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merry perht tee shweet faish, an't be; and daunsh a fading at te vedding.
Den. But tey vere leeke to daunsh naked, and pleash ty mayesty; for tey villanous vild Irish sheas have casht away all ter fine cloysh, as many ash cosht a towsand cowes, and garraves, I warrant tee. Der. And te prishe of a cashtell or two upon teyr backs.
Don. And tey tell ty mayesty, tey have ner a great fish now, nor a shea moynshter to shave teyr cloyth alive now.
Pat. Nor a devoish vit a clowd to fesh 'hem out o' te bottom o' te vayter.
Der. But tey musht eene come and daunsh in teyr mantles now; and show tee how teye can foot te fading and te fadow, and te phip a' Dunboyne, I
Don. I pre dee now, let not ty sweet faysh ladies make a mock on 'hem and scorn to daunsht vit 'hem be poor.
now, becash tey be
Pat. Tey drink no bonny clabbe, i' fayt, now.
Don. It ish better ten usquebagh to daunsh vit, Patrick.
3 And daunsh a fading.] This word, which was the burden of a popular Irish song, gave name to a dance, frequently noticed by our old dramatists. Both the song and the dance appear to have been of a licentious kind, and merit no farther elucidation.
4 It ish better ten usquebagh, &c.] The mention of this word brings to my mind a passage in the Devil's an Ass:
The last of these (Obarni) I had supposed to be a preparation of usquebagh; (see vol. v. p. 15 ;) whereas it appears to be a preparation of Meath. For this information I am indebted to the following extract from an old poem called Pimlyco or Runne RedCap, 1609, kindly transmitted to me by my friend Mr. Boswell : "Nor all those drinkes of northern climes Whose brewings shall fill up our rimes
Pat. By my fater's hand, tey vill daunsh very vell. Der. Ay, by St. Patrick vill tey; for tey be nimble
Den. And vill leap ash light, be creesh save me, ash he tat veares te biggest fether in ty court, king Yamish.
Der. For all tey have no good vindsh to blow tem heter, nor elementsh to preserve 'hem.
Don. Nor all te four cornersh o' te world, to creep
Pat. But tine own kingdomes.
Don. Tey be honesht men.
Pat. And goot men: tine own shubshects.
Den. And vill run t'rough fire and vater for tee, over te bog and te bannoke, be te graish o' got, and graish o' king.
Der. By got, tey vill fight for tee, king Yamish, and for my mistresh tere.
Den. And my little maishter."
Pat. And te vfrow, ty daughter, tat is in Tuchland.
Brant Rensque and the cleere Romayne
Peeva (to them is as our Beere)
With spiced Meades (wholsome but deer)
And the base Quasse by Pesants drunk."
Now I am on the subject, I will subjoin a passage which has just occurred to me, and which gives a better explanation of Hum than will be found in the passage already quoted.
"Notwithstanding the multiplicity of wines, yet there be stills and limbecks going, swetting out aquavitæ, and strong waters, deriving their names from cinnamon, balm, and anniseed, such as stomach-water, humm, &c." Heywood's Drunkard, p. 48.
And my little maishter.] Charles; te vfrow, tat is in Tuchland, is the princess Elizabeth, who was married to the Palsgrave in February, 1613.
Don. Tey vill spend ter heart in ter belly for tee, as vell as ter legs in ter heelsh.
Der. By creesh, tey vill shpend all teyr cowesh for tee.
Den. Pre tee make mush on t'em.
Pat. Pre tee, sweet faysh, do.
Don. Be not angry vit te honesh men, for te few rebelsh, and knavesh.
Pat. Nor beleeve no tayles, king Yamish.
Der. For, by got, tey love tee in Ireland.
Don. Predee, bid 'em welcome, and got make 'em rish for tee.
Der. Tey vill make tem shelves honesht.
Den. Tou hasht not a hundret tousand sush men, by my trote.
Pat. No, nor forty, by my hant.
Don. By justish Delounes hant, not twenty.
Der. By my lord Deputish hant, not ten, in all ti great Brittayne. Shall I call hem to tee?
Don. Tey shit like poore men i' te porsh yonder. Pat. Shtay, tee peepe ish come! [Bagpipe, &c. enter.] harke, harke!
Der. Let ush daunsh ten. Daunsh, Dennish.
Don. A little till our mayshtersh be ready.
Here the Footmen had a DANCE, being six men, and six boys, to the bagpipe, and other rude music; after which they had a SONG, and then they cried,
Peash! Peash! Now room for our mayshters! Room for our mayshters!
Then the Gentlemen dance forth a dance in their Irish mantles, to a solemn music of harps: which done, the Footmen jall to speak again.
Der. How like tou tish, Yamish? and tey had
fine cloyshs now, and liveries, like tine own men
Don. But te rugs make t'em shrug a little.
Der. Tey have shit a great phoyle i' te cold, ant be. Don. Isht not pity te cloysh be drown'd now? Pat. Pre tee shee another daunsh, and be not veary.
Here they were interrupted by a civil Gentleman of the nation, who brought in a Bard.
Gent. He may be of your rudeness. Hold your tongues,
And let your coarser manners seek some place,
This is that James of which long since thou sung'st,
Sing then some charm, made from his present looks,
And firm the hopes of these obedient spirits,
Here the Bard sings to two harps.
Bow both your heads at once, and hearts;
You'll feel yourselves chang'd by and by.
During this Song, the Masquers let fall their mantles, and discover their masquing apparel.
After the dance the Bard sings this
So breaks the sun earth's rugged chains,
Wherein rude winter bound her veins;
And colour'd coats the roughest meads,
THUS IT ENDED.