In
his hand he carried a fiddle.
"Good morning to you," said I.
"A good morning to your hanner, a merry afternoon and a roaring,
joyous evening - that is the worst luck I wish to ye."
"Are you a native of these parts?" said I.
"Not exactly, your hanner - I am a native of the city of Dublin,
or, what's all the same thing, of the village of Donnybrook, which
is close by it."
"A celebrated place," said I.
"Your hanner may say that; all the world has heard of Donnybrook,
owing to the humours of its fair. Many is the merry tune I have
played to the boys at that fair."
"You are a professor of music, I suppose?"
"And not a very bad one, as your hanner will say, if you allow me
to play you a tune."
"Can you play Croppies Lie Down?"
"I cannot, your hanner, my fingers never learnt to play such a
blackguard tune; but if you wish to hear Croppies Get Up I can
oblige ye."
"You are a Roman Catholic, I suppose?"
"I am not, your hanner - I am a Catholic to the back-bone, just
like my father before me. Come, your hanner, shall I play ye
Croppies Get Up?"
"No," said I; "it's a tune that doesn't please my ears. If,
however, you choose to play Croppies Lie Down, I'll give you a
shilling."
"Your hanner will give me a shilling?"
"Yes," said I; "if you play Croppies Lie Down; but you know you
cannot play it, your fingers never learned the tune.
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