"I've a riddle to ask, though against me the jest,-- Why are you all betrayed, and not one e'er a guest? What, can none of you guess? Why, through those who so late are, There is nowhere a guest, for each person's a waiter!" "What a dreadful bad pun!" whispered Samuel Delhay, As his red lips approached nigh the ear of fair May; But perceiving he's watched, he could do nothing more, Than just smile for a moment, and them back withdraw. But I now must return without further delay, To describe all the guests of the grand wedding day. There is tall Miss O'Riley, In a queerish old style she Appears to be made; by the cut of her phiz Though a spinster,--'tis sure, She can flirting endure; Her age when truth calculates right is Forty--but, O dear me, pray what am I about? I shall get by the fair sex kicked certainly out; I should only have said what is true, by the bye, That though out of her teens she has ne'er got a tie. But pray who is that beauty of very great size, Who can't sit on one chair though she struggling tries, With large gooseberry eyes, and complexion as sallow As a half-melted dip of inferior tallow? By her beak her I know, which is long and red, rather-- She is spouse to the man who is Flanagan's father. Now, O'Flanagan's self is as brown as a berry, Tallish, stout-built, ferocious, and fightable, very; For no fray could you name in which he hadn't been, While where'er he may go his shillaly is seen Tucked under his arm, whence in less than a minute It would leap to his hand, and deal blows ere quite in it. He is partial to racing, to gambling, to liquor, Can the value of horses than dealers tell quicker; Can run, wrestle, and fight, any man in the village, And, when safe from detection, objects not to pillage; I don't housebreaking mean, but just causing a sheep To have unpleasant dreams, and to walk in its sleep. Now, although much disliked by most people, yet still, Go wherever you may, there you certainly will Meet O'Flanagan John--though he's only invited Just to keep his wrath cool, which oft boils when he's slighted; And like steam must find vent in some malice-fraught trick, Or will burst into flame like a smould'ring rick. His son, Flanagan Ted, is a nice little feller, At least, so says Clare--and pray, who should know weller? He is tall, handsome, well-made, and folks say they never Have beheld a young man more polite, or so clever. Near, of course, to his side, Sat his young future bride, Who seems much inclined to be jealous. Speaks he but to another, She her thoughts can scarce smother, And sighs like a pair of new bellows. Her old father and brother are somewhere about,-- With O'Flanagan talking, I have not a doubt, Of the state of the crops, for of him land they rent, (Not, p'rhaps, over well-tilled, but of wondrous extent), Near O'Flanagan Lodge, which are fixed by entail, Or, through winds often raised, they ere now had set sail.