCENE I.— Whittle's House. 
 
 Enter Bates and Sekvaxt. 
 
 Bates. Is he gone out 1 His card tells ir.e to come directly — I did 
 but lock up some papers, take my hat and cane, and away I hurried. 
 
 Serv. My master desires you will sit down, he will return imme- 
 diately — he had some business with his lawyer, and went out in great 
 haste, leaving the luessage I have delivered. Here is my young 
 master, \_Exit.\ 
 
 Enter Nephew. 
 
 Bates. What, lively Billy ! Hold, I beg your pardon — melancholy 
 William, I think — Here's a fine revolution — I hear your uncle, who 
 was last month all gravity, and you all mirth, have changed charac- 
 ters -, he is now all spirit, and you are in the dumps, young man. 
 
 Nep. And for the same reason — this journey to Scarborough will 
 unfold the riddle. 
 
 Bates. Come, come, in plain English, and before your uncle comes, 
 explain the matter. 
 
 Nep. In the first place, I anr undone. 
 
 Bates. In love, I know — I hope your uncle is not undone too; that 
 would be the devil ! 
 
 Nep. He has taken possession of him in every sense. In short, he 
 came to Scarborough to see the lady I had fallen in love with 
 
 Bates. And fell in love himself? 
 
 Nep. Yes, and with the same lady. 
 
 Bates. That is the devil indeed ! 
 
 Nep. 0, Mr. Bates ! when I thought my happiness complete, and 
 wanted only my uncle's consent, to give me the independence ho so 
 often has promised me, he came to Scarborough for that ])iupose, and 
 wished me joy of my choice ; but, in less than a week, his apiiroba- 
 tion turned into a passion for her ; he now hates the sight of me, and 
 is resolved, with the consent of the father, to make her his wife di- 
 rectly. 
 
 Bates. So he keeps you out of your fortune, won't give his consent, 
 which his brother's foolish will retpiires, and he would marry himself 
 the same woman, because right, title, conscience, nature, justice, and 
 every law, divine and human, are against it.
 
 4 THE TRISH WmoW. 
 
 Xep. Tliiis lie tricks me at once both of wifo and I'ortune, without 
 the least want of eitlier. 
 
 JJatcg. Well sail], friend AVhittle ! but it can't be, it shan't be, and 
 it must not be — this is murder and robbery in tlie strongest sense, 
 and lie shan't be hanged in cliains to be laughed at bj' the whole 
 town, if I can help it. 
 
 Xep. I am distracted, the widow is distressed, and we both shall 
 run mad. 
 
 Bates. A widow too ! 'gad a raevcy, threescore and five ! 
 
 Xci). But such a widow ! She is now in town with her father, who 
 wants to get her off his hands •; 'tis equal to him who has her, so 
 she is provided for — I hear somebody coming— I must away to her 
 lodcrings, where she waits forme to execute a scheme directly for our 
 delivery. 
 
 Bates. What is her name, Billy 1 
 
 Kep. Brady. 
 
 Bates. Brady ! Is she not daughter to Sir Patrick O'Neale 1 
 
 Xep. The same. She was sacrificed to the most senseless, drunken, 
 jtrofligate in the whole countrj'. He lived to run out his fortune ; and 
 the only advantage she got from the union was, he broke that and his 
 neck before he had broke her heart. 
 
 Bates. The affair of marriage is, in this country, put upon the 
 easiest footing ; there is neither love nor hate in the matter ; neces- 
 sity brings them together ; they are united at first for their mutual 
 convenience, and separated ever after for their particular pleasures — 
 rare matrimony ! — Where does she lodge 1 
 
 Xep, In Pall-]Mall, near the hotel. 
 
 Bates. I'll call in my way, and assist at the consultation ; I am for 
 a bold stroke, if gentle methods should fail. 
 
 Xej). We have a plan, and a spirited one, if my sweet widow is 
 able to go through Avith it — pray let us have your friendly assistance 
 — ours is the cause of love and reason. 
 
 Bates. Get you gone, with your love and reason, they seldom pull 
 together now-a-days. I'l give your uncle a dose ifirst, and thea I'll 
 meet you at the widow's. What says your uncle's privy counselor, 
 Mr. Thomas, to this 1 
 
 Xep. He is greatly our friend, and will enter sincerely into our ser- 
 vice — he is honest, sensible, ignorant and particular ; a kind of half 
 coxcomb, with a thorough good heart — but he's here. 
 
 Bates. Do you go about your business, and leave the rest to me. 
 
 [Exit Nephew.] 
 Enter Thomas, with a pamphlet. 
 Mr. Thomas, I am glad to see you; upon my word, you look 
 charmingly — you wear well, Mr. Thomas. 
 
 Tho. AVhich is a wonder, considering how times go, Mr. Bates — 
 they'll wear and tear me too, if I don't take care of myself; my old 
 master has taken the nearest way to wear himself out, and all that 
 belongs to him. 
 
 Bates. Why surely this strange story about town is not true, that 
 the old gentleman is fallen in love 1
 
 THE IRISH WIDOW. 5 
 
 Tho. Ten times worse than that ! 
 
 Bates. The devil ! 
 
 Tho. And his liorns, — 2;oing to be married ! 
 
 Bates. Not if I can help it. 
 
 Tho. You never saw such an altered man in your born daj'S ! he's 
 grown young again ; he frisks, and prances, and runs about, as if he 
 had a new pair of legs — he has left oti' his brown camlet surtout, 
 which he wore all the summer, and now, with his hat under his arm, 
 he goes open-breasted, and dresses, and powders, and smirks, so that 
 you would take him for the mad Frenchman in Bedlam — something 
 wrong in his upper story. Would you think it 1 — he wants me to 
 wear a pig-tail ! 
 
 Bates. Then he is far gone indeed ! 
 
 Tho. As sure as you are there, Mr. Bates, a pig-tail ! — we have had 
 sad work about it — I made a compromise with him to M'ear these 
 ruffled shirts which he gave me; but they stand in my way — lam 
 not so listness with them — tliough I have tied up my hands for 
 him, I won't tie up my head, that I am resolute. 
 
 Bates. This is to be in love, Thomas ! 
 
 Tho. He may make free with himself, he shan't make a fool of me 
 — he has got his head into a bag, but I won't have a pig-tall tacked 
 to mine — and so I told him 
 
 Bates. What did you tell him 1 
 
 Tho. That as I and my father, and his father before me, had worn 
 their own hair as heaven had sent it. I thought myself rather too old 
 to set up tor a monkey at my time of life, and wear a pigtail — he ! 
 he ! he ! — he took it. 
 
 Bates. With a wry face, for it was wormwood. 
 
 Tho. Yes, he was frumped, and called me old blockhead, and 
 would not speak to me the rest of the day — but the next day he was 
 at it again — he then put me into a passion — and I could not help tell- 
 ing him, that I was an Englishman born, and had my prerogative as 
 well as he ; and that as long as I had breath in my body, I was for 
 liberty and a strait head of hair. 
 
 Bates. Well said, Thomas — he could not answer that. 
 
 Tho. The poorest man in England is a match for the greatest, if 
 he will but stick to tho laws of tho land, and the statute 'books, as 
 they are delivered down to us from our forefathers. 
 
 Bates. You are right — we must lay our wits together, and drive 
 the widow out of your old master's head, and put her into tho young 
 master's hands. 
 
 Tho. With all my heart — nothing can be more meritorious — marry 
 at his years ! what a terrible account would ho make of it, Mr. 
 Bates % Let me see — on the debtor side sixty-live and i)or contra 
 
 creditor, a buxom widow of twenty-three he'll be a bankrupt in a 
 
 fortnight — he ! he ! he ! 
 
 Bates, And so he would, Mr. Thomas — what have von got in your 
 hand 1 
 
 Tho. A pamphlet, my old gentleman takes in — he; has left off buy- 
 ing histories and religious pieces by numbers, as he used to do; and
 
 C THE IRISH WIDOW. 
 
 since he has got this widow in his head, he reads nothing but the 
 Aniorous Repository' Cupid's Revels, Call to Marriage, Hymen's 
 Delights, Love lies a Bleeding, Love in the Suds, and such like ten- 
 der compositions. 
 
 Bates. Here he comes, with all his folly about him. 
 
 Tho. Yes, and the first fool from Vanity-fair — Heaven help us — 
 love turns man and woman topsy turvj-. [Exit. 
 
 ^yhittle. [ Without.] Where is he 1 where is my good friend 1 
 
 Enter Whittl.e. 
 
 Ha ! here he is — give me your hand. 
 
 Bates. I am glad to see you in such spirits, my old gentleman. 
 
 Whit. Not so old neither ; no man ought to be called old, friend 
 Bates, if he is in health, spirits, and 
 
 Bates. In his senses — which I should rather doubt, as I never saw 
 you half so frolicsome in my life. 
 
 Whit. Never too old too learn, friend ; and if I don't make use of 
 my own philosophy now, I may wear it out in twenty years. I have 
 always been bantered as of too grave a cast — you know when I stu- 
 died at Lincoln's Inn, they used to call me Young Wisdom. 
 
 Bates. And if they should call you Old Folly, it would be a much 
 worse name. 
 
 Whit. No young jackanapes dares to call me so, while I have this 
 friend at my side. [Touches his sword. 
 
 Bates. A hero too ! What, in the name of common sense, is come 
 to you, my friend 1 — high spirits, quick honor, a long sword, and a 
 bag ! — you want nothing but to be terribly in love, and then you may 
 sally forth Knight of the Woful Countenance. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
 Whit. Mr. Bates — the ladies, who are the best judges of counte- 
 nances, are not of your opinion ; and unless you'll be a little serious, 
 I must beg pardon for giving you this trouble, and I'll open my mind 
 to some more attentive friend. 
 
 Bates. Well, come, unlock then, you wild, handsome, vigorous, 
 young dog, you 1 will please j'ou if I can. 
 
 Whit. I believe you never saw me look better, Frank, did you 1 
 
 Bates. yes, rather better forty years a^o. 
 
 Whit. Wliat, when I was at Merchant Tailors' School? 
 
 Bates. At Lincoln's Inn, Tom. • 
 
 Whit. It can't be — I never disguise my ase, and next February I 
 shall be fifiy-four. 
 
 Bates. Fifty-lour ! why I am sixty, and you always licked me at 
 school — thougii I believe I could do as much for you now, and e'cod 
 I believe you deserve it too. 
 
 Whit. I tell you I am in my fifty-fifth year. 
 
 Bates. 0, you are — let me see — we were together at Cambridge, 
 Anno Domini twenty-five, which is nearly fifty years ago — you came 
 to the college, indeed, surprisingly young ; and, what is more surpri- 
 sing, by this calculation you went to Lchool before you was born — 
 yoii was always a forward child. 
 
 Whit. I .see there is no talking or consulting with vou in this hu-
 
 THE IRISH WIDOW. 7 
 
 mour; and so, Mr. Bates, when you are in temper to show less of 
 Your wit, and more of your friendship, I shall consult with you. 
 
 Bates. Fare you well my old boy — young fellow, I mean — when 
 you have done sowing your wild oats, and have been blistered into 
 your right senses ; when you have half killed yourself with being a 
 beau, and return to your woolen caps, flannel waistcoats, worsted 
 stockings, cork soles, and gallochies, I am at your service again. So 
 bon jour to you. Monsieur Fifty-four — ha ! ha ! [Exit. 
 
 Whit. He has certainly heard of my affair — but he is old and pee- 
 vish — he want's spirits and strength of constitution to conceive my 
 happiness — I am in love with the widow, and must have her ; everj- 
 man knows his own wants — let the world laugh, and my friends 
 stare ! let 'em call me imprudent, and mad, if tliey please — I live in 
 good times and among people of fashion ; so none of my neighbors. 
 thank Heaven, can have the assurance to laugh at me. 
 
 Enter Kecksey. 
 
 Kech. What, my friend Whittle ! joy .' joy ! to you, old boy — you 
 are going! a going ! a going ! a fine widow has bid for you, and will 
 have you — hah, friend 1 all for the best — there is nothing like it — 
 hugh ! hugh ! hugh ! — a good wife is a good thing, and a young one 
 is a better — hah — who's afraid 1 If I had not lately married one, I 
 should have been at death's door by this time — hugh ! hugh ! hugh ! 
 
 Whit. Thank, thank you friend ! I was coming to advise with you 
 — I am got into the pond again — in love up to the ears — a fine wo- 
 man, faith ; and there's no love lost between us. Am I right friend "? 
 
 Keck. Right ! ay, right as my leg, Tom ! Life's nothing without 
 love — hugh ! hugh I I am happy as the day's long ! my wife loves 
 gadding, and I can't stay at home ; so we are both of a mind — she'.s 
 every night at one or other of the gay places ; but among friends, I 
 am little afraid of the damp ; hugh ! hugh ! she lias got an Irish 
 gentleman, a kind of cousin of hers, to take care of her ; a fine fel- 
 low ; and so good-natured. It is a vast comfort to have such a friend 
 in a family ! Hugh ! hugh ! hugh ! 
 
 Whit. You are a bold man cousin Kecksey, 
 
 Keck. Bold ! ay to bo sure ; none but the brave deserve the fair — 
 Hugh! hngh! who's afraid'? 
 
 Whit. Why your wife is five feet ten. 
 
 Keck. Without her shoes. I hate your little shrimps ; none of your 
 lean, meagre figures for me ; I was always fond of the majestic ; give 
 me a slice of a good English surloin ; cut and come again ; hugh ! 
 hugh ! that's my taste. 
 
 Whit. I am glad you liavc so good a stomach. And so you 
 would advise me to marry the widow directly 1 
 
 Keck. To be sure — you have not a moment to lose ; I always mind 
 what the poet says, 
 
 'Tis folly to lose time, 
 When a man is in his prime. 
 Hugh, hugh, hugh ! 
 
 Whit. You have an ugly cough, cousin.
 
 8 THE IRISH WIDOW. 
 
 Keck. Marriage is the best lozenge for it. 
 
 Wfiit. You liave raised me from the dead — I am glad you came — 
 Frank Bates had almost killed me with his jokes — but you have 
 comforted me, and we will walk through the park ; and I will carry 
 you to the widow in Pall-Mall. 
 
 — Keck. With all my heart — FU raise her spirits, and your's too — 
 courgae, Tom — come along — who's afraid 1 [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE II.— TJie Widow's Lodgings. 
 Enter Widow, Nephew, and Bates. 
 
 Bates. Indeed, madam, there is no other way but to cast off your 
 real character and assume a feigned one ; it is an extraordinary occa- 
 sion, and requires extraordinary measures ; pluck up a spirit, and do 
 it for the honour of your sex. 
 
 Nep. Only consider, my sweet widow, that our all is at stake. 
 Wid. Could I bring my heart to act contrary to its feelings, would 
 not you hate me for being a hypocrite, though it is done for your sake ? 
 
 Nep. Could I think myself capable of such ingratitude 
 
 Wid. Could we live upon affection, I would give your fortune to 
 your uncle, and thank him for taking it ; and then 
 
 Nep. What then, my sweet widow 1 
 
 Wid. I would desire you to run away with me as fast as you can. 
 What a pity it is that this money, which my heart despises, should 
 hinder its happiness, or that, for the want of a few dirty acres, a poor 
 woman must be made miserable, and sacrificed twice to those who 
 have them. 
 
 Nep. Heaven forbid ! These exquisite sentiments endear you more 
 to me, and distract me with the dread of losing you. 
 
 Bates. Young folks, let an old man, who is not quite in love, and 
 yet will admire a fine woman to the day of his death, throw in a 
 little advice among your flames and darts. 
 
 Wid. Though a woman, a widow, and in love too, I can hear rea- 
 Bon, 'Sir. Bates. 
 
 Bates. -And that's a wonder — you have no time to lose ; for want 
 of a jointure you are still your father's slave ; he is obstinate, and has 
 promised you to the old man ; now. madam, if you will not rise superior 
 to your sex's weakness, to secure a young fellow instead of an old 
 one, your eyes are a couple of hypocrites. 
 
 Wid. Tliey are a couple of traitors, I'm sure, and have led their 
 mistress into a toil, from which all her wit cannot release her. 
 
 Nep. But it can, if you will but exert it ; my uncle adored and 
 fell in love with you for your beauty, softness, and almost speechless 
 reserve. Now, if amidst all his rapturous ideas of your delicacy, 
 you would bounce upon him a wild, ranting, buxom widow, he will 
 crow sick of his bargain, and give me a fortune to take you off his 
 hands. 
 
 Wid. I shall make a very bad actress. 
 
 Nep. You are an excellent mimic ; assume but the character of 
 your Irish female neighbor in the country, with which you astonish-
 
 THE IRISH \VIDO^T. 
 
 9 
 
 ed us so agreeably at Scarborough ; you will frighten my uncle into 
 terms, and do that for us which neither my love nor your virtue can 
 accomjilish without it. 
 
 Wid. Now for a trial. [Mimiclcing a strong hrogiic] Fait and 
 trot, if you will be after bringing me before the old jontleman, if he 
 loves music, I will trate his ears with a little of the brogue, and some 
 dancing too into the bargain if he loves capering. — '0 bless me ! my 
 heart fails me, and I am frightened out of my wits ; I can never go 
 through with it. [Nkp. and Bates both laugh. 
 
 Ncp. [Kneeling and kissing her hand.] 0, 'tis admirable ! Love 
 himself inspires vou, and we shall conquer; what sav you Mr. 
 Bates -? 
 
 Bates. I'll insure you success ; I can scarce believe my own ears ; 
 such a tongue and a brogue would make Hercules tremble at five-and- 
 twenty ; but away, away, and give him a broadside in the Park ; 
 there you'll find him hobbling with that old cuckold. Kecksey. 
 
 Wid. But will my dress suit the character I play 7 
 
 JS^ej}. Tlie very thing ; is your retinue ready, and your part got by 
 heart 1 
 
 Wid. All is ready; 'tis an act of despair to punish folly, and re- 
 ward merit; 'tis the last eflbrt of pure, lionorable love; and if 
 every woman would exert the same spirit for the same out-of-fashion 
 rarity, there would be less business for Doctors'-commons. Now let 
 the critics laugh at me if they dare. [Exit with spirit. 
 
 Nep. Brava ! bravissima 1 sweet widow ! {Exit. 
 
 Bates. Huzza! huzza! [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III— The Farh. 
 Enter Whittle and Kecksey. 
 Whit. Yes, yes, she is Irish, but so modest, so mild, and so tender, 
 and ju^t enough of the accent to give a peculiar sweetness to herwords 
 which drop from her in monosyllables, with such a delicate reserve, 
 that I shall have all the comfort, without the impertinence of a wife. 
 Keck. There our taste differs, friend ; I am for a lively, smart girl 
 in my house, hugh ! hugh ! to keep up my spirits and mako me 
 merry ; I don't admire dumb waiters, not I, no still life for me ; I 
 love the i)rittle luatlle, it sets me to sleep ; and I can take a sound 
 nap, while my Sally and her cousin are running and playing about 
 the house like young cats. 
 
 Wlhit. I am for no cats in my house ; I cannot s-leep with a noise ; 
 the widow was made on purpose for me; she is so bashful, has no 
 accpiaiiitance, and she never would stir out of doors if her friends 
 were not afraid of a consumption; and so force her into the air. Such 
 a delicate creature! you shall see her; you were always for a tall, 
 chattering, frisky wench ; now, for my part, I am with the old 
 saving, 
 
 Wife a mouse, 
 Quiet house ; 
 Wife a cat, 
 Dreadful that.
 
 10 'rnE IRISH WIDOW. 
 
 Keck. I don't care for your sayinss — who's afraid 1 
 
 Whit. There coes Bates, let us avoid him, he will only be jolting 
 M'itli us , when I have taken a serious thing into my head. I can't 
 l)ear to have it laughed out again. This way, friend Kecksey. 
 AVhal have we got here 1 
 
 Keck. [Looking out.'] Some fine prancing wench, with her lovers 
 and footmen about her ; she's a gay one by her motions. 
 
 miit. Were she not so flaunting, I should take it for No, it is 
 
 impossible ; and yet is not that ray nephew with her ] I forbade 
 him s{)eaking to her ; it can't be the widow ; I hope it is not. 
 
 Enter ^Ywov:, foUoicedhy Xephew. three Footmex, and a blackBor, 
 
 Wid. Don't bother me, young man with your darts, your Cupid's 
 and your pangs ; if you had half of 'era about you that you swear 
 you have, they would have cured you, by killing you long ago. 
 "^Vould you have rae faitless to your uncle, hah I young man ? "Was 
 not I faiiful to you, till I was ordered to be faitful to himl But I 
 must know more of your English ways, and live more among the Eng- 
 lish ladies, to learn how to be faitful to two at a lime — and so there'.s 
 ray answer for you. 
 
 Kep. Then I know mv relief; for I cannot live without you, 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Wicl. Take what relief you plase, j-oung jontleman ; what have I 
 to do with datl He is certainly mad, or out of his sinses, for he 
 swears he can't live without rae, and yet he talks of killing himself I 
 How does he make out dat 1 If a countryman of mine had made 
 such a blunder, they would have put it into all the newspapers, and 
 Faulkner's Journal beside ; but an Englishman may look over the 
 hedge, while an Irishman must not stale a horse. 
 
 Keck. Is this the widow, friend Whittle 1 
 
 Whit. I don't know, [Sighinc/] it is, and it is not. 
 
 Wid. Your servant, Mr. Whittol ; I wish j'ou would spake to your 
 nephew not to be whining and dangling after me all day in his green 
 coat. It is not for ray reputation that he should follow rae about 
 like a beggar-man, and ask me for what I had given him along ago, 
 but have since bestowed upon you, Mr. Whittol. 
 
 Whit. He is an impudent beggar, and shall be really so, for his 
 disobedience. 
 
 Wid. As he can't live without me, you know, it will be charity to 
 .<;tarve him ; I wish the poor young man dead with all my heart, as 
 he thinks it will do him a great deal of good. 
 
 Keck. [To Whittle.] She is tender, indeed! and I think she has 
 the brogue a little — hugh, hugh ! 
 
 Whit. 'lis stronger to-day than ever I heard it. [Staring. 
 
 Wid. And are you talking of ray brogue 1 It is always the most 
 fullest when the wind is aesterly ; it has the same effect upon me, as 
 upon stammering people — they can't spake for their impediment, and 
 ray tongue is fix'd so loose in ray raouth, I can't stop it for the life of 
 me. 
 
 Whit. What a terrible raisfortune. friend Kecksev !
 
 THE IRISH WIDOW. H 
 
 Keclc. Not at all ; the more tongue the better, say I. 
 Wid. When the wind clianges I have no brogue at all. at all. But 
 come Mr. Whittol, don't let ii.s be vulgar and talk of our poor rela- 
 tions. It is impossible to be in this metropolis of London, and have 
 any thought but of operas; plays, masquerades, and pantaons, to 
 keep up one's spirits in the winter ; and Vauxhall fireworks to cool 
 and refresh one in the summer. La, la, la ! [Sing!;. 
 
 Whit. 1 protest she puts me into a sweat; we shall have a mob 
 about us. 
 ' Keck. The more the merrier, I say — who's afraid ? 
 
 Wid. How the people stare ' as if they never saw a woman's voice 
 before ; but my vivacity has got the better of my good manners. 
 This, I suppose, this strange gentleman is a near friend and relation, 
 and as such, notwithstanding his appearance, I shall always trate him 
 though I might dislike him upon a nearer acquaintance. 
 
 Keck. Madame, you do me honor ; I like your frankness, and I 
 like your person, and I envy my friend Whittle ; and if you were not 
 engaged, and I were not married, I would endeavor to make my.self 
 agreeable to yoa, that I would — hugh ! hugh ! 
 
 Wid. And, indeed, sir, it would be very agreeable to me ; for if I 
 did hate you as much as I did my first dare husband, I should always 
 liave the comfort, that in all human probability, my torments would 
 i]ot last long. 
 
 Keck. She utters something more than monosyllables, friend ; this 
 is better than bargain : she has a fine bold way of talking. 
 Whit. More bold than welcome ! I am struck all of a heap. 
 Wid. What, are you low spirited, my dare Mr. Whittol 1 When 
 you were at Scarborough, and winning my affections, you wei'e all 
 mirth and gayety ; and now you have won me, you are as thoughtful 
 about It as if we had been married some time. 
 
 Whit. Indeed, madame, I can't but say I am a little thoughtful — 
 we take it by turns ; you were very sorrowful a month ago for the 
 loss of your husband, and that you could dry up your tears so soon, 
 naturally makes me a little thoughtful. 
 
 Wid.. Indeed I could dry uf) my tears for a dozen husbands, when 
 I was sure of having a thirteenth like Mr. Whittol ; that's very natu- 
 ral, sure, both in England and Dublin, i.oo. 
 
 Keck. She won't die of a consumption •, she has a fine full-toned 
 voice, and you'll be very hajjpy, Tom — hugh ! hugh ! 
 Whit- Oh! yes, very happy. 
 
 Wid. But come, don't let us be melancholy before the time ; I am 
 sure I liave been moped up for a year and a half — I was obliged to 
 mourn for my first husband, that I might be sure of a second ; and 
 my father kept my spirits in subjection, as llie best recipe (he said) 
 for changing a widow into a wife; but now I have my arms and legs 
 at liberty, I must and will have my swing; now I am out of my cage, 
 I could dance two nights together, and a day too, like any singing 
 bird ; and I'm in such spirits that I have got rid of my father, I could 
 (ly over the moon without wings, and back again, before dimier. 
 bless my eyes, and don't I spc there Miss Nancy O'Flarty, and her
 
 1:^ THE IIMSIl WIDOW. 
 
 brotliev C.iiitaiu O'Flaity 1 He was one of wij' dj-ing Strephons at 
 Scarborough ; I liave a very srate regard for him, and uuist make 
 him a little miserable with my happiness. [Curtesies.] Come alonu. 
 skii>s, [^0 the servants,] don't you be gostring there ; show your live- 
 ries, and bow to your master that is to be, and to his friend, and hold 
 up your l»eads, and trip alter me as lightly as if you liad no legs to 
 your feet. I shall be with you again, jontlemen, in the crack of a fan 
 — Oh ! I'll have a husband ! ay marry. 
 
 [Exit singing, followed by footmen. 
 
 Keck. A fine buxom widow, laith ! no acquaintance — delicate re- 
 serve — mopes at home — forced into the air — incline:! to a consump- 
 tion. What a discription you gave of your wife! Why she beats my 
 Sally, Tom. 
 
 Whit. Yes, and slie'll beat me if I don't take care ! what a change 
 'is here ! I must turn about, or this will turn luy head. Dance for 
 two nights together, and leap over the moon 1 you shall dance and 
 leap by yourself, that I am resolved. 
 
 Keck. Here she comes again ; it does my heart good to see her — 
 you are in luck, Tom. 
 
 Whit. I'd give a finger to be out of such luck. 
 
 Re-enter Widow, ^c. 
 
 Wid. Ha, ha, ha ! the poor captain is marched off in a fury. Ho 
 can't bear to hear that the town has capitulated to you, Mr. Whittol. 
 I have promised to introduce him to you. He will make one of my 
 danglers to take a little exercise with me, when you take your nap 
 in the afternoon, 
 
 Whit. You shan't catch me napping, I assure you. What a dis- 
 covery and escape I have made ! I tremble with the thought of my 
 danger ! [Aside. 
 
 Keck. I protest, cousin, there goes my wife, and her friend, Mr. 
 Mac Brawn. What a fine stately couple they ai-e ! I must after 'em 
 and have a laugh with them — now they giggle and walk quick, that I 
 mayn't overtake 'em. Madame, your servant. You're a happy man, 
 Tom. Keep up your spirits old boy. Hugh ! hugh ! who's afraid. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Wid. I know Mr. Mac Brawn extremely well — he was very inti- 
 mate at our house, in my first husband's time ; a great comfort he 
 was tome to be sure ! he would very often leave his claret and compas- 
 sions for a little conversation with me. He was bred at tlie Dublin 
 utdversity, and being a very deep scholar, has fine talents for a tate- 
 a-tate. 
 
 Whit. She knows him, too ! I shall have my house overrun with 
 the Mac Brawns, O'Shoulders, and tha blood of the Blackwells. Lord 
 have meicy upon mc ! [Aside. 
 
 Wid. Pray, Mr. Whittol, is that poor spindle-legged crater of a 
 coiLsin of yours, lately married 7 ha, ha, ha ! I don't pity the poor 
 crater his wife, for that agraable cough of his, will soon reward her 
 for her sufferings. 
 
 Whit, What a delivery ! a reprieve before the knot was tied. 
 
 fAsid^.
 
 THE IRISH WIDOW. 18 
 
 Wtd. Are you unwell, Mr. Whiitol 1 I should be sorry you would 
 fall sick before the happy day. Your beiiisr in danger afterwards 
 would be a si"e<it consolation to nie, because I should have the pleas- 
 ure of nursing you myself. 
 
 Whit. I hope never to give you tliat trouble, madame. 
 
 Wid. No trouble, at all, at all ; I assure you, sir, from mj' soul, 
 that'/ shall take great delight in the occasion. 
 
 Wl it. Indeed, madame, 1 believe it. 
 
 Wi^. I don't care lu'W soon, the sooner the better ; and the more 
 rr the more the more honor.; I spake from my heart. 
 
 ^^i.it. And so do I from mine, madame. [Sighs. 
 
 Wid. But don't let us think of fnture pleasure, and neglect the 
 present satisfaction. My mantua maker is waiting for me to choose 
 my clothes, in which I shall forget the sorrows of Mrs. Brady, in the 
 joys of Mrs. Whittol. Though 1 have no fortune myself, I shall bring 
 a tolerable one to you, in debts, Mr. Whittol, and which I will pay 
 you tinfold in tenderness ; your doej) purse and my o])on heart, will 
 make us the envy of the little grate ones, and the grate little ones ; 
 the {)eople of quality with no sf>uls, and grate souls with no cash at 
 all. I hope you'll meet me at the Pantaon this evening. Lady Ran- 
 titon and her daughter, Miss Nettledown, and Nancy Tittup, with 
 half a dozen maccaroonies, and t\v() savory vivers, are to take me 
 there, and we propose a grate deal of cliat and merriment, and dan- 
 cing all night, and all other kind of recreations. I am quite another 
 kind of crater, now I am a bird in the fields ; I can junket about a 
 week together ; I have a fine constitution, and am never never mo- 
 lested with your nasty vapors ; are vou ever troubled with vapors. 
 Mr. Whittol 1 
 
 Whit. A little, now and then, madam. 
 
 Wid. Ml rattle 'em away like smoke ! there are no vapors where 
 I come ; I hate your dumps, and j'our nerves, and your megrims ; 
 and I had much rather break your rest with a little racketing, than 
 let anything get into your head that should not be there, Mr. Whit- 
 tol. 
 
 Whit. I shall tuke care that nothing shall be in my head, but what 
 ought to Ite there. What a deliverance ! [Aside. 
 
 Wid. [Looking at Iter watch.] Bic^^s me! how the hours of the 
 clock creep away when Ave are plased with our com[)any ; but I must 
 lave you, for there are half a hundred people, waiting for me to pick 
 your ))ockct. Mi'. Wliittol ; and there is my o'.vn brother, lieutenant 
 O'Neal, is U> arrive this morning, and he is so like me you would not 
 know us asunder when wo are touether ; you will be very fond of 
 him, poor lad ! he lives hy his wits, as you do by your fortune, and 
 so you may assist one another. Mr. VVhittol, your ohacliant till we 
 meet at the Pantaon. Follow me Pompey ; and skips, do you follow 
 him. 
 
 Pomp. The Baccararo whitemen not let blacky boy go first after 
 you, missis, thev' imll and jiincli me. 
 
 Foot. It is a shame, your iady.siiip, that a black negro should take 
 place of Knglish Christians — we can't follow liini, indeed.
 
 14 THK lltlSIT win<»\v. 
 
 Wid. Tlien you may follow one anoMier out of my service ; if you 
 follow nic, you shall follow him, for he shall go before me; therefore, 
 resisii as fast as you jjlase ; you sliau't oppose aoverinneiit and keep 
 your j)Iaces too, that is nor. 2oorl politic!- in England or Ireland either, 
 so come along, l*omi>ey. bo after ijoins before me. ^h. Wliittol, most 
 tenderly yours. \ Exeunt Widow and Attend ant.s. 
 
 Whit. Most tenderly yours 1 [Municks Iter.] 'Ecod, I believe you 
 are. and anybody's el=e. 0. ^vliat an escape have 1 iiad ! But bow 
 shall I clear my.self of this busine.ss ? Dl serve her as I would bad 
 money, put her oft' into other hands ; my nephew is fool enough to 
 be in love with her, and if I sive him a fortune he'll take the good 
 and the bad together — he shall do so or starve. I'll semi for Bates 
 directly, confess my folly, ask his pardon, send him to my nephew, 
 write and declare ofl" with tiie widow, and so get rid of her tinderness 
 as fast as I can. [Exit. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. — A room in Whittle'.s house. 
 
 Enter Bates and Whittle. 
 
 Whit. "Well, Mr. Bates, have you talked with my nephew; is he 
 not overjoyed at the proposal 1 
 
 Bates. The demon of discord has been amons you and has untuned 
 ♦ he whole family ; you have screwed him too high ; the young man is 
 out of his senses. I think ; he stares, mopes about, and sighs ; looks 
 at me indeed, but gives very absurd answers ; I don't like him. 
 
 Wliit. "What is the matter, think you 1 
 
 Bates. What I have always expected ; there is a crack in your 
 family and you take it by turns ! you have had it, and now transfer 
 it to your nephew ; which, to your shame be it spoken, is the only 
 transfer you have ever made him. 
 
 Wliit. But, am I not going to do him more than justice 1 
 
 Bates. As you have done much less than justice hitherto, you 
 can't begin too soon. 
 
 Whit. Am not I going to give him the lady he likes, and which I 
 was going to marry myself 1 
 
 Bates. Yes ; that is, you are taking a perpetual blister off your 
 own back, to clap it upon his. AVhat a tender tuicle you are I 
 
 W'hit. But you don't consider the estate which I shall give him. 
 
 Bates. Restore to him, you mean — 'tis his own, and you should 
 liave given it up long ago; you must do more, or old Nick will have 
 you ; your nephew won't take the widow off your hands without a 
 fortune : tlirow ten thousand into the bargain.
 
 TMfi IRISH WIDOW. 15- 
 
 Wliit. Indeed but I slian't; lie shall run mad, and I'll marry her 
 myself rather than do that. Mr. Bates be a true friend, and sooth 
 my nephew to consent to my proposal. 
 
 Bates. You have raised tlie fiend, and ought to lay him ; however, 
 I'll do my best for you; when the head is turned, nothini^ can biing 
 it right again so soon as ten thousand pounds ; shall I promise for 
 you ? 
 
 Whit. I'll sooner go to Bedlam myself. [Exit Bates.] Why, I'm in 
 a worse condition than I was before. If this widow's father will not 
 let me off without providing for his daughter, I may lose a great sum 
 of money, and none of us be the better of it ; my nephew half mail ; 
 myself half married ; and no remedy for either of us. 
 Enter Servant. 
 
 Serv. Sir Patrick O'Neale is come to wait upon you, would you 
 please to see him 1 
 
 Whit. By all means the verj"^ person I wanted ; don't let him wait. 
 \E.nt Servant.] I wonder if he has seen mj' letter to the widow ; I 
 will sound him by degrees, that I may be sure of mj' mark before I 
 strike the blow. 
 
 Enter Sir Patrick O'Neale. 
 
 Sir P. Mr. Whizzle, your humble servant ; it gives me great plea- 
 sure, that an old jontleman of your property, will have the honor of 
 being united with the family of the O'Neale's ; we have been too 
 much jontleman not to spend our estate, as you have made yourself 
 a kind of jontleman by getting one; one runs out one way, and 'tother 
 runs in another, which makes them both meet at last, and keeps up 
 the balance of Europe. 
 
 Whit. I am much obliged to yon. Sir Patrick ; I am an old gentle- 
 man, you say true; and 1 was thinking — - 
 
 Sir P. And I was thinking if you was ever so old my daughter 
 can make you young again ; she has as fine, rich, tick blood in her 
 veins as any in all Ireland. I wish you had a swate crater of a 
 dausjhter like mine, that we might make a double cross of it. 
 
 Whit. That would be a double cross indeed I \Aside. 
 
 Sir P. 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 P. 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 jontlewoinan, and so knowing that you can teach her nothing ; she 
 brings everything but money, and you have enough of that, if you 
 liave nothing else, and that is what I call the balance of things. 
 
 Whit. But I have been considering your daughter's great deserts, 
 and iny groat age 
 
 Sir P. She is a charming creature ; I would venture to say that, 
 if i was not her faliier. 
 
 Wliit. I say, sir, as I have been considering your daughter's great 
 deserts, and asi I own I have great demerits
 
 16 TIIK IRISH WIDOW. 
 
 Sir p. To be sure you have, but you can't helj) tliat ; and if my 
 daughter was toinentioii anything of a flcpriiiD; at your age, or youi' 
 stiuLiinpss, by ilie ba]ai;co of ])o\vpr. but I would make lier repate it 
 a liuiiib'ed times to your face, to make her asJiamed of it ; but mum, 
 old nentlcinau. tlie devil a word of your infirmities, will she toucli 
 ui)oii ; I have brought her up to softness and to gentleness, as a kitten 
 to new milk ; she will spake nothing but no and j'es, as if slie were 
 dumb; and no tame rabbit or pigeon will keep house, or be more in- 
 janions with her needle and tamboriiie. 
 
 Wkit. She is vastly altered then since I saw ber last, or I have lost 
 my senses, and in either case we had much better, since I must speak 
 plain, not come together — 
 
 Sir P. Till you are married, you mean — with all my heart, it is 
 the more gentale for that, and like our famil}' ; I never saw Lady 
 O'Neale, 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. 
 
 Mliit. But yon don't understand me, sir Patrick, I say — 
 Sir P. I say, how can that be, when we both spake English 1 
 Whit, But you mistake my meaning, and don't comprehend me. 
 Sir. P. Then you don't comprehend yourself, jNIr. Whizzle, and I 
 liave 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 P. I do attend, man ; I don't interrupt you — out with it. 
 
 Whit. Your daughter 
 
 Sir P. Your wife that is to be. Go on. 
 
 Whit. My wife that is not to be. Zounds ! will you hear me 1 
 Sir P. To be, or not to be, is that the question 1 I can swear too, 
 if if 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 honored by being in your family, but there are many rea- 
 sons 
 
 Sir p. 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. 
 Wiit. I liave wnite a letter to your daughter, which I was in hopes 
 you had seen, and brought me an answer to it. 
 
 Sir. P. What the devil, Mr. AVhizzle, do you make a letter-porter 
 of me 1 Do you imagine you dirty fellow, with your cash, that Sir 
 Patrick O'Neale would carry your letters 1 I would have you know 
 that I despise letters and all tiiat belong to 'em ; 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 P. AVhat, 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 anything that I won't understand, I 
 .sliall take it as an aflront to my family ; and you .shall either let out 
 the iiolde blood of the O'Neales, or I will spill the last drop of the red
 
 THE IRISH WIDOW. 17 
 
 puddle of the Whizzles. [Going — Returns.] Hark3'e, you, Mr. Wliiz- 
 zle, Wheezzle, Whistle, what's your name 1 You must not stir till I 
 come back ; If you oflor to ate, drink, or sleep, till my honor is satis- 
 fied, 'twill be the worst male you ever took iu your life ; you had 
 better fast a year, and die at the end of six months, than dare to lave 
 j'our house. So now, Mr. AVeezle, you are to do as you plase. 
 
 [Exit. 
 Whit. Now the devil is at work indeed ! if some miracle don't save 
 me, 1 shall run mad like my nephew, and have a long Irish sword 
 through me into the bargain. 
 
 Enter Thomas. 
 
 Sad work, Thomas ! 
 
 Tlio. Sad work, indeed ! why would you think of marrying 1 I 
 knew what it would come to. 
 
 Whit. Wliy, wjjat is it come to 1 
 
 Tho. It is in all 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 1 
 
 Tho. Wliat signifies that 1 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 lire, 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 time. 
 
 Wldt. Tliomas, what shall I do ? 
 
 Tho. Nothing you have done, if you will have matters amend. 
 
 Whit. I am out of my depth, and you won't lend me your hand to 
 draw me out. 
 
 Tho. You were out of your depth to fall 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 
 manner : you can't eat the oats, and won't let those who can. 
 
 Wliit. lint I consent that he shall have both the widow and the for- 
 tune, 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 anotlicr servant. 
 
 Whit. The wliole earth consjjires 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.
 
 18 THE IRISH WIDOW. 
 
 77io. Here are the undertakers already. [Exit. 
 
 Whit. "What shall I do 1 my head can't bear it ; I will hang myself 
 for fear of being run llirough the body. 
 
 Re-enter Thomas, ivith bills. 
 
 Tho. Half a score people I never saw before, with these bills and 
 drafts upon you for payment ; signed Martha Brady. 
 
 Wliit. I wish Martha Brady was at the bottom of the Thames ! what 
 an impudent, extravagant baggage, to begin her tricks ahead}' ! send 
 them to the devil, and say I won't pay a farthing I 
 
 Tho. You'll have another mob about the door. [Going. 
 
 Whit. Stay, stay, Thomas ; tell them I am very busy, and they 
 must come to-morrow morning ; — stay, stay, that is promising pay- 
 ment ; no, no, no — tell 'em they must stay till I nm married, and so 
 they will be satisfied, and tricked into the bargain. 
 
 tho. When you are tricked we shall be satisfied. 
 
 [Aside and exit. 
 
 ^Vhit. That of all dreadful things- I should think of a woman, and 
 that woman should be a widow, and that widow should be an Irish 
 one ! — Who have we here 1 Another of the family I suppose. 
 
 [Retires 
 
 Enter Widow as Lieuten'Ant O'Neale, seemingly fluttered, and put- 
 ting up his sword, Taoyi&s following. 
 
 Tlio. I hope you are not hurt, captain. 
 
 Wid.. 0, 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 macaroons, as the}' 
 call themselves ; by my soul but I would have tausht them better 
 manners, if they would have stood still 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 'em ; 
 but to business ; friend, where is your master 1 
 
 Tho. There, captain ; I hope he has not offended you. 
 
 Wid. If you are impartinent, sir, you will oflend 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 Whittle ; exit. 
 
 Whit. Her brother, by all that's terrible ! and as like as two tigers ! 
 I sweat at the sight of him ; I'm sorry Thomas is gone ; he has been 
 quarrelling already. [Aside. 
 
 Wid. Is your name Whittol 1 
 
 Whit. My name is Whittle, not Whittol. 
 
 Wid, We shan't stand for triflles — and you were born and christen- 
 ed by the name of Thomas 1 
 
 Whit. So they told me, sir. 
 
 Wid. Then they told no lies, fait ; so far, so good. [TaTces out a 
 letter.] Do you know that hand-writing 1
 
 THE IRISH WIDOW. 19 
 
 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 j-our teeth, sir, till we come to the 
 jokes — the hand-writing is yours. 
 
 Wiiit. Yes, sir, it is mine. [Sighs. 
 
 Wid. Death and powder ! what do j'ou sigh for 1 Are you ashamed 
 or sorry, for your handy- works 1 
 Whit. Partly one, partly t'other. 
 
 Wid. Will you be plased, sir to rade it aloud, that you may know- 
 it again when you hare it. 
 
 Whit. [Takes the letter and reads.'\ "Madam" 
 
 Wid. AVould you be plased to let us know what madam you mean 1 
 For women of quality, and women of no quality, and women of all 
 qualities, are so mixed together, that you don't know one from 'tother, 
 and are all called madams ; you should always read the subscription 
 before j'ou open the letter. 
 
 Whit. I beg your pardon, sir. — I don't like this ceremony. \^Aside. 
 " To Mrs. Brady, in Pali-Mall." 
 
 Wid. Now prosade — fire and powder, but T would — 
 
 Whit. Sir, what's the matter "? 
 
 Wid. Nothing at all, sir; pray go on. 
 
 Whit. " Madam, — As I prefer your happiness to the indulgence of 
 
 my own passions" 
 
 Wid. I will not prefer your happiness to the indulgence of my pas- 
 sions — Mr. Whittol, rade on. 
 
 Whit. " I must confess that I am unworthy ,of your charms and 
 virtues." 
 
 Wid. Very unworthy, indeed ; rade on, sir. 
 
 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 miserable and devoted, 
 
 •Thomas Whittle." 
 Wid. And miserable and devoted you shall be — to the postscript ; 
 rade on. 
 
 Whtt. " Postscript :— let me have your pitj', but not your anger. 
 Wid. In answer to this love epistle, [Snatches the letter] you piti- 
 ful fellow, my sister ])resents you with her tinderest wishes, and as- 
 sures you that you have, as you desire, her pity, and she generously 
 throws her contempt too into the bargain. 
 
 [ Tears the letter and throivs it at him. 
 Whit. I am infinitely obliged to her. 
 
 Wid. I must beg leave 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 ^vas never 
 suftered without a brache into somebody's body, I have fixed upon
 
 20 THE IRISH TVIDOW. 
 
 myself to be your operator ; and I believe that you will find that I 
 have as fine a hand at this work, and Mill give j^ou as little pain, as 
 any in the three kingdoms. 
 
 [Sits down, and looses her Jcnee-bands. 
 
 Wliit. For heaven's sake, captain, what are you about 1 
 
 Wid. I always loosen my garters for the advantage of lunging ; it 
 is for your sake as well as my own, for I shall be twice through your 
 body, before you shall feel me once. 
 
 Whit. What a terrible fellow it is ! I wish Thomas would come in. 
 
 [Aside. 
 
 Wid. Come, sir. prepare j'ourself; you are not the first, by half a 
 score, that I have run through and through the heart, before they 
 knew what was the matter with them. 
 
 Wliit. But captain, suppose I will marry your sister 1 
 
 Wid. I have not the laste objection, if you recover of your 
 wounds. Callashan O'Connor lives very happy with my great aunt, 
 jNIrs. Deborah O'Neale, in the county of Galway ; except a small as- 
 thma he got by my running him through the lungs at tlie Currough ; he 
 would have forsaken her, if I had not stopped his perfidy by a famous 
 family styptic I have here ; 0, ho ! my little old boy, but you shall 
 get it. [Draivs. 
 
 Whit. What shall I do 1 — well, sir, if I must, I must ; I'll meet 
 you to-morrow morning in Hyde-park, let the consequences be what 
 it will. 
 
 Wid,. For fear you misht forget that favor, I must beg to be in- 
 dulged 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 T have not settled my matters. 
 
 Wid. 0, we'll settle 'era 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 liad arsenic in his pocket. 
 [Aside.] Look ye, young gentleman, I am an old man, and you'll get 
 no credit by killing me ; but I have a nephew as j'oung as j'ourself, 
 and you'll get more honor 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 1 I can't fight, 
 and I won't fight; I'll do anything rather than fight: I'll marry 
 your sister ; my nephew shall marry her ; I'll give him all mv for- 
 tune ; what would the fellow have 1 Here, nephew ! Thomas ! "mur- 
 der ! murder ! [He flees and she pursues. 
 
 Enter Bates and Nephew. 
 
 Nep. What's the matter, uncle ?
 
 THE IRISH WIDOVT. 21 
 
 Whit. JMurder, that's all ; that ruffian there would kill me, aud eat 
 nie afterwards. 
 
 Nep. I'll find a waj' to cool him ! come out. sflr, I am as mad as 
 yourself; I'll watch you. [Going out with him. 
 
 Wid. I'll follow you all the world over. [Going after him. 
 
 Whit. Stay, stay nephew, you shan't fi£;ht ; we shall be exposed 
 all over the town, and you may lose your life, and I shall be cursed 
 from mornins 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 
 to 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 method to restore us all to our senses. 
 
 Xep. 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. Vtctoria ! 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. ' 
 
 Nep. 0, my channing 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. 
 
 Nep. I listened at the door all this last scene ; my heart was agita- 
 ted 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. 
 
 Nep. Permit me thus to seal my happiness. 
 
 [Kneels and kisses her hand. 
 
 Enter Whittle and Bates ; Whittle stares. 
 Bates. Confusion ! [Aside. 
 
 Whit. [Turning to B\t:v.%.'\ Hey-day! I am afr.aid his head is not 
 right yet ! lie was kneeling and kissing the captain's hand. 
 Bates. Tyke no notice, all will come about. 
 
 [Aside to Whittle. 
 Wid. I find, Mr. Whittol, your family loves kissing better than 
 fighting; he swears, I am as like my sister as two pigeons. 
 
 Enter Sir Patrick O'Neale. 
 
 Sir P. 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 hero, that he's at 
 Limerick ; and I have been witli my daughter to tell her the news, 
 but slio would not stay at homo to receive it, so I come — Ogra-ma-
 
 22 THE IRISH ■;fIDOW. 
 
 chree ! iny little din ousil craw, what have we got here 1 a piece of 
 inunuuer}- ! liere is my son and daughter too, fait ; what, are j'ou 
 waring the breeches, Tat, to see liow they become you when you are 
 Mis. Weezel 1 
 
 Wid. I beg your pardon for that, sir ! I wear them before marriage, 
 because I think they become a woman better than after. 
 
 Wkit. What, is not this your son 1 [Astonished. 
 
 Sh- P. No, but it is my daughter, and that is the same thing. 
 
 Wid. And your neice, sir, which is better than either. 
 
 Whit. Mighty well ! and I suppose you have not lost your wits, 
 young man 1 
 
 Nep. I sympathise with you, sir ; we lost 'em together, and found 
 "em at the same time. 
 
 Whit. Here's villiany ! Mr. Bates, give me the paper ; not a farth- 
 ing shall they have till the law gives it 'em. 
 
 Bates. AVe'lI cheat the law, and give it them now. 
 
 [Oives 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 P. Fait, I'll witness dat, or anything 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 1 Your hard usage has sharpened your nephew's 
 wits ; therefore, beware, don't play with edge-tools — you'll only cut 
 your fingers. 
 
 Sir P. And yourtrote, too, which is all one; therefore, to make all 
 asy, marry ray daughter first, and then quarrel with her afterwards ; 
 that will be in the natural course of things. 
 
 Whit. Here, Thomas "? where are you 1 
 
 Enter Thomas 
 
 Here are fine doings! I am deceived, tricked and cheated 1 
 
 Tho. I wish you joy, sir ; the best thing that could have happened 
 to vou ; 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 tricked me 1 
 
 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 'era ; I can't bear the 
 sound of my voice, nor the sight of my own face ; look ye, I am dis- 
 tressed and distracted ! and can't come too 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 !
 
 THE IRISir WIDOTT. 23 
 
 Wid. I liope, Sir Pairick, that my preferring the nepliew to the 
 uucle will meet with your approbation 1 
 
 Sir P. You are out of my hands, Pat, so if you won't trouhle me 
 with your afHictions, I shall sincerely rejoice at your felicity. 
 
 yep. It would he a great abatement of my present joy, could I be- 
 lieve that this lady should he assisted in her happiness, or be suppor- 
 ted in her afHictions, by any one but her lover and husband. 
 
 Sir P. Fine tastes are fine tinjis, but a fine estate gives every ting 
 but ideas, and them, too, if you'll appale to those who help you to 
 spend it. What say you widow 1 
 
 Wid. By your and their persuasion, 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. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 A widow bewitch'd 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 ; 
 Tlie blind lU'chin he. 
 Struck the cush la maw chree, 
 And a husband secures me forever ; 
 Ye fair ones, I hope will excuse me. 
 Though vulgar, pray not abuse me ; 
 I cannot become a fine lady. 
 Oh love has bewitch'd 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 will I 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 hoi)o you'll protect me, 
 Nor let cruel critics dissect me ; 
 To favor my cause be but ready, 
 And grateful you'll find widow Brady. 
 
 To all that I see here before me, 
 
 The bottom, the toj), and the middle, 
 
 For music we now must imploie you, 
 No wedding without pipe and fiddle:
 
 THE IRISH WIDOW. 
 
 It' all are in tune, 
 Tray let it be soon, 
 My heart in my bosom is prancing ! 
 If your hands should unite, 
 To give us delight, 
 Oh. that's the best piping and dancing, 
 Your plaudits to me are a treasure, 
 
 Your smiles are dow'r for a lady ; 
 Oh ! joy to you all in full measure. 
 So wishes, and prays widow Brady.
 
 11 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 STACK COLLECTION 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW.