_Mrs. Brul._ Aye, this is a faintish time o'year; but I must give you a little something, I suppose:--I'll open the window, and give you a little air. [_DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY, singing, without._ _They handed the whiskey about,_ _'Till it smoked thro' the jaws of the piper;_ _The bride got a fine copper snout,_ _And the clergyman's pimples grew riper._ _Whack doodlety bob,_ _Sing pip._ _Mary._ There's your husband! _Mrs. Brul._ There's a hog;--for he's as drunk as one, I know, by his beastly bawling. _Enter DENNIS BRULGRUDDERY, singing._ _Whack doodlety bob,_ _Sing pip._ _Mrs. Brul._ "Sing pip," indeed! sing sot! and that's to your old tune. _Mary._ Hav'n't you got an answer? _Mrs. Brul._ Hav'n't you got drunk? _Dennis._ Be aisy, and you'll see what I've got in a minute. [_Pulls a Bottle from his Pocket._ _Mrs. Brul._ What's that? _Dennis._ Good Madeira, it was, when the butler at the big house gave it me. It jolts so over the heath, if I hadn't held it to my mouth, I'd have wasted half. [_Puts it on the Table._]--There, Miss, I brought it for you; and I'll get a glass from the cupboard, and a plate for this paper of sweet cakes, that the gentlefolks eat, after dinner in the desert. _Mary._ But, tell me if-- _Dennis._ [_Running to the Cupboard._] Eat and drink, my jewel; and my discourse shall serve for the seasoning. Drink now, my pretty one! [_Fills a Glass._] for you have had nothing, I'll be bound.--Och, by the powers! I know the ways of ould mother Brulgruddery. _Mrs. Brul._ Old mother Brulgruddery! _Dennis._ Don't mind her;--take your prog;--she'd starve a saint. _Mrs. Brul._ I starve a saint! _Dennis._ Let him stop at the Red Cow, as plump as a porker, and you'd send him away, in a week, like a weasel.--Bite maccaroony, my darling! [_Offering the Plate to MARY._ _Mary._ I thank you. _Dennis._ 'Faith, no merit of mine; 'twas the butler that stole it:--take some. [_Lets the Plate fall._] Slips by St. Patrick! _Mrs. Brul._ [_Screaming._] Our best china plate broke all to shivers! _Dennis._ Delf, you deceiver; delf. The cat's dining dish, rivetted. _Mary._ Pray now, let me hear your news. _Dennis._ That I will.--Mrs. Brulgruddery, I take the small liberty of begging you to get out, my lambkin. _Mrs. Brul._ I shan't budge an inch. She needn't be asham'd of any thing that's to be told, if she's what she should be. _Mary._ I know what I should be, if I were in your place. _Mrs. Brul._ Marry come up! And what should you be then? _Mary._ More compassionate to one of my own sex, or to any one in misfortune. Had you come to me, almost broken hearted, and not looking like one quite abandoned to wickedness, I should have thought on your misery, and forgot that it might have been brought on by your faults.