Thin next day, whin they’d gone to the dinner, Kate showed me the grandeur they’d got
Settled out in the library; all of her presents, a terrible lot.
Sure, I couldn’t be tellin’ ye half, let alone nigh the whole o’ the things.
There was wan o’ the tables was covered wid bracelets an’ brooches, an’ rings;
An’ the big silver plates did be shinin’ like so many moons thro’ the mist;
An’ the jugs wid their insides pure gold, an’ the taypots, an’ urns, an’ the rist.
But the iligant chiney--och saints! the wee cups wid their handles all gilt,
An’ their paintin’s o’ flower-wrathes an’ birds--if ye’d break wan, bedad, ye’d be kilt.
An’ the jewels, och, the jewels was that purty, I’d ha’ sted there star-gazin’ all night;
There was diaminds like raindhrops that each had a fire-sparkle somehow alight,
An’ the pearls like as if they’d been stringin’ the bits o’ round hailstones for beads,
An’ the red wans an’ green, if a rainbow was sowin’ ye’d take thim for seeds;
An’ the grand little boxes to hold thim, all lined wid smooth satin below--
‘Sure, it’s well to be her, Kate,’ sez I, an’ sez she, ‘Och, begorra, that’s so.’
V
Well, the morn, be the best o’ good luck, Kate an’ I got the chance to slip out,
An’ away wid us off to the church, where the folk was all standin’ about,
Tho’ it wanted an hour to the time; an’ we squeezed to a sate at the door,
That was thrailed round most tasty wid wrathes that they’d put up the evenin’ before.
An’ it’s there we’d the greatest divarsion beholdin’, for afther a while,
All the guests was arrivin’ an’ roostlin’ in velvets an’ silks up the aisle,
Every wan lookin’ finer than t’other, wid sthramers an’ feathers an’ lace--
But the sorra a sign o’ the bridegroom was seen comin’ nigh to the place.
That was sthrange now; an’ folk did be sayin’ they wondhered what kep’ him, an’ thin
It seemed Quality’s selves got onaisy, for ye’d see the grand bonnits begin
Niddle-noddin’ together to whisper; an’ wan o’ the gintlemen’d quit,
Slippin’ out be the little side door, an’ look down the sthraight road for a bit,
An’ come back, blinkin’ out o’ the sun, wid a head-shake, for nothin’ he’d spied;
Till at last, in the heighth o’ their throuble, in landed Miss Honor--the bride.