_Tom._ And what is the matter but you would be a church of Englandman, 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 every thing 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 belly to water, when I see the Scotch Presbyterians, and English churchmen, in time of lent, feeding upon bulls’ bastards, and sheep’s young children. _Tom._ Why Paddy, do you say the bull is a fornicator and gets bastards? _Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I never saw the cow and her husband all the days of my life, nor before I was born, going to the church to be married, and what then can his sons and daughters be but bastards? _Tom._ What reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing your belly 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 pater-noster 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? _Teag._ O my dear shoy, Tom, you know nothing of the matter: for when I die, they will bury my body, flesh, blood, dirt, and bones, only my skin will be blown up full of wind and spirit, my dear shoul I mean; and then I will be blown over to the other world on the wings of the wind; and after that I’ll never be killed, hanged nor drowned, nor yet die in my bed, for when any hits me a blow, my new body will play buff upon it like a bladder.