_Mr. Carv._ (_shaking his head_) The worst defence in law, my good friend, unless you’ve witnesses. _Phil._ All present that time in the fair was too busy fighting for themselves to witness for me that I was not; except I’d call upon one that would clear me entirely, which is that there young man on the opposite side. _Catty._ Oh, the impudent fellow! Is it my son? _Old McB._ Is it Randal Rooney? Why, Phil, are you turned _innocent_? _Phil._ I am not, father, at all. But with your lave, I call on Randal Rooney, for he is an undeniable honourable man--I refer all to his evidence. _Randal._ Thank you, Phil. I’ll witness the truth, on whatever side. _Catty rushes in between them, exclaiming, in a tremendous tone,_ If you do, Catty Rooney’s curse be upon-- _Randal stops her mouth, and struggles to hold his mother back._ Oh, mother, you couldn’t curse!-- [_All the ROONIES get about her and exclaim_, Oh, Catty, your son you couldn’t curse! _Mr. Carv._ Silence, and let _me_ be heard. Leave this lady to me; I know how to manage these feminine vixens. Mrs. Catherine Rooney, listen to me--you are a reasonable woman. _Catty._ I am not, nor don’t pretend to it, plase your honour. _Mr. Carv._ But you can hear reason, madam, I presume, from the voice of authority. _Catty._ No, plase your honour--I’m deaf, stone deaf. _Mr. Carv._ No trifling with me, madam; give me leave to advise you a little for your good. _Catty._ Plase your honour, it’s of no use--from a child up I never could stand to be advised for my good. See, I’d get hot and hotter, plase your honour, till I’d bounce! I’d fly! I’d burst! and myself does not know what mischief I mightn’t do. _Mr. Carv._ Constable! take charge of this cursing and cursed woman, who has not respect for man or magistrate. Away with her out of my presence!--I commit her for a contempt. _Randal_ (_eagerly_) Oh! plase your honour, I beg your honour’s pardon for her--my mother--entirely. When she is in her rason, she has the greatest respect for the whole bench, and your honour above all. Oh! your honour, be plasing this once! Excuse her, and I’ll go bail for her she won’t say another word till she’d get the nod from your honour. _Mr. Carv._ On that condition, and on that condition only, I am willing to pass over the past. Fall back, constable. _Catty._ (_aside_) Why then, Gerald O’Blaney mislet me. This Carver is a _fauterer_ of the Scotch. Bad luck to every bone in his body! (_As CATTY says this her son draws her back, and tries to pacify her._) _Mr. Carv._ Is she muttering, constable? _Randal._ Not a word, plase your honour, only just telling herself to be quiet. Oh, mother, dearest, I’ll kneel to plase you. _Catty._ Kneel! oh, to an ould woman like me--no standing that! So here, on my hunkers I am, for your sake, Randal, and not a word, good or bad! Can woman do more? (_She sits with her fingers on her lips._)