St. Patricks Day | Page 2

and then we happen to
fling a cartridge into the kitchen fire, or put a spatterdash or so into the
soup; and sometimes Ned drums up and down stairs a little of a night.
_O'Con_. Oh, all that's fair; but hark'ee, lads, I must have no grumbling
on St. Patrick's Day; so here, take this, and divide it amongst you. But
observe me now,--show yourselves men of spirit, and don't spend
sixpence of it in drink.
Trounce. Nay, hang it, your honour, soldiers should never bear malice;
we must drink St. Patrick's and your honour's health.
All. Oh, damn malice! St. Patrick's and his honour's by all means.
Flint. Come away, then, lads, and first we'll parade round the
Market-cross, for the honour of King George.
1 Sol. Thank your honour.--Come along; St. Patrick, his honour, and

strong beer for ever! [Exeunt SOLDIERS.]
_O'Con_. Get along, you thoughtless vagabonds! yet, upon my
conscience, 'tis very hard these poor fellows should scarcely have bread
from the soil they would die to defend.
Enter DOCTOR ROSY.
Ah, my little Dr. Rosy, my Galen a-bridge, what's the news?
Rosy. All things are as they were, my Alexander; the justice is as
violent as ever: I felt his pulse on the matter again, and, thinking his
rage began to intermit, I wanted to throw in the bark of good advice,
but it would not do. He says you and your cut-throats have a plot upon
his life, and swears he had rather see his daughter in a scarlet fever than
in the arms of a soldier.
_O'Con_. Upon my word the army is very much obliged to him. Well,
then, I must marry the girl first, and ask his consent afterwards.
Rosy. So, then, the case of her fortune is desperate, hey?
_O'Con_. Oh, hang fortune,--let that take its chance; there is a beauty in
Lauretta's simplicity, so pure a bloom upon her charms.
Rosy. So there is, so there is. You are for beauty as nature made her,
hey! No artificial graces, no cosmetic varnish, no beauty in grey, hey!
_O'Con_. Upon my word, doctor, you are right; the London ladies were
always too handsome for me; then they are so defended, such a
circumvallation of hoop, with a breastwork of whale-bone that would
turn a pistol-bullet, much less Cupid's arrows,--then turret on turret on
top, with stores of concealed weapons, under pretence of black
pins,--and above all, a standard of feathers that would do honour to a
knight of the Bath. Upon my conscience, I could as soon embrace an
Amazon, armed at all points.
Rosy. Right, right, my Alexander! my taste to a tittle.

_O'Con_. Then, doctor, though I admire modesty in women, I like to
see their faces. I am for the changeable rose; but with one of these
quality Amazons, if their midnight dissipations had left them blood
enough to raise a blush, they have not room enough in their cheeks to
show it. To be sure, bashfulness is a very pretty thing; but, in my mind,
there is nothing on earth so impudent as an everlasting blush.
Rosy. My taste, my taste!--Well, Lauretta is none of these. Ah! I never
see her but she put me in mind of my poor dear wife.
_O'Con_. [Aside.] Ay, faith; in my opinion she can't do a worse thing.
Now he is going to bother me about an old hag that has been dead these
six years.
Rosy. Oh, poor Dolly! I never shall see her like again; such an arm for a
bandage--veins that seemed to invite the lancet. Then her skin, smoothe
and white as a gallipot; her mouth as large and not larger than the
mouth of a penny phial; her lips conserve of roses; and then her
teeth--none of your sturdy fixtures--ache as they would, it was but a
small pull, and out they came. I believe I have drawn half a score of her
poor dear pearls--[_weeps_]--But what avails her beauty? Death has no
consideration--one must die as well as another.
_O'Con_. [Aside.] Oh, if he begins to moralize---[_Takes out his
snuff-box_.]
Rosy. Fair and ugly, crooked or straight, rich or poor--flesh is
grass--flowers fade!
_O'Con_. Here, doctor, take a pinch, and keep up your spirits.
Rosy. True, true, my friend; grief can't mend the matter--all's for the
best; but such a woman was a great loss, lieutenant.
_O'Con_. To be sure, for doubtless she had mental accomplishments
equal to her beauty.
Rosy. Mental accomplishments! she would have stuffed an alligator, or

pickled a lizard, with any apothecary's wife in the kingdom. Why, she
could decipher a prescription, and invent the ingredients, almost as well
as myself: then she was such a hand at making foreign waters!--for
Seltzer, Pyrmont, Islington, or Chalybeate, she never had her equal; and
her