There was a lady lived at Rhin, A lady very stylish, man—But she snapped her fingers at all her kin And—she fell in love wid an Irishman. A wild tremenjous Irishman, A rampin’, stampin’ Irishman, A devil-may-take-’em—Bad as you make ’em— Fascinatin’ Irishman! Oh, wan o’ his een was bottle green And the tother wan was out, me dear, An’ the calves o’ his wicked twinklin’ legs Were two feet ’round about, me dear. Oh—the slashin’, dashin’ Irishman— The blatherin’, scatherin’ Irishman, A whiskey, frisky, rummy, gummy, Brandy, dandy Irishman! An’ that was the lad the lady loved Like all the gurrls o’ quality. He’d smash all the skulls o’ the men o’ Rhin Just by the way o’ jollity. Oh, the ratlin’, battlin’ Irishman! The thumpin’, bumpin’ Irishman, The great he-rogue, wid his roarin’ brogue! The laughin’, quaffin’ Irishman![1] There’s a song fer ye now! Ha, Jimmie-boy, I’m thinkin’ that song ’u’d had more sense an’ it told what she did wid her rampin’, roarin’ Irishman wanst she got married to him. [_Knock on the hall door._] JIMMIE. Ah, that’s her! NORA. There! Didn’t I tell ye? [_NORA wipes her hands and hurries to open the door, admitting MISS CARROLL._] Ah! Miss Carroll dear, it’s welcome ye are this day. Jimmie’s been watchin’ and wearyin’ for ye since the daylight dawned. How are ye? [_She has turned away as MISS CARROLL enters so as to conceal her head, but MISS CARROLL catches sight of it and, taking hold of her arm, turns her around._] MISS CARROLL. Why, Mrs. O’Flaherty, what an awful cut! You look as if you had been hit with an axe! NORA. Oh, git along with ye! MISS CARROLL. How did it happen? NORA. Shure, ’twas nothin’ at all but his boot, and he that unstiddy he couldn’t aim shtraight! It’s ’most well now. [_She turns to tub._] MISS CARROLL. [_Taking off her coat and opening her satchel._] It isn’t “’most well.” It’s a fresh wound and a bad, deep cut. As I’ve told you before, I’ve no patience with you for putting up with such treatment. Don’t you know the law would protect you? You ought to swear out a warrant for your husband’s arrest on the grounds of personal violence. That might teach him a lesson. This is the third time now in a month he’s struck you. It’s outrageous! Has he got a job yet? JIMMIE. Ain’t you comin’, Miss Carroll? Me leg hurts awful. MISS CARROLL. Yes, Jimmie-boy, in a minute. [_She has been getting hot water from the stove, preparing cotton gauze, etc., for dressing. She stops a moment in her work and regards MRS. O’FLAHERTY._] Has he got a job yet? NORA. He had work last week. MISS CARROLL. For how long? NORA. For three days—an’ a part o’ four. MISS CARROLL. And then he got drunk and got turned off, eh? And you gave him your wash money, too, I suppose, as usual. NORA.