A NEW CATECHISM, &c.
Tom.Of all the opinions professed in religion tell me now, Pady, of what profession art thou?
Pady.Arra, dear shoy, my religion was too weighty a matter to carry out of my own country: I was afraid that you English Presbyterians should pluck it away from me.
Tom.What, Pady, was your religion such a load that you could not carry it along with you?
Pady.Yes, that it was, but I carried it always about withme when at home, my sweet cross upon my dear breast, bound to my dear button hole.
Tom.And what manner of worship did you perform by that?
Pady.Why I adored my cross, the pope, and the priest, cursed Oliver, as black as a crow, and swears myself a cut throat against all Protestants and church of Englandmen.
Tom.And what is the matter but you would be a church of Englandman, or a Scotch Presbyterian yourself, Pady?
Pady.Because it is unnatural for an Irishman, but had shaint Patrick been a Presbyterian, I had been the same.
Tom.And for what reason would you be a Presbyterian then, Pady?
Pady.Because they have a liberty to eat flesh in lent, and every thing that’s fit for the belly.
Tom.What, Pady, are you such a lover of flesh that you would change your profession for it?
Pady.O yes, that’s what I did, I love flesh of all kinds, sheep’s beef, swine’s mutton, hare’s flesh, and hen’s venison; but our religion is one of the hungriest in all the world, ah! but it makes my teeth to weep, and my belly to water, when I see the Scotch Presbyterians and English churchmen, in time of lent, feeding upon bull’s bastards, and sheep’s young children.
Tom.Why Pady, do you say the bull is a fornicator, and gets bastards?
Pady.Arra, dear shoy, I never saw the cow and her husband, all the days of my life, nor before I was born, going to the church to be married, and what then can his sons and daughters be but bastards?
Tom.O Pady, Pady, the cow is but a cow, but and so are you: but what reward will you get when you are dead, for punishing your belly so while you are alive?
Pady.By shaint Patrick I’ll live like a king when I’m dead, for I will neither pay for meat nor drink.
Tom.What, Pady, do you think that you are to come alive again when you are dead?
Pady.O yes, we that are true Roman Catholicks we will live a long time after we are dead; when we die in love with the priests, and the good people of our profession.
Tom.And what assurance can your priests give you of that?
Pady.Arra, dear shoy, our priest is a great shaint, and a good shoul, who can repeat a patter-noster, and Ave Maria, which will fright the very horned devil himself and make him run for it, until he be like to fall and break his neck.
Tom.And what does he give you when you are dying that makes you come alive again?
Pady.Why he writes a letter upon our tongues, sealed with a wafer, gives us a sacrament in our mouth, with a pardon, and direction in our right-hand, who to call for at the ports of Purgatory?
Tom.And to whom do they direct the dead?
Pady.Why the English Romans when they die are all directed to shaint George, the Scots to shaint Andrew, the Welch to shaint David, and our own dear countrymen must every shoul of them go to shaint Patrick, but them that have no money to pay the priest for a pardon, or those that are drown’d or die by themselves in the fields without a priest, is lost, and sent away as black-guard scoundrels, to wander up and down while the world stands, among the brownies, fairies, mermaids, sea-devils, and water kelpies.
Tom.And what money design you to give the priests for your pardon?
Pady.Dear shoy, I wish I had first the money he would take for it, I would rather drink it myself, and then give him both my bill and my honest word, payable in the other world.
Tom.And how then are you to get a passage to the other world, or who is to carry you there?
Pady.O my dear shoy, Tom, you know nothing of the matter; for, when I die, they will bury my body, flesh, blood, dirt and bones, only my skin will be blown up full of wind and spirit, my dear shoul I mean; and then I will be blown over to the other world, on the wings of the wind; and after that I shall never be kill’d hang’d nor drowned, nor yet diein my bed, for when any hits me a blow, my new body will play buff upon it like a bladder.
Tom.But what way will you go to the new world, or where is it?
Pady.Arra, dear shoy, the priest knows where it is, but I do not, but the Pope of Rome keeps the outer-port, shaint Patrick the inner-port, and gives us a direction of the way to shaint Patrick’s palace, which stands on the head of the Stalian-loch, where I’ll have no more to do but chap at the gate.
Tom.What is the need for chapping at the gate, is it not always open?
Pady.Dear Shoy, you know little about it, for there is none can enter in but red-hot Irishmen, for when I call, “Allelieu, dear honey, shaint Patrick countenance your own dear countryman if you will.” Then the gates will be opened directly to me, for he knows and loves an Irishman’s voice, as he loves his own heart.
Tom.And what entertainment will you get when you are in?
Pady.O my dear, we are all kept there until a general review, which is commonly once in the week; and then we are drawn up, like as many young recruits, and all the black-guard scoundrels is pickt out of the ranks, and one half of them is sent away to the Elysian fields, to curry the weeds from among the potatoes, the other half of them to the river Sticks, to catch fishes for shaint Patrick’s table; and all them that is owing the priests any money, is put in the black hole, and then given into the hands of a great black bitch of a devil which they keep for a hangman, who whips them up and down the smoaky dungeon every morning for six months, then holds their bare back-side to a great fire, until their hips be all in one blister, and after all, they are sent away to the poor parish of Pig-trantum, where they get nothing to eat but cold sowens, burgue, and butter-milk.
Tom.And where does your good people go when they are separated from the bad?
Pady.And where would you have them to go, but untoshaint Patrick’s palace, and then they may go down the back stairs into the garden of Eden, now called Paradise: ah! my dear shoy, this is the real fundamental truths of our Romish Religion, and a deep doctrine it is, but your Presbyterians and English churchmen will not believe it, and, by shaint Patrick, neither can I, until I see more of it come to pass.
Tom.And what manner of life does your priest ordain you to live in the world to come?
Pady.Arra, dear shoy, if I had money enough to buy pardons from our priest, I might commit all the lies forbidden in the holy books, as he gives them a toleration to lie and cheat all the world, but those of our own profession.
Tom.What, Pady, are you not to do as much justice to a Protestant as a Papist?
Pady.O my dear shoy, the most justice we are commanded to do to a Protestant, is to whip and torment them until they confess themselves in the Romish Faith, and then cut their throats that they may die believers.
Tom.What business do you follow after at present?
Pady.Arra, dear shoy, I am a mountain sailor, and my supplication is as follows,