| Citation |
VGW(HU.768.055
19 May 1768:11 (887)
Letter from a gentleman in Ireland, to his friend in London.
Dublin, Dec. 28. 1767.
My Dare, Phelem,
I dare say you have been long expecting to hare from me,
because when I left your big city I promised to give you a
small account of our doings here.
Devil burn me, but I'd rather be in Dublin Castle just
now that in Heaven. You may talk of your Halifaxes and
Northumberlands, but they are nobody, hony! to our L--d L--
-t.
By Jasus, but this L--d T--- is a swate fellow, and lives
as grand as the Mogul, or our cousin O'Niel, and he's always
after pleasing us. . . [8 lines] Would you believe it now?
He's going to let his wife lye in of a fine Irish boy, and
she says he shall be fostered in Trinity College. Blessings
on her sweet face! She's as charming a crature as any in
Dublin, and is always giving away mate, and money, and balls
and Burgummy.
Upon my conscience, we can't find fault neither with any
of his household: The Stewart and Comptroller are both big
enough to be haros, and never asy but when they're making
one drink and ate prosperity to Ireland; and as for the
Secretaries, Chaplains, and Gentlemen, they can make
speaches, sarmons, and varses, and shoot, and play upon the
fiddle. Long life to them all.
Devil burn me, my dare Phelim, but I wish very often for
you and my cousin MacDermot, on a Tuesday night, to dance a
lilt at the castle, and to trim the shampain.
My service to Peggy Mac Culloch, and desire her to be
after sending me a round of London brawn, for which I'll
return her a Dublin rochspun.
I am you sincere cosin, [signed] Sullivan O'Neil.
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