_Mrs. Carv._ Mr. Big Briny of Cloon, Mr. Ulick of Eliogarty, Mr. Charley of Killaspugbrone, and you, Mrs. Catty Rooney, and you, Mr. McBride, senior, and you, Mr. Philip McBride, no longer _flourishing Phil_; since you are now all reconciled, let me have the pleasure of giving you a reconciliation dinner, at the wedding of Honor McBride, who is an honour to her family, and Randal Rooney, who so well deserves her love. _The McBRIDES and ROONIES join in the cry of_ Long life and great luck to your ladyship, that was always good! _Mr. Carv._ And you comprehend that I beg that the wedding may be celebrated at Bob’s Fort. _All join in crying_, Long may your honour’s honour reign over us in glory at Bob’s Fort! _Catty._ (_cracking her fingers_) A fig for the bog of Ballynascraw!--Now ‘tis all Love and no Law! THE ROSE, THISTLE, AND SHAMROCK. A DRAMA. IN THREE ACTS. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. MEN. SIR WILLIAM HAMDEN . . . _An Elderly English Gentleman._ CHRISTY GALLAGHER . . . . _Landlord of an Irish village inn._ MR. ANDREW HOPE . . . . . _A Drum-major in a Scotch regiment._ OWEN LARKEN . . . . . . . _The Son of the Widow Larken --a Boy of about fifteen._ GILBERT . . . . . . . . . _An English Servant of Sir William Hamden._ WOMEN. MISS O’HARA . . . . . . . _A young Heiress--Niece of Sir William Hamden._ MISS FLORINDA GALLAGHER . _Daughter of Christy Gallagher._ THE WIDOW LARKEN . . . . _Mother of Owen and of Mabel._ MABEL LARKEN . . . . . . _Daughter of the Widow Larken._ BIDDY DOYLE . . . . . . . _Maid of the Inn._ Band of a Regiment. SCENE.--_The Village of Bannow, in Ireland._ THE ROSE, &c. ACT I. SCENE I. _A Dressing-Room in Bannow-Castle, in Ireland._ _Enter Sir WILLIAM HAMDEN, in his morning-gown._ _Sir W._ Every thing precisely in order, even in Ireland!--laid, I do believe, at the very same angle at which they used to be placed on my own dressing-table, at Hamden-place, in Kent. Exact Gilbert! most punctual of valet de chambres!--and a young fellow, as he is, too! It is admirable!--Ay, though he looks as if he were made of wood, and moves like an automaton, he has a warm heart, and a true English spirit--true-born English every inch of him. I remember him, when first I saw him ten years ago at his father’s, Farmer Ashfield’s, at the harvest-home; there was Gilbert in all his glory, seated on the top of a hay-rick, singing, “Then sing in praise of men of Kent, So loyal, brave, and free; Of Britain’s race, if one surpass, A man of Kent is he!” How he brought himself to quit the men of Kent to come to Ireland with me is wonderful. However, now he is here, I hope he is tolerably happy: I must ask the question in direct terms; for Gilbert would never speak till spoken to, let him feel what he might. _Sir W._ (_calls_) Gilbert!--Gilbert! _Enter GILBERT._ _Gilb._ Here, sir.