_Talb._ Now, Rory, you are the best fellow in the world, and a _thoroughgoing_ friend; but have a care, or you'll get yourself and me into some sc.r.a.pe, before you have done with this violent _thoroughgoing_ work.

_Rory._ Never fear! never fear, man!--a warm _frind_ and a bitter enemy, that's my maxim.

_Talb._ Yes, but too warm a friend is as bad as a bitter enemy.

_Rory._ Oh, never fear me! I'm as cool as a cuc.u.mber all the time; and whilst they _tink_ I'm _tinking_ of nothing in life but making a noise, I make my own snug little remarks in prose and verse, as--now my voice is after coming back to me, you shall hear, if you _plase_.

_Talb._ I do please.

_Rory._ I call it Rory's song. Now, mind, I have a verse for everybody--o' the leading lads, I mean; and I shall put 'em in or _lave_ 'em out, according to their inclinations and deserts, _wise-a-wee_ to you, my little _frind_. So you comprehend it will be Rory's song, with variations.

_Talbot and Lord John._ Let's have it; let's have it without further preface.

_Rory sings._

I'm true game to the last, and no _Wheeler_ for me.

_Rory._ There's a stroke, in the first place, for Wheeler,--you take it?

_Talb._ Oh yes, yes, we take it; go on.

_Rory sings._

I'm true game to the last, and no Wheeler for me.

Of all birds, beasts, or fishes, that swim in the sea, Webb'd or finn'd, black or white, man or child, Whig or Tory, None but Talbot, O Talbot's the dog for Rory.

_Talb._ 'Talbot the dog' is much obliged to you.

_Lord J._ But if I have any ear, one of your lines is a foot too long, Mr. O'Ryan.

_Rory._ Phoo, put the best foot foremost for a _frind_. Slur it in the singing, and don't be quarrelling, anyhow, for a foot more or less. The more feet the better it will stand, you know. Only let me go on, and you'll come to something that will _plase_ you.

_Rory sings._

Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm.

_Rory._ That's Bursal, mind now, whom I mean to allude to in this verse.

_Lord J._ If the allusion's good, we shall probably find out your meaning.

_Talb._ On with you, Rory, and don't read us notes on a song.

_Lord J._ Go on, and let us hear what you say of Bursal.

_Rory sings._

Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm; His father's a tanner,--but then where's the harm?

Heir to houses, and hunters, and horseponds in fee, Won't his skins sure soon buy him a pedigree?

_Lord J._ Encore! encore! Why, Rory, I did not think you could make so good a song.

_Rory._ Sure 'twas none of I made it--'twas Talbot here.

_Talb._ I!

_Rory_ (_aside_). Not a word: I'll make you a present of it: sure, then, it's your own.

_Talb._ I never wrote a word of it.

_Rory_ (_to Lord J._) Phoo, phoo! he's only denying it out of false modesty.

_Lord J._ Well, no matter who wrote it,--sing it again.

_Rory._ Be easy; so I will, and as many more verses as you will to the back of it. (_Winking at Talbot aside._) You shall have the credit of all. (_Aloud._) Put me in when I'm out, Talbot, and you (_to Lord John_) join--join.

_Rory sings, and Lord John sings with him._

Then there's he with the purse that's as long as my arm; His father's a tanner,--but then where's the harm?

Heir to houses, and hunters, and horseponds in fee, Won't his skins sure soon buy him a pedigree?

There's my lord with the back that never was bent----

(_Lord John stops singing; Talbot makes signs to Rory to stop; but Rory does not see him, and sings on._)

There's my lord with the back that never was bent; Let him live with his ancestors, I am content.

(_Rory pushes Lord J. and Talbot with his elbows._)

_Rory._ Join, join, both of ye--why don't you join? (_Sings._)

Who'll buy my Lord John? the arch fishwoman cried, A nice oyster shut up in a choice sh.e.l.l of pride.

_Rory._ But join or ye spoil all.

_Talb._ You have spoiled all, indeed.

_Lord J._ (_making a formal low bow_). Mr. Talbot, Lord John thanks you.

_Rory._ Lord John! blood and thunder! I forgot you were by--quite and clean.

_Lord J._ (_puts him aside and continues speaking to Talbot_). Lord John thanks you, Mr. Talbot: this is the second part of the caricature. Lord John thanks you for these proofs of friendship--Lord John has reason to thank you, Mr. Talbot.

_Rory._ No reason in life now. Don't be thanking so much for nothing in life; or if you must be thanking of somebody, it's me you ought to thank.

_Lord J._ I ought and do, sir, for unmasking one who----

_Talb._ (_warmly_). Unmasking, my lord----

_Rory_ (_holding them asunder_). Phoo! phoo! phoo! be easy, can't ye?--there's no unmasking at all in the case. My Lord John, Talbot's writing the song was all a mistake.