old if yous all don't come at wanst.

MRS O'FLAHERTY [breaking out again]. Oh, Tessie darlint, what have you
been saying to Dinny at all at all? Oh! Oh--

SIR PEARCE [out of patience]. You can't discuss that here. We shall have
Tessie beginning now.

O'FLAHERTY. That's right, sir: drive them in.

TERESA. I haven't said a word to him. He--

SIR PEARCE. Hold your tongue; and go in and attend to your business at
the tea table.

TERESA. But amment I telling your honor that I never said a word to him?
He gave me a beautiful gold chain. Here it is to show your honor that
it's no lie I'm telling you.

SIR PEARCE. What's this, O'Flaherty? You've been looting some
unfortunate officer.

O'FLAHERTY. No, sir: I stole it from him of his own accord.

MRS O'FLAHERTY. Wouldn't your honor tell him that his mother has the
first call on it? What would a slip of a girl like that be doing with a
gold chain round her neck?

TERESA [venomously]. Anyhow, I have a neck to put it round and not a
hank of wrinkles.

At this unfortunate remark, Mrs O'Flaherty bounds from her seat: and
an appalling tempest of wordy wrath breaks out. The remonstrances and
commands of the General, and the protests and menaces of O'Flaherty,
only increase the hubbub. They are soon all speaking at once at the top
of their voices.

MRS O'FLAHERTY [solo]. You impudent young heifer, how dar you say such a
thing to me? [Teresa retorts furiously: the men interfere: and the solo
becomes a quartet, fortissimo.] I've a good mind to clout your ears for
you to teach you manners. Be ashamed of yourself, do; and learn to know
who you're speaking to. That I maytn't sin! but I don't know what the
good God was thinking about when he made the like of you. Let me not see
you casting sheep's eyes at my son again. There never was an O'Flaherty
yet that would demean himself by keeping company with a dirty Driscoll;
and if I see you next or nigh my house I'll put you in the ditch with a
flea in your ear: mind that now.

TERESA. Is it me you offer such a name to, you fou-mouthed,
dirty-minded, lying, sloothering old sow, you? I wouldn't soil my tongue
by calling you in your right name and telling Sir Pearce what's the
common talk of the town about you. You and your O'Flahertys! setting
yourself up agen the Driscolls that would never lower themselves to be
seen in conversation with you at the fair. You can keep your ugly stingy
lump of a son; for what is he but a common soldi