Do not, for Heaven's sake, bring down Coridon and Lindor
upon us.'
'Nay, if you cannot relish la houlette et le chalumeau, have with you in
heroic strains.'
'Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of
Mac-Murrough's cup rather than of mine.'
'I disclaim it, ma belle demoiselle, although I protest it would be the
more congenial of the two. Which of your crack-brained Italian romancers
is it that says,
Io d'Elicona niente
Mi curo, in fe de Dio; che'l bere d'acque
(Bea chi ber ne vuol) sempre mi spiacque!
[Footnote:
Good sooth, I reck nought of your Helicon;
Drink water whoso will, in faith I will drink none.]
But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley, here is little Cathleen
shall sing you Drimmindhu. Come, Cathleen, astore (i.e. my dear), begin;
no apologies to the cean-kinne.'
Cathleen sung with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the burlesque
elegy of a countryman on the loss of his cow, the comic tones of which,
though he did not understand the language, made Waverley laugh more than
once. [Footnote: This ancient Gaelic ditty is still well known, both in
the Highlands and in Ireland It was translated into English, and
published, if I mistake not, under the auspices of the facetious Tom
D'Urfey, by the title of 'Colley, my Cow.
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