_Sir W._ Speak to him of his loves? Oh, my dear, you’d kill him on the spot! He is so bashful, he’d blush to death. _Clara._ Well, sir, do you go alone, and I will keep far, far aloof. [_Exeunt at opposite sides._ SCENE III. _Parlour of the Inn._ _CHRISTY and Miss GALLAGHER._ _Christy._ (_to Miss GALLAGHER, slapping her on her back_) Hould up your head, child; there’s money bid for you. _Miss G._ Lord, father, what a thump on the back to salute one with. Well, sir, and if money is bid for me, no wonder: I suppose, it’s because I have money. _Christy._ That’s all the rason--you’ve hit it, Florry. It’s money that love always looks for now. So you may be proud to larn the news I have for you, which will fix Mr. Gilbert, your bachelor, for life, I’ll engage--and make him speak out, you’ll see, afore night-fall. We have the new inn, dear!--I’ve got the promise here under her own hand-writing. _Miss G._ Indeed!--Well, I’m sure I shall be glad to get out of this hole, which is not fit for a rat or a Christian to live in--and I’ll have my music and my piano in the back parlour, genteel. _Christy._ Oh! Ferrinafad, are you there? It’s your husband must go to that expinse, my precious, if he chooses, _twingling_ and _tweedling_, instead of the puddings and apple pies--that you’ll settle betwix yees; and in the honeymoon, no doubt, you’ve cunning enough to compass that, and more. _Miss G._ To be sure, sir, and before I come to the honeymoon, I promise you; for I won’t become part or parcel of any man that ever wore a head, except he’s music in his soul enough to allow me my piano in the back parlour. _Christy._ Asy! asy! Ferrinafad--don’t be talking about the piano-forte, till you are married. Don’t be showing the halter too soon to the shy horse--it’s with the sieve of oats you’ll catch him; and his head once in the sieve, you have the halter on him clane. Pray, after all, tell me, Florry, the truth--did Mr. Gilbert ever ax you? _Miss G._ La, sir, what a coarse question. His eyes have said as much a million of times. _Christy._ That’s good--but not in law, dear. For, see, you could not _shue_ a man in the four courts for a breach of promise made only with the eyes, jewel. It must be with the tongue afore witness, mind, or under the hand, sale, or mark--look to that. _Miss G._ But, dear sir, Mr. Gilbert is so tongue-tied with that English bashfulness. _Christy._ Then Irish impudence must cut the string of that tongue, Florry. Lave that to me, unless you’d rather yourself. _Miss G._ Lord, sir--what a rout about one man, when, if I please, I might have a dozen lovers. _Christy._ Be the same more or less. But one rich bachelor’s worth a dozen poor, that is, for the article of a husband. _Miss G._ And I dare say the drum-major is rich enough, sir--for all Scotchmen, they say, is fond of money and _a_conomie; and I’d rather after all be the lady of a military man. (_Sings._)