_Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter to carry out of mine own country: I was afraid that you English Presbyterians should pluck it away from me. _Tom._ What, Paddy, was your religion such a load that you could not carry it along with you? _Teag._ Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about with me when at home, my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear button hole. _Tom._ And what manner of worship did you perform by that? _Teag._ Why, I adored the cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed Oliver as black as crow, and swears myself a cut throat against all Protestants and church of Englandmen. _Tom._ And what is the matter but you would be a church of Englandmen, or a Scotch Presbyterian yourself, Paddy? _Teag._ Because it is unnatural for an Irishman: but had Shaint Patrick been a Presbyterian, I had been the same. _Tom._ And for what reason would you be a Presbyterian then, Paddy? _Teag._ Because they have liberty to eat flesh in lent, and everything that's fit for the belly. _Tom._ What, Paddy, are you such a lover of flesh that you would change your profession for it? _Teag._ O yes, that's what I would. I love flesh of all kinds, sheep's beef, swine's mutton, hare's flesh, and hen's venison; but our religion is one of the hungriest in all the world, ah! but it makes my teeth to weep, and my stomach to water, when I see the Scotch Presbyterians, and English churchmen, in time of lent, feeding upon bulls' and sheep's young children. _Tom._ What reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing your stomach so while you are alive? _Teag._ By Shaint Patrick I'll live like a king when I'm dead, for I will neither pay for meat nor drink. _Tom._ What, Paddy, do you think that you are to come alive again when you are dead? _Teag._ O yes, we that are true Roman Catholics will live a long time after we are dead; when we die in love with the priests, and the good people of our profession. _Tom._ And what assurance can your priest give you of that? _Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, a good shoul, who can repeat a paternoster and Ave Maria, which will fright the very horned devil himself, and make him run for it, until he be like to fall and break his neck. _Tom._ And what does he give you when you are dying? that makes you come alive again? _Teag._ Why, he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a wafer, gives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and direction in our right hand, who to call for at the ports of Purgatory. _Tom._ And what money design you to give the priest for your pardon? _Teag._ Dear shoy, I wish I had first the money he would take for it, I would rather drink it myself, and then give him both my bill and my honest word, payable in the other world. _Tom._ And how then are you to get a passage to the other world, or who is to carry you there?