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"Noah of old three babies had,

Or grown up children rather;
Shem, Ham, and Japhet, they were called:
Now who was Japhet's father?"

"I have it now", Hodge grinning cried,
"I'll answer like a proctor;

Who's Japhet's father? now I know;
Why Long Tom Smith, the doctor."


4. Sir Archy Macsarcasm and Sir Callaghan O'Brallaghan.

The former of these characters must be read in a strong Scotch dialect, and the latter in an Irish. There is no narrative, and if the two dialects are properly discriminated, the reader will be able to pass from one person of the dialogue to the other without any mention of the names.

Sir Archy Mac. Here, i' the sooth, they are a' sprang from sugar hogsheads, and rum puncheons, and wool packs, and hop sacks, and iron bars, and tar jackets. In short they are a composition of jews, and turks, and refugees, and of aw the commercial vagrants of the land and sea; a sort of amphibious breed are they. Ah! there 's as much deeference betwixt oor nobeelity of the north and theirs of the sooth, as betwixt a haund of blood and a mongrel. And there's nai scant of wealth or honour in oor family. We hai in the hoose of Macsarcasm twa barons, three viscounts, six

earls, and yane marquisate, besides baronets and lairds out of aw reckoning.

Sir Call. O'Brall. You are sensible, Sir Archy, that my family is as ould

as any in the

For all
For all my fa-

three kingdoms, and oulder too. mily by my father's side are the true ould Milesians, and related to the O'Flahertys, the O'Shaughnesses, the Maclaughlins, the O'Donnaghans, the O'Callaghans, the O'Geoghans, and all the tick blood of the nation. And I myself you know am an O'Brallaghan, which is the ouldest of them all.

Sir Archy Mac. I believe you are of an auncient family, Sir Callaghan, but you are oot in yane point-where ye said ye were as auncient. as any in the three kingdoms :-hoot hoot awa, mon; ye monno say that:-What the de'el! consider oor auncient families of the north: why ye of Ireland are but a colony frai us,—an ootcast-a mere ootcast, and as such ye remain to this hoor.

Sir Call. O'Brall. I beg your pardon Sir Archy; that is the Scotch account, which you know niver spakes truth, because it is always partial. But the Irish History, which must be the best, because it was written by an Irish poet of my own family, one Shemus Thurlough. Flannaghan O'Brallaghan, and he says in his chapter of genealogy that the Scotch are all Irishmen's bastards.

Sir Archy Mac. Hoo, Sir, baistards! d'ye

mak us illeegeetimate, illeegeetimate, Sir! But I must impute it to yeer ignorance and vanity. And let me counsil ye as a friend, Sir Callaghan; never enter into a dispute aboot leeterature, or heestory, or the anteequity of families; for ye a'gotten sick a wecked, awkward, cursed jargon upon yeer tongue, mon, that ye are never inteeligible in yeer language.

Sir Call. O'Brall. Ha! ha! ha! I beg your pardon Sir Archy. It is you that have got such a cursed twist of a great fat Scotch brogue about the middle of your own tongue, that you can't understand good English when I spake it to you.


5. Prince Henry and Falstaff.

The Prince must be sustained by a youthful tone of voice, and gay easy deportment. Falstaff's voice must be a complete contrast: half strangled by his bulk, savouring of age, and mellowed with wine, it must, at the beginning of this piece, assume a more than half earnest expression of anger, then of excessive boasting, and at last explode in all its natural mirth and jollity. The contrast of manner should be too strong to require the mention of the


Prince Henry. Welcome, Jack,-Where hast thou been?

Falstaff. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy: ere I'll lead this life long, I'll sew nether socks, and mend them,

and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? You rogue, here is lime in this sack. There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man; yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old, Heaven help the while. A plague of all cowards I say still.

Prince Henry. How now, Woolsack, what mutter ye?

Fatstaff. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects before me like a flock of wild geese, I'll ne'er wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales!

Prince Henry. Why, what's the matter? Falstaff. Are you not a coward? answer me that.

Prince Henry. You fat paunch, an thou callest me a coward, I'll stab thee.

Falstaff. I call thee coward! I'll see thee hanged ere I call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pounds I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon

such backing! give me them that will face me.-Give me a cup of sack; I am a rogue if I have drunk to-day.

Prince Henry. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last.

Falstaff. All's one for that, A plague of all cowards, still say I.

Prince Henry. What's the matter?

Falstaff. What 's the matter! Here be four of us have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. Prince Henry. Where is it Jack? where is it? Falstaff. Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon four of us.

Prince Henry. What! a hundred, man?

Falstaff. I am a rogue if I were not at half sword with a dozen of them for two hours together. I have escaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a handsaw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards!

Prince Henry. What fought you with them all?

Falstaff. All! I know not what you call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no twolegged creature.

Prince Henry. Pray Heaven you have not murdered some of them. *

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