Now diddee iver zee sich a chubble-'eaded vule's er is in awl -

There are no rebels here -- as I expected.
Here truly's military expedition
That sets out after rebels and arrives
Before them. We are first upon the field.

Looking back
At English history, I do not know
Of any Queen who, on the eve of battle,
Kissed every single soldier in the ranks!

I think we should have heard of such a thing.

We should; for 'twould have been a graceful act.
And our posterity shall hear of it -
From me.

Sergeant, come here, and I will kiss you first.

(to Sergeant) Do what I tell you, and you shan't be kissed.

(to Countess) I may presume, I think,
That you intend to kiss the soldiers on
Their foreheads?

Certainly; the kind of kiss
You give the debutantes at Drawing Rooms.

Such are too often only blank salutes
Of powder - which goes off when I discharge
That canon of my duty.

(to Sergeant) Can you bend
Gracefully, like a willow, from the waist?
I cannot reach your brow unless you do.

I be a turmit hawer,
From Debbenshire I came;
My parents be 'ard-working vokes
An' I be just the zame.
An' tha vly, ha, ha!
Tha vly, ha, ha!
Tha vly be on tha turmits,
An' tez awl my eye vur me tu try
To keep min off tha turmits.

He's either hard of hearing or insane!
He thinks that we asked him to recite
Some poem of his childhood.

(to Sergeant, speaking a little louder) Can you bend?
I cannot kiss your forehead as you are.

'Twas on a Vriday morning,
Avore the break of day,
That I tuked up my turmit haw
An' tridged dree miles away.

No, no, my man, to-morrow you shall join
My Elocution Classes, but to-night
The Countess wishes -

I zune did get a place ov wark,
I tuked it by the job;
An' ef I 'ad my time again
I'd zunder go to quad.
An' tha vly, ha, ha!
Tha vly, ha, ha!
Tha vly be on tha turmits,
An' tez awl my eye vur me tu try
To keep min off tha turmits.

(appearing to Lord Lieutenant) Good morning! The Lord Lieutenant, I think?

Are you a rebel?

No, my lord, no! I am - amongst other things - a member of the Society for Psychological Research. I've come here in search of fairies - and, by Jingo, sir, I've found 'em; the place is full of 'em.

There's zome delights in haymaking,
And a few delights in mawing,
But ov all tha trades that I like best,
Gie me tha turmit hawing.

It's easy enough to see what's the matter with this poor man - he's bewitched. It's not safe to stay here, that's very certain. If I were you, my lord, I should get home to bed.

Sir, you amaze me!

Ah! (pleased)

I see at length
My Chaplain is approaching; he is stout
Though staunch, and lagged behind; he'll prove to you
That fairies can't exist. Come, Dr. Fiddle.

Endeavour to remember that you are
A learned Doctor of Divinity,
And not a grampus.
I want you, if you please, or if you don't,
To preach your sermon to this gentleman,
Who thinks this place is haunted. I perceive
That to your faults of literary style
The Countess has already shut her eyes -
As I will do, I promise you. Begin.

(taking bulky packet from pocket and addressing Bunn)
This sermon I intended for to-morrow,
In which I deal with vulgar superstitions
So rife among the peasantry of Ireland.
This sermon providentially I carry
In my tail pocket - it is somewhat bulky,
For I have made it thoroughly exhaustive -
In fact, it is a question which will be, sir,
The most exhausted when the sermon's ended -
Myself, my subject, or my congregation.
The subject I divide into ten headings,
Each heading into twenty sub-divisions,
Bristling with arguments and long statistics,
Which prove entirely to my satisfaction,
And will, I think, to yours, when you have heard them,
That there are not, have never been, and cannot
At any future time be in existence
Such things as Fairies, Pixies, Nymphs, or Brownies,
Hobgoblins, Gnomes, or other apparitions.

(having made several unavailing attempts to interrupt and escape from the Chaplain, who has button-holed him) Your Excellency, I am quite satisfied -

That fairies don't exist? I'm glad of that;
And I myself am also satisfied
There are no rebels here.

I do not think
That anyone in Ireland -

Would rebel
Against the Lord Lieutenant. So I think (producing the anonymous letter)
The man who wrote this letter telling me
Of rebels is the first, the very first
And only man who ever tried to hoax
The Lord Lieutenant. He shall be the last!
A thousand guineas is the sum I offer
For his discovery, or information
That leads to it!

Permit me. I am Professor Bunn, the eminent expert in handwriting. Ah! I thought so! I can tell you who wrote this. I wrote it myself. A thousand guineas I think you said? (chuckles)

I never break my word; and you shall have
The thousand guineas.

Thank you, my lord. I knew I could trust the word of a nobleman.

I never break my word; and I have said
That I will shoot all rebels that I catch.
You, in this letter, prove that you are one.

Against my will, my lord!

(to Sergeant) Let him be shot at once; if that be not
Enough, let him be shot at twice, or thrice -

My lord -

Summon the firing party!

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them!

Listen, Lord Lieutenant! It's banished my Pat has been for bein' a traitor to the rebels. And it's us that's goin' to show them we wouldn't betray them for the world. Come out of your hiding, boys!

Now, Pat, spake the truth and shame your accusers!!

Is it me that ever wrote a letter to ye in my life, Lord Lieutenant? Me that cannot write at all?

Why didn't ye say that before?

It's not a thing worth mentioning. (to Lord Lieutenant) It's not your friend I am at all! I'm the reddest rebel here.

(to Murphy) Hooroo! Whirroo!

Arrest these men, and let them be shot at once - if that be not enough -

Stop! I am the leader of these men! If any one is shot -

Let him be shot at once; if that be not -

No! My mistress would wish this done if she was here -

I am. Thank you, Susan.

Shall I stay here, my lady?

No, thank you, Susan. (Takes her place in Terence's arms.)

(to Rosie) Who is this gentleman? Though you forget
Yourself, can you inform me who he is?

A common rebel.

Nay, a Commoner,
Whom love has crowned my King.

Tush!

Listen, girl!
Apart from being daughter of a Viceroy,
Remember you're of ten times royal birth;
For, as is generally now the case
Among the English aristocracy,
Some of the richest if not the bluest blood
Of all America flows in your veins.
Your ancestors (upon the other side)
Comprise two Railway Kings, a Copper Queen,
And half-a-dozen Pork-pie Potentates.
The democratic principles that must
Lie in your blood with such an ancestry
Will prompt you, I am sure, to love a Lord,
And no one else. Release my daughter, sir.

Papa, this gentleman is - (to Terence) Tell Papa who and what you are.

I'm descended from Brian Boru.

Hooroo!

My blood is the elegant hue -

True Blue!

That flows in the veins of the fortunate few
Who are sons of the Kings of Erin!

I did not know that your descent was royal.
That fact removes the first objection which
I have to you as a husband for my daughter.
But one objection still remains; 'tis one
Which is, I fear, quite insurmountable.
I cannot let my daughter marry one
Who has been shot for treason - as you will
Be shot in half an hour. I think that you
Will understand that this is impossible.

Yes. If in company with these rebels I am to suffer a felon's death in half an hour, I cannot expect you to trust your daughter's happiness to me. I quite see that. There is nothing more to be said. It is a perfectly reasonable objection.

Pardon me. There is this to be said. It has just struck me. (to Lord Lieutenant) If we had guessed (as we ought to have guessed) that you, being a scion of a noble English house, had so much American blood in your composition, we should not have rebelled against you. America is the friend of Ireland. You are an English nobleman. Therefore you are nowadays more than half American. Therefore you are our friend. How do you do? I am glad we met. We are no longer rebels. It would be absurd to shoot us.

That sounds conclusive -

It is conclusive. What do you say, b-hoys?