But not long could poor Peter discov'ry put off, For he's all at once seized with a tickling cough, Which to strangle he tries, but in vain; though he pokes His red fist in his mouth till he very nigh chokes; For escape it would find, like a boiler of steam: Wherein water expands to such size that 'twould seem It must verily burst, when the safety-valve opes And the vapour unfettered from darkness elopes. So it was with the monk; had his cough not dispersed, Sure his lungs from the pressure had certainly burst. "Hush!" said Murphy; "what's that?" "Oh, 'tis naught but the cat," Said the dame, while her voice seemed confusing: "She has been there all day, And is most like at play With her kittens, who are so amusing." But the cough was repeated, And the dame felt defeated, While quick Murphy tore open the door; Crying, "Come out, you sinner! Can such charms as yours win her, While I love from my very heart's core? But I'll make you pay dear For thus listening here." And he raised up his foot for a kick. When the dame rushed between, Or a struggle there'd been Which on hearing would turn your heart sick. For, though choking, could Peter scarce utter a word, Of which Murphy enraged not a syllable heard, But he took up his hat to be gone. "For your sake, dame, I spare That old wretch, but take care That I never him catch out alone. For, as sure as I live, Such a hiding I'll give, As shall make him feel sore in each bone." Then he turned on his heel and went out of the door; When, recov'ring his voice, Peter called to implore Him a moment to stop, as he wished to explain How in such a position by chance he became. "Which as soon as I've done I shall surely expect You'll apologize, too, for your want of respect." Murphy turned and re-turned, With a frown sat him down, And a glance which bespoke great attention. "Sir, proceed; but take heed. To deceive, I believe Is your plan, and your present intention." (But, alas! when a thing we much wish to be true, We are apt to believe it is really so, too. So the news Murphy heard was so sweet to his ear That of present detection the monk had no fear.) "Hush, hush, unbeliever!" the friar exclaimed; "Such terms, in my presence, should ne'er once be named. For of Mary's a monk I've the honour to be; Which, if not so enraged, by my dress you might see. Now although there's no reason why I should explain, Still, as 'tis for your good, if you choose to remain I will tell all I know, when with pleasure you'll find, That instead of a foe I am friendly inclined. First, your love from its source and beginning I've traced, Which on Widow O'Neal for her beauty was placed, Till the various graces which decked out her mind, To obtain her esteem made you feel more inclined;