what we play in this merry comedy?

LARRY. Be doing it.

ROBIN. Then we play the parts of two fools, look you, to part with all at
home, and come to these savage parts, where, Heaven shield us, our heads
may be parted from our bodies. Think what a catastrophe, master Larry!

LARRY. So the merry comedy ends a doleful tragedy, and exit fool in the
character of a hero! That's glory, sirrah, a very feather in our cap.

ROBIN. A light gain to weigh against the heavy loss of one's head. Feather
quotha! what use of a plumed hat without a head to wear it withal?

LARRY. Tut, man, our captain will lead us through all dangers.

ROBIN. Will he? an' he catch me following him through these same dangers--

LARRY. Och, you spalpeen! I mean he'll lead us out of peril.

ROBIN. Thank him for nothing; for I've predetermined, look you, not to be
led into peril. Oh, master Larry, what a plague had I to do to leave my
snug cot and my brown lass, to follow master Rolfe to this devil of a
country, where there's never a girl nor a house!

LARRY. Out, you driveller! didn't I leave as neat a black-ey'd girl, and
as pretty a prolific potato-patch all in tears--

ROBIN. Your potato-patch in tears! that's a bull, master Larry--

LARRY. You're a calf, master Robin. Wasn't it raining? Och, I shall never
forget it; the thunder rolling, and her tongue a-going, and her tears and
the rain; och, bother, but it was a dismal morning!

_Song_--LARRY.

I.

Och! dismal and dark was the day, to be sure,
When Larry took leave of sweet Katy Maclure;
And clouds dark as pitch hung just like a black lace
O'er the sweet face of Heav'n and my Katy's sweet face.
Then, while the wind blow'd, and she sigh'd might and main,
Drops from the black skies
Fell--and from her black eyes;
Och! how I was soak'd with her tears--and the rain.

[_Speaks._] And then she gave me this beautiful keep-sake [_Shows a pair
of scissors._], which if ever I part with, may a tailor clip me in two
with his big shears. Och! when Katy took you in hand, how nicely did you
snip and snap my bushy, carroty locks; and now you're cutting the hairs of
my heart to pieces, you tieves you--

[_Sings._] Och! Hubbaboo--Gramachree--Hone!

II.

When I went in the garden, each bush seem'd to sigh
Because I was going--and nod me good-bye;
Each stem hung its head, drooping bent like a bow,
With the