_Tom._ But what way will you go to the new world, or where is it? _Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, the priest knows where it is but I do not, but the Pope of Rome keeps the outer-port, shaint Patrick the inner-port, and gives us a direction of the way to shaint Patrick’s palace, which stands on the head of the Stalian loch, where I’ll have no more to do but chap at the gate. _Tom._ What is the need for chapping at the gate, is it not always open? _Teag._ Dear shoy, you know little about it, for there is none can enter but red hot Irishmen, for when I call Allelieu, dear honey, shaint Patrick countenance your own dear countryman if you will, then the gates will be opened directly for me, for he knows and loves an Irishman’s voice, as he loves his own heart. _Tom._ And what entertainment will you get when you are in? _Teag._ O my dear, we are all kept there untill a general review, which is commonly once in the week; and then we are drawn up like as many young recruits, and all the blackguard scoundrels is pict out of the ranks, and one half of them is sent away to the Elysian fields, to curry the weeds from among the potatoes, the other half of them to the River sticks, to catch fishes for shaint Patricks table, and them that is owing the priests any money is put in the black-hole, and then given to the hands of a great black bitch of a devil, which is keeped for a hangman, who whips them up and down the smoky dungeon every morning for six months. _Tom._ Well Paddy, are you to do as much justice to a Protestant as a Papist? _Teag._ O my dear shoy, the most justice we are commanded to do a Protestant, is to whip and torment them until they confess themselves in the Romish faith; and then cut their throats that they may die believers. _Tom._ What business do you follow after at present? _Teag._ Arra, dear shoy, I am a mountain sailor and my supplication is as follows. PADDY’S HUMBLE PETITION, OR SUPPLICATION.