St. Patrick's Day HTML version

1 Sol. I say you are wrong; we should all speak together, each for himself, and all at once,
that we may be heard the better.
2 Sol. Right, Jack, we'll argue in platoons.
3 Sol. Ay, ay, let him have our grievances in a volley, and if we be to have a spokesman,
there's the corporal is the lieutenant's countryman, and knows his humour.
Flint. Let me alone for that. I served three years, within a bit, under his honour, in the
Royal Inniskillions, and I never will see a sweeter tempered gentleman, nor one more free
with his purse. I put a great shammock in his hat this morning, and I'll be bound for him
he'll wear it, was it as big as Steven's Green.
4 Sol. I say again then you talk like youngsters, like militia striplings: there's a discipline,
look'ee in all things, whereof the serjeant must be our guide; he's a gentleman of words;
he understands your foreign lingo, your figures, and such like auxiliaries in scoring.
Confess now for a reckoning, whether in chalk or writing, ben't he your only man?
Flint. Why the serjeant is a scholar to be sure, and has the gift of reading.
Trounce: Good soldiers, and fellow-gentlemen, if you make me your spokesman, you
will show the more judgment; and let me alone for the argument. I'll be as loud as a
drum, and point blank from the purpose.
All. Agreed, agreed.
Flint. Oh, faith! here comes the lieutenant.--Now, Serjeant.
Trounce. So then, to order.--Put on your mutiny looks; every man grumble a little to
himself, and some of you hum the Deserter's March.
O'Con. Well, honest lads, what is it you have to complain of?
Sol. Ahem! hem!
Trounce. So please your honour, the very grievance of the matter is this:--ever since your
honour differed with justice Credulous, our inn-keepers use us most scurvily. By my