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+Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tinker’s Wedding, by J. M. Synge
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Tinker’s Wedding
+
+Author: J. M. Synge
+
+Release Date: May 1998 [EBook #1328]
+Last Updated: January 26, 2019
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TINKER’S WEDDING ***
+
+
+
+
+This etext was prepared by Judy Boss
+
+
+
+cover
+
+
+
+ The Tinker’s Wedding 
+
+
+
+A COMEDY IN TWO ACTS
+
+
+
+ by J. M. Synge 
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+ PREFACE.
+ THE TINKER’S WEDDING
+ PERSONS.
+ ACT I.
+ ACT II.
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+The drama is made serious—in the French sense of the word—not by the
+degree in which it is taken up with problems that are serious in
+themselves, but by the degree in which it gives the nourishment, not
+very easy to define, on which our imaginations live. We should not go
+to the theatre as we go to a chemist’s, or a dram-shop, but as we go to
+a dinner, where the food we need is taken with pleasure and excitement.
+This was nearly always so in Spain and England and France when the
+drama was at its richest—the infancy and decay of the drama tend to be
+didactic—but in these days the playhouse is too often stocked with the
+drugs of many seedy problems, or with the absinthe or vermouth of the
+last musical comedy.
+
+The drama, like the symphony, does not teach or prove anything.
+Analysts with their problems, and teachers with their systems, are soon
+as old-fashioned as the pharmacopœia of Galen,—look at Ibsen and the
+Germans—but the best plays of Ben Jonson and Molière can no more go out
+of fashion than the black-berries on the hedges.
+
+Of the things which nourish the imagination humour is one of the most
+needful, and it is dangerous to limit or destroy it. Baudelaire calls
+laughter the greatest sign of the Satanic element in man; and where a
+country loses its humor, as some towns in Ireland are doing, there will
+be morbidity of mind, as Baudelaire’s mind was morbid.
+
+In the greater part of Ireland, however, the whole people, from the
+tinkers to the clergy, have still a life, and view of life, that are
+rich and genial and humorous. I do not think that these country people,
+who have so much humor themselves, will mind being laughed at without
+malice, as the people in every country have been laughed at in their
+own comedies.
+
+J. M. S.
+
+_December 2nd_, 1907.
+
+
+
+THE TINKER’S WEDDING
+
+PERSONS
+
+MICHAEL BYRNE, a tinker.
+MARY BYRNE, an old woman, his mother.
+SARAH CASEY, a young tinker woman.
+A PRIEST.
+
+
+
+ACT I.
+
+SCENE: _A Village roadside after nightfall. A fire of sticks is burning
+near the ditch a little to the right. Michael is working beside it. In
+the background, on the left, a sort of tent and ragged clothes drying
+on the hedge. On the right a chapel-gate._
+
+
+SARAH CASEY
+_coming in on right, eagerly._—We’ll see his reverence this place,
+Michael Byrne, and he passing backward to his house to-night.
+
+MICHAEL
+_grimly._—That’ll be a sacred and a sainted joy!
+
+SARAH
+_sharply._—It’ll be small joy for yourself if you aren’t ready with my
+wedding ring. _(She goes over to him.)_ Is it near done this time, or
+what way is it at all?
+
+MICHAEL
+A poor way only, Sarah Casey, for it’s the divil’s job making a ring,
+and you’ll be having my hands destroyed in a short while the way I’ll
+not be able to make a tin can at all maybe at the dawn of day.
+
+SARAH
+_sitting down beside him and throwing sticks on the fire._—If it’s the
+divil’s job, let you mind it, and leave your speeches that would choke
+a fool.
+
+MICHAEL
+_slowly and glumly._—And it’s you’ll go talking of fools, Sarah Casey,
+when no man did ever hear a lying story even of your like unto this
+mortal day. You to be going beside me a great while, and rearing a lot
+of them, and then to be setting off with your talk of getting married,
+and your driving me to it, and I not asking it at all.
+
+[_Sarah turns her back to him and arranges something in the ditch._
+
+MICHAEL
+_angrily._—Can’t you speak a word when I’m asking what is it ails you
+since the moon did change?
+
+SARAH
+_musingly._—I’m thinking there isn’t anything ails me, Michael Byrne;
+but the spring-time is a queer time, and it’s queer thoughts maybe I do
+think at whiles.
+
+MICHAEL
+It’s hard set you’d be to think queerer than welcome, Sarah Casey; but
+what will you gain dragging me to the priest this night, I’m saying,
+when it’s new thoughts you’ll be thinking at the dawn of day?
+
+SARAH
+_teasingly._—It’s at the dawn of day I do be thinking I’d have a right
+to be going off to the rich tinkers do be travelling from Tibradden to
+the Tara Hill; for it’d be a fine life to be driving with young
+Jaunting Jim, where there wouldn’t be any big hills to break the back
+of you, with walking up and walking down.
+
+MICHAEL
+_with dismay._—It’s the like of that you do be thinking!
+
+SARAH
+The like of that, Michael Byrne, when there is a bit of sun in it, and
+a kind air, and a great smell coming from the thorn-trees is above your
+head.
+
+MICHAEL
+_looks at her for a moment with horror, and then hands her the
+ring._—Will that fit you now?
+
+SARAH
+_trying it on._—It’s making it tight you are, and the edges sharp on
+the tin.
+
+MICHAEL
+_looking at it carefully._—It’s the fat of your own finger, Sarah
+Casey; and isn’t it a mad thing I’m saying again that you’d be asking
+marriage of me, or making a talk of going away from me, and you
+thriving and getting your good health by the grace of the Almighty God?
+
+SARAH
+_giving it back to him._—Fix it now, and it’ll do, if you’re wary you
+don’t squeeze it again.
+
+MICHAEL
+_moodily, working again._—It’s easy saying be wary; there’s many things
+easy said, Sarah Casey, you’d wonder a fool even would be saying at
+all. _(He starts violently.)_ The divil mend you, I’m scalded again!
+
+SARAH
+_scornfully._—If you are, it’s a clumsy man you are this night, Michael
+Byrne _(raising her voice)_; and let you make haste now, or herself
+will be coming with the porter.
+
+MICHAEL
+_defiantly, raising his voice._—Let me make haste? I’ll be making haste
+maybe to hit you a great clout; for I’m thinking on the day I got you
+above at Rathvanna, and the way you began crying out and saying, “I’ll
+go back to my ma,” and I’m thinking on the way I came behind you that
+time, and hit you a great clout in the lug, and how quiet and easy it
+was you came along with me from that hour to this present day.
+
+SARAH
+_standing up and throwing all her sticks into the fire._—And a big fool
+I was too, maybe; but we’ll be seeing Jaunting Jim to-morrow in
+Ballinaclash, and he after getting a great price for his white foal in
+the horse-fair of Wicklow, the way it’ll be a great sight to see him
+squandering his share of gold, and he with a grand eye for a fine
+horse, and a grand eye for a woman.
+
+MICHAEL
+_working again with impatience._—The divil do him good with the two of
+them.
+
+SARAH
+_kicking up the ashes with her foot._—Ah, he’s a great lad, I’m telling
+you, and it’s proud and happy I’ll be to see him, and he the first one
+called me the Beauty of Ballinacree, a fine name for a woman.
+
+MICHAEL
+_with contempt._—It’s the like of that name they do be putting on the
+horses they have below racing in Arklow. It’s easy pleased you are,
+Sarah Casey, easy pleased with a big word, or the liar speaks it.
+
+SARAH
+Liar!
+
+MICHAEL
+Liar, surely.
+
+SARAH
+_indignantly._—Liar, is it? Didn’t you ever hear tell of the peelers
+followed me ten miles along the Glen Malure, and they talking love to
+me in the dark night, or of the children you’ll meet coming from school
+and they saying one to the other, “It’s this day we seen Sarah Casey,
+the Beauty of Ballinacree, a great sight surely.”
+
+MICHAEL
+God help the lot of them!
+
+SARAH
+It’s yourself you’ll be calling God to help, in two weeks or three,
+when you’ll be waking up in the dark night and thinking you see me
+coming with the sun on me, and I driving a high cart with Jaunting Jim
+going behind. It’s lonesome and cold you’ll be feeling the ditch where
+you’ll be lying down that night, I’m telling you, and you hearing the
+old woman making a great noise in her sleep, and the bats squeaking in
+the trees.
+
+MICHAEL
+Whist. I hear some one coming the road.
+
+SARAH
+_looking out right._—It’s some one coming forward from the doctor’s
+door.
+
+MICHAEL
+It’s often his reverence does be in there playing cards, or drinking a
+sup, or singing songs, until the dawn of day.
+
+SARAH
+It’s a big boast of a man with a long step on him and a trumpeting
+voice. It’s his reverence surely; and if you have the ring done, it’s a
+great bargain we’ll make now and he after drinking his glass.
+
+MICHAEL
+_going to her and giving her the ring._—There’s your ring, Sarah Casey;
+but I’m thinking he’ll walk by and not stop to speak with the like of
+us at all.
+
+SARAH
+_tidying herself, in great excitement._—Let you be sitting here and
+keeping a great blaze, the way he can look on my face; and let you seem
+to be working, for it’s great love the like of him have to talk of
+work.
+
+MICHAEL
+_moodily, sitting down and_ _beginning to work at a tin can._—Great
+love surely.
+
+SARAH
+_eagerly._—Make a great blaze now, Michael Byrne.
+
+[_The priest comes in on right; she comes forward in front of him._
+
+SARAH
+_in a very plausible voice._—Good evening, your reverence. It’s a grand
+fine night, by the grace of God.
+
+PRIEST
+The Lord have mercy on us! What kind of a living woman is it that you
+are at all?
+
+SARAH
+It’s Sarah Casey I am, your reverence, the Beauty of Ballinacree, and
+it’s Michael Byrne is below in the ditch.
+
+PRIEST
+A holy pair, surely! Let you get out of my way.
+
+[_He tries to pass by._
+
+SARAH
+_keeping in front of him._—We are wanting a little word with your
+reverence.
+
+PRIEST
+I haven’t a halfpenny at all. Leave the road I’m saying.
+
+SARAH
+It isn’t a halfpenny we’re asking, holy father; but we were thinking
+maybe we’d have a right to be getting married; and we were thinking
+it’s yourself would marry us for not a halfpenny at all; for you’re a
+kind man, your reverence, a kind man with the poor.
+
+PRIEST
+_with astonishment._—Is it marry you for nothing at all?
+
+SARAH
+It is, your reverence; and we were thinking maybe you’d give us a
+little small bit of silver to pay for the ring.
+
+PRIEST
+_loudly._—Let you hold your tongue; let you be quiet, Sarah Casey. I’ve
+no silver at all for the like of you; and if you want to be married,
+let you pay your pound. I’d do it for a pound only, and that’s making
+it a sight cheaper than I’d make it for one of my own pairs is living
+here in the place.
+
+SARAH
+Where would the like of us get a pound, your reverence?
+
+PRIEST
+Wouldn’t you easy get it with your selling asses, and making cans, and
+your stealing east and west in Wicklow and Wexford and the county
+Meath? _(He tries to pass her.)_ Let you leave the road, and not be
+plaguing me more.
+
+SARAH
+_pleadingly, taking money from her pocket._—Wouldn’t you have a little
+mercy on us, your reverence? _(Holding out money.)_ Wouldn’t you marry
+us for a half a sovereign, and it a nice shiny one with a view on it of
+the living king’s mamma?
+
+PRIEST
+If it’s ten shillings you have, let you get ten more the same way, and
+I’ll marry you then.
+
+SARAH
+_whining._—It’s two years we are getting that bit, your reverence, with
+our pence and our halfpence and an odd three-penny bit; and if you
+don’t marry us now, himself and the old woman, who has a great drouth,
+will be drinking it to-morrow in the fair _(she puts her apron to her
+eyes, half sobbing)_, and then I won’t be married any time, and I’ll be
+saying till I’m an old woman: “It’s a cruel and a wicked thing to be
+bred poor.”
+
+PRIEST
+_turning up towards the fire._—Let you not be crying, Sarah Casey. It’s
+a queer woman you are to be crying at the like of that, and you your
+whole life walking the roads.
+
+SARAH
+_sobbing._—It’s two years we are getting the gold, your reverence, and
+now you won’t marry us for that bit, and we hard-working poor people do
+be making cans in the dark night, and blinding our eyes with the black
+smoke from the bits of twigs we do be burning.
+
+[_An old woman is heard singing tipsily on the left._
+
+PRIEST
+_looking at the can Michael is making._—When will you have that can
+done, Michael Byrne?
+
+MICHAEL
+In a short space only, your reverence, for I’m putting the last dab of
+solder on the rim.
+
+PRIEST
+Let you get a crown along with the ten shillings and the gallon can,
+Sarah Casey, and I will wed you so.
+
+MARY
+_suddenly shouting behind, tipsily._—Larry was a fine lad, I’m saying;
+Larry was a fine lad, Sarah Casey—
+
+MICHAEL
+Whist, now, the two of you. There’s my mother coming, and she’d have us
+destroyed if she heard the like of that talk the time she’s been
+drinking her fill.
+
+MARY
+_comes in singing_
+
+    And when we asked him what way he’d die,
+        And he hanging unrepented,
+    “Begob,” says Larry, “that’s all in my eye,
+        By the clergy first invented.”
+
+SARAH
+Give me the jug now, or you’ll have it spilt in the ditch.
+
+MARY
+_holding the jug with both her hands, in a stilted voice._—Let you
+leave me easy, Sarah Casey. I won’t spill it, I’m saying. God help you;
+are you thinking it’s frothing full to the brim it is at this hour of
+the night, and I after carrying it in my two hands a long step from
+Jemmy Neill’s?
+
+MICHAEL
+_anxiously._—Is there a sup left at all?
+
+SARAH
+_looking into the jug._—A little small sup only I’m thinking.
+
+MARY
+_sees the priest, and holds out jug towards him._—God save your
+reverence. I’m after bringing down a smart drop; and let you drink it
+up now, for it’s a middling drouthy man you are at all times, God
+forgive you, and this night is cruel dry.
+
+[_She tries to go towards him. Sarah holds her back._
+
+PRIEST
+_waving her away._—Let you not be falling to the flames. Keep off, I’m
+saying.
+
+MARY
+_persuasively._—Let you not be shy of us, your reverence. Aren’t we all
+sinners, God help us! Drink a sup now, I’m telling you; and we won’t
+let on a word about it till the Judgment Day.
+
+[_She takes up a tin mug, pours some porter into it, and gives it to
+him._
+
+MARY
+_singing, and holding the jug in her hand._
+
+    A lonesome ditch in Ballygan
+    The day you’re beating a tenpenny can;
+    A lonesome bank in Ballyduff
+    The time . . .
+
+[_She breaks off._ It’s a bad, wicked song, Sarah Casey; and let you
+put me down now in the ditch, and I won’t sing it till himself will be
+gone; for it’s bad enough he is, I’m thinking, without ourselves making
+him worse.
+
+SARAH
+_putting her down, to the priest, half laughing._—Don’t mind her at
+all, your reverence. She’s no shame the time she’s a drop taken; and if
+it was the Holy Father from Rome was in it, she’d give him a little sup
+out of her mug, and say the same as she’d say to yourself.
+
+MARY
+_to the priest._—Let you drink it up, holy father. Let you drink it up,
+I’m saying, and not be letting on you wouldn’t do the like of it, and
+you with a stack of pint bottles above, reaching the sky.
+
+PRIEST
+_with resignation._—Well, here’s to your good health, and God forgive
+us all.
+
+[_He drinks._
+
+MARY
+That’s right now, your reverence, and the blessing of God be on you.
+Isn’t it a grand thing to see you sitting down, with no pride in you,
+and drinking a sup with the like of us, and we the poorest, wretched,
+starving creatures you’d see any place on the earth?
+
+PRIEST
+If it’s starving you are itself, I’m thinking it’s well for the like of
+you that do be drinking when there’s drouth on you, and lying down to
+sleep when your legs are stiff. _(He sighs gloomily.)_ What would you
+do if it was the like of myself you were, saying Mass with your mouth
+dry, and running east and west for a sick call maybe, and hearing the
+rural people again and they saying their sins?
+
+MARY
+_with compassion._—It’s destroyed you must be hearing the sins of the
+rural people on a fine spring.
+
+PRIEST
+_with despondency._—It’s a hard life, I’m telling you, a hard life,
+Mary Byrne; and there’s the bishop coming in the morning, and he an old
+man, would have you destroyed if he seen a thing at all.
+
+MARY
+_with great sympathy._—It’d break my heart to hear you talking and
+sighing the like of that, your reverence. _(She pats him on the knee.)_
+Let you rouse up, now, if it’s a poor, single man you are itself, and
+I’ll be singing you songs unto the dawn of day.
+
+PRIEST
+_interrupting her._—What is it I want with your songs when it’d be
+better for the like of you, that’ll soon die, to be down on your two
+knees saying prayers to the Almighty God?
+
+MARY
+If it’s prayers I want, you’d have a right to say one yourself, holy
+father; for we don’t have them at all, and I’ve heard tell a power of
+times it’s that you’re for. Say one now, your reverence, for I’ve heard
+a power of queer things and I walking the world, but there’s one thing
+I never heard any time, and that’s a real priest saying a prayer.
+
+PRIEST
+The Lord protect us!
+
+MARY
+It’s no lie, holy father. I often heard the rural people making a queer
+noise and they going to rest; but who’d mind the like of them? And I’m
+thinking it should be great game to hear a scholar, the like of you,
+speaking Latin to the saints above.
+
+PRIEST
+_scandalized._—Stop your talking, Mary Byrne; you’re an old flagrant
+heathen, and I’ll stay no more with the lot of you.
+
+[_He rises._
+
+MARY
+_catching hold of him._—Stop till you say a prayer, your reverence;
+stop till you say a little prayer, I’m telling you, and I’ll give you
+my blessing and the last sup from the jug.
+
+PRIEST
+_breaking away._—Leave me go, Mary Byrne; for I have never met your
+like for hard abominations the score and two years I’m living in the
+place.
+
+MARY
+_innocently._—Is that the truth?
+
+PRIEST
+—It is, then, and God have mercy on your soul.
+
+[_The priest goes towards the left, and Sarah follows him._
+
+SARAH
+_in a low voice._—And what time will you do the thing I’m asking, holy
+father? for I’m thinking you’ll do it surely, and not have me growing
+into an old wicked heathen like herself.
+
+MARY
+_calling out shrilly._—Let you be walking back here, Sarah Casey, and
+not be talking whisper-talk with the like of him in the face of the
+Almighty God.
+
+SARAH
+_to the priest._—Do you hear her now, your reverence? Isn’t it true,
+surely, she’s an old, flagrant heathen, would destroy the world?
+
+PRIEST
+_to Sarah, moving off._—Well, I’ll be coming down early to the chapel,
+and let you come to me a while after you see me passing, and bring the
+bit of gold along with you, and the tin can. I’ll marry you for them
+two, though it’s a pitiful small sum; for I wouldn’t be easy in my soul
+if I left you growing into an old, wicked heathen the like of her.
+
+SARAH
+_following him out._—The blessing of the Almighty God be on you, holy
+father, and that He may reward and watch you from this present day.
+
+MARY
+_nudging Michael._—Did you see that, Michael Byrne? Didn’t you hear me
+telling you she’s flighty a while back since the change of the moon?
+With her fussing for marriage, and she making whisper-talk with one man
+or another man along by the road.
+
+MICHAEL
+—Whist now, or she’ll knock the head of you the time she comes back.
+
+MARY
+—Ah, it’s a bad, wicked way the world is this night, if there’s a fine
+air in it itself. You’d never have seen me, and I a young woman, making
+whisper-talk with the like of him, and he the fearfullest old fellow
+you’d see any place walking the world.
+
+[_Sarah comes back quickly._
+
+MARY
+_calling out to her._—What is it you’re after whispering above with
+himself?
+
+SARAH
+_exultingly._—Lie down, and leave us in peace. _She whispers with
+Michael._
+
+MARY
+_poking out her pipe with a straw, sings_—
+
+    She’d whisper with one, and she’d whisper with two—
+
+_She breaks off coughing._—My singing voice is gone for this night,
+Sarah Casey. _(She lights her pipe.)_ But if it’s flighty you are
+itself, you’re a grand handsome woman, the glory of tinkers, the pride
+of Wicklow, the Beauty of Ballinacree. I wouldn’t have you lying down
+and you lonesome to sleep this night in a dark ditch when the spring is
+coming in the trees; so let you sit down there by the big bough, and
+I’ll be telling you the finest story you’d hear any place from Dundalk
+to Ballinacree, with great queens in it, making themselves matches from
+the start to the end, and they with shiny silks on them the length of
+the day, and white shifts for the night.
+
+MICHAEL
+_standing up with the tin can in his hand._—Let you go asleep, and not
+have us destroyed.
+
+MARY
+_lying back sleepily._—Don’t mind him, Sarah Casey. Sit down now, and
+I’ll be telling you a story would be fit to tell a woman the like of
+you in the springtime of the year.
+
+SARAH
+_taking the can from Michael, and tying it up in a piece of
+sacking._—That’ll not be rusting now in the dews of night. I’ll put it
+up in the ditch the way it will be handy in the morning; and now we’ve
+that done, Michael Byrne, I’ll go along with you and welcome for Tim
+Flaherty’s hens.
+
+_[She puts the can in the ditch._
+
+MARY
+_sleepily._—I’ve a grand story of the great queens of Ireland with
+white necks on them the like of Sarah Casey, and fine arms would hit
+you a slap the way Sarah Casey would hit you.
+
+SARAH
+_beckoning on the left._—Come along now, Michael, while she’s falling
+asleep.
+
+[_He goes towards left. Mary sees that they are going, starts up
+suddenly, and turns over on her hands and knees._
+
+MARY
+_piteously._—Where is it you’re going? Let you walk back here, and not
+be leaving me lonesome when the night is fine.
+
+SARAH
+Don’t be waking the world with your talk when we’re going up through
+the back wood to get two of Tim Flaherty’s hens are roosting in the
+ash-tree above at the well.
+
+MARY
+And it’s leaving me lone you are? Come back here, Sarah Casey. Come
+back here, I’m saying; or if it’s off you must go, leave me the two
+little coppers you have, the way I can walk up in a short while, and
+get another pint for my sleep.
+
+SARAH
+It’s too much you have taken. Let you stretch yourself out and take a
+long sleep; for isn’t that the best thing any woman can do, and she an
+old drinking heathen like yourself.
+
+[_She and Michael go out left._
+
+MARY
+_standing up slowly._—It’s gone they are, and I with my feet that weak
+under me you’d knock me down with a rush, and my head with a noise in
+it the like of what you’d hear in a stream and it running between two
+rocks and rain falling. _(She goes over to the ditch where the can is
+tied in sacking, and takes it down.)_ What good am I this night, God
+help me? What good are the grand stories I have when it’s few would
+listen to an old woman, few but a girl maybe would be in great fear the
+time her hour was come, or a little child wouldn’t be sleeping with the
+hunger on a cold night? _(She takes the can from the sacking and fits
+in three empty bottles and straw in its place, and ties them up.)_
+Maybe the two of them have a good right to be walking out the little
+short while they’d be young; but if they have itself, they’ll not keep
+Mary Byrne from her full pint when the night’s fine, and there’s a dry
+moon in the sky. _(She takes up the can, and puts the package back in
+the ditch.)_ Jemmy Neill’s a decent lad; and he’ll give me a good drop
+for the can; and maybe if I keep near the peelers to-morrow for the
+first bit of the fair, herself won’t strike me at all; and if she does
+itself, what’s a little stroke on your head beside sitting lonesome on
+a fine night, hearing the dogs barking, and the bats squeaking, and you
+saying over, it’s a short while only till you die.
+
+[_She goes out singing “The night before Larry was stretched.”_
+
+CURTAIN
+
+
+
+ACT II.
+
+SCENE: _The same. Early morning. Sarah is washing her face in an old
+bucket; then plaits her hair. Michael is tidying himself also. Mary
+Byrne is asleep against the ditch._
+
+
+
+SARAH
+_to Michael, with pleased excitement._—Go over, now, to the bundle
+beyond, and you’ll find a kind of a red handkerchief to put upon your
+neck, and a green one for myself.
+
+MICHAEL
+_getting them._—You’re after spending more money on the like of them.
+Well, it’s a power we’re losing this time, and we not gaining a thing
+at all. _(With the handkerchief.)_ Is it them two?
+
+SARAH
+It is, Michael. _(She takes one of them.)_ Let you tackle that one
+round under your chin; and let you not forget to take your hat from
+your head when we go up into the church. I asked Biddy Flynn below,
+that’s after marrying her second man, and she told me it’s the like of
+that they do.
+
+[_Mary yawns, and turns over in her sleep._
+
+SARAH
+_with anxiety._—There she is waking up on us, and I thinking we’d have
+the job done before she’d know of it at all.
+
+MICHAEL
+She’ll be crying out now, and making game of us, and saying it’s fools
+we are surely.
+
+SARAH
+I’ll send her to sleep again, or get her out of it one way or another;
+for it’d be a bad case to have a divil’s scholar the like of her
+turning the priest against us maybe with her godless talk.
+
+MARY
+_waking up, and looking at them with curiosity, blandly._—That’s fine
+things you have on you, Sarah Casey; and it’s a great stir you’re
+making this day, washing your face. I’m that used to the hammer, I
+wouldn’t hear it at all, but washing is a rare thing, and you’re after
+waking me up, and I having a great sleep in the sun.
+
+[_She looks around cautiously at the bundle in which she has hidden the
+bottles._
+
+SARAH
+_coaxingly._—Let you stretch out again for a sleep, Mary Byrne, for
+it’ll be a middling time yet before we go to the fair.
+
+MARY
+_with suspicion._—That’s a sweet tongue you have, Sarah Casey; but if
+sleep’s a grand thing, it’s a grand thing to be waking up a day the
+like of this, when there’s a warm sun in it, and a kind air, and you’ll
+hear the cuckoos singing and crying out on the top of the hills.
+
+SARAH
+If it’s that gay you are, you’d have a right to walk down and see would
+you get a few halfpence from the rich men do be driving early to the
+fair.
+
+MARY
+When rich men do be driving early, it’s queer tempers they have, the
+Lord forgive them; the way it’s little but bad words and swearing out
+you’d get from them all.
+
+SARAH
+_losing her temper and breaking out fiercely._—Then if you’ll neither
+beg nor sleep, let you walk off from this place where you’re not
+wanted, and not have us waiting for you maybe at the turn of day.
+
+MARY
+_rather uneasy, turning to Michael._—God help our spirits, Michael;
+there she is again rousing cranky from the break of dawn. Oh! isn’t she
+a terror since the moon did change? _(She gets up slowly.)_ And I’d
+best be going forward to sell the gallon can.
+
+[_She goes over and takes up the bundle._
+
+SARAH
+_crying out angrily._—Leave that down, Mary Byrne. Oh! aren’t you the
+scorn of women to think that you’d have that drouth and roguery on you
+that you’d go drinking the can and the dew not dried from the grass?
+
+MARY
+_in a feigned tone of pacification, with the bundle still in her
+hand._—It’s not a drouth but a heartburn I have this day, Sarah Casey,
+so I’m going down to cool my gullet at the blessed well; and I’ll sell
+the can to the parson’s daughter below, a harmless poor creature would
+fill your hand with shillings for a brace of lies.
+
+SARAH
+Leave down the tin can, Mary Byrne, for I hear the drouth upon your
+tongue to-day.
+
+MARY
+There’s not a drink-house from this place to the fair, Sarah Casey; the
+way you’ll find me below with the full price, and not a farthing gone.
+
+_[She turns to go off left._
+
+SARAH
+_jumping up, and picking up the hammer threateningly._—Put down that
+can, I’m saying.
+
+MARY
+_looking at her for a moment in terror, and putting down the bundle in
+the ditch._—Is it raving mad you’re going, Sarah Casey, and you the
+pride of women to destroy the world?
+
+SARAH
+_going up to her, and giving her a push off left._—I’ll show you if
+it’s raving mad I am. Go on from this place, I’m saying, and be wary
+now.
+
+MARY
+_turning back after her._—If I go, I’ll be telling old and young you’re
+a weathered heathen savage, Sarah Casey, the one did put down a head of
+the parson’s cabbage to boil in the pot with your clothes _(the Priest
+comes in behind her, on the left, and listens)_, and quenched the
+flaming candles on the throne of God the time your shadow fell within
+the pillars of the chapel door.
+
+[_Sarah turns on her, and she springs round nearly into the Priest’s
+arms. When she sees him, she claps her shawl over her mouth, and goes
+up towards the ditch, laughing to herself._
+
+PRIEST
+_going to Sarah, half terrified at the language that he has
+heard._—Well, aren’t you a fearful lot? I’m thinking it’s only humbug
+you were making at the fall of night, and you won’t need me at all.
+
+SARAH
+_with anger still in her voice._—Humbug is it! Would you be turning
+back upon your spoken promise in the face of God?
+
+PRIEST
+_dubiously._—I’m thinking you were never christened, Sarah Casey; and
+it would be a queer job to go dealing Christian sacraments unto the
+like of you. _(Persuasively feeling in his pocket.)_ So it would be
+best, maybe, I’d give you a shilling for to drink my health, and let
+you walk on, and not trouble me at all.
+
+SARAH
+That’s your talking, is it? If you don’t stand to your spoken word,
+holy father, I’ll make my own complaint to the mitred bishop in the
+face of all.
+
+PRIEST
+You’d do that!
+
+SARAH
+I would surely, holy father, if I walked to the city of Dublin with
+blood and blisters on my naked feet.
+
+PRIEST
+_uneasily scratching his ear._—I wish this day was done, Sarah Casey;
+for I’m thinking it’s a risky thing getting mixed up in any matters
+with the like of you.
+
+SARAH
+Be hasty then, and you’ll have us done with before you’d think at all.
+
+PRIEST
+_giving in._—Well, maybe it’s right you are, and let you come up to the
+chapel when you see me looking from the door.
+
+[_He goes up into the chapel._
+
+SARAH
+_calling after him._—We will, and God preserve you, holy father.
+
+MARY
+_coming down to them, speaking with amazement and consternation, but
+without anger._—Going to the chapel! It’s at marriage you’re fooling
+again, maybe? _(Sarah turns her back on her.)_ It was for that you were
+washing your face, and you after sending me for porter at the fall of
+night the way I’d drink a good half from the jug? _(Going round in
+front of Sarah.)_ Is it at marriage you’re fooling again?
+
+SARAH
+_triumphantly._—It is, Mary Byrne. I’ll be married now in a short
+while; and from this day there will no one have a right to call me a
+dirty name and I selling cans in Wicklow or Wexford or the city of
+Dublin itself.
+
+MARY
+_turning to Michael._—And it’s yourself is wedding her, Michael Byrne?
+
+MICHAEL
+_gloomily._—It is, God spare us.
+
+MARY
+_looks at Sarah for a moment, and then bursts out into a laugh of
+derision._—Well, she’s a tight, hardy girl, and it’s no lie; but I
+never knew till this day it was a black born fool I had for a son.
+You’ll breed asses, I’ve heard them say, and poaching dogs, and
+horses’d go licking the wind, but it’s a hard thing, God help me, to
+breed sense in a son.
+
+MICHAEL
+_gloomily._—If I didn’t marry her, she’d be walking off to Jaunting Jim
+maybe at the fall of night; and it’s well yourself knows there isn’t
+the like of her for getting money and selling songs to the men.
+
+MARY
+And you’re thinking it’s paying gold to his reverence would make a
+woman stop when she’s a mind to go?
+
+SARAH
+_angrily._—Let you not be destroying us with your talk when I’ve as
+good a right to a decent marriage as any speckled female does be
+sleeping in the black hovels above, would choke a mule.
+
+MARY
+_soothingly._—It’s as good a right you have surely, Sarah Casey, but
+what good will it do? Is it putting that ring on your finger will keep
+you from getting an aged woman and losing the fine face you have, or be
+easing your pains, when it’s the grand ladies do be married in silk
+dresses, with rings of gold, that do pass any woman with their share of
+torment in the hour of birth, and do be paying the doctors in the city
+of Dublin a great price at that time, the like of what you’d pay for a
+good ass and a cart?
+
+[_She sits down._
+
+SARAH
+_puzzled._—Is that the truth?
+
+MARY
+_pleased with the point she has made._—Wouldn’t any know it’s the
+truth? Ah, it’s a few short years you are yet in the world, Sarah
+Casey, and it’s little or nothing at all maybe you know about it.
+
+SARAH
+_vehement but uneasy._—What is it yourself knows of the fine ladies
+when they wouldn’t let the like of you go near them at all?
+
+MARY
+If you do be drinking a little sup in one town and another town, it’s
+soon you get great knowledge and a great sight into the world. You’ll
+see men there, and women there, sitting up on the ends of barrels in
+the dark night, and they making great talk would soon have the like of
+you, Sarah Casey, as wise as a March hare.
+
+MICHAEL
+_to Sarah._—That’s the truth she’s saying, and maybe if you’ve sense in
+you at all, you’d have a right still to leave your fooling, and not be
+wasting our gold.
+
+SARAH
+_decisively._—If it’s wise or fool I am, I’ve made a good bargain and
+I’ll stand to it now.
+
+MARY
+What is it he’s making you give?
+
+MICHAEL
+The ten shillings in gold, and the tin can is above tied in the sack.
+
+MARY
+_looking at the bundle with surprise and dread._—The bit of gold and
+the tin can, is it?
+
+MICHAEL
+The half a sovereign, and the gallon can.
+
+MARY
+_scrambling to her feet quickly._—Well, I think I’ll be walking off the
+road to the fair the way you won’t be destroying me going too fast on
+the hills. _(She goes a few steps towards the left, then turns and
+speaks to Sarah very persuasively._) Let you not take the can from the
+sack, Sarah Casey; for the people is coming above would be making game
+of you, and pointing their fingers if they seen you do the like of
+that. Let you leave it safe in the bag, I’m saying, Sarah darling. It’s
+that way will be best.
+
+[_She goes towards left, and pauses for a moment, looking about her
+with embarrassment._
+
+MICHAEL
+_in a low voice._—What ails her at all?
+
+SARAH
+_anxiously._—It’s real wicked she does be when you hear her speaking as
+easy as that.
+
+MARY
+_to herself._—I’d be safer in the chapel, I’m thinking; for if she
+caught me after on the road, maybe she would kill me then.
+
+[_She comes hobbling back towards the right._
+
+SARAH
+Where is it you’re going? It isn’t that way we’ll be walking to the
+fair.
+
+MARY
+I’m going up into the chapel to give you my blessing and hear the
+priest saying his prayers. It’s a lonesome road is running below to
+Greenane, and a woman would never know the things might happen her and
+she walking single in a lonesome place.
+
+[_As she reaches the chapel-gate, the Priest comes to it in his
+surplice._
+
+PRIEST
+_crying out._—Come along now. It is the whole day you’d keep me here
+saying my prayers, and I getting my death with not a bit in my stomach,
+and my breakfast in ruins, and the Lord Bishop maybe driving on the
+road to-day?
+
+SARAH
+We’re coming now, holy father.
+
+PRIEST
+Give me the bit of gold into my hand.
+
+SARAH
+It’s here, holy father.
+
+[_She gives it to him. Michael takes the bundle from the ditch and
+brings it over, standing a little behind Sarah. He feels the bundle,
+and looks at Mary with a meaning look._
+
+PRIEST
+_looking at the gold._—It’s a good one, I’m thinking, wherever you got
+it. And where is the can?
+
+SARAH
+_taking the bundle._—We have it here in a bit of clean sack, your
+reverence. We tied it up in the inside of that to keep it from rusting
+in the dews of night, and let you not open it now or you’ll have the
+people making game of us and telling the story on us, east and west to
+the butt of the hills.
+
+PRIEST
+_taking the bundle._—Give it here into my hand, Sarah Casey. What is it
+any person would think of a tinker making a can.
+
+[_He begins opening the bundle._
+
+SARAH
+It’s a fine can, your reverence. for if it’s poor simple people we are,
+it’s fine cans we can make, and himself, God help him, is a great man
+surely at the trade.
+
+[_Priest opens the bundle; the three empty bottles fall out._
+
+SARAH
+Glory to the saints of joy!
+
+PRIEST
+Did ever any man see the like of that? To think you’d be putting deceit
+on me, and telling lies to me, and I going to marry you for a little
+sum wouldn’t marry a child.
+
+SARAH
+_crestfallen and astonished._—It’s the divil did it, your reverence,
+and I wouldn’t tell you a lie. _(Raising her hands.)_ May the Lord
+Almighty strike me dead if the divil isn’t after hooshing the tin can
+from the bag.
+
+PRIEST
+_vehemently._—Go along now, and don’t be swearing your lies. Go along
+now, and let you not be thinking I’m big fool enough to believe the
+like of that, when it’s after selling it you are or making a swap for
+drink of it, maybe, in the darkness of the night.
+
+MARY
+_in a peacemaking voice, putting her hand on the Priest’s left
+arm._—She wouldn’t do the like of that, your reverence, when she hasn’t
+a decent standing drouth on her at all; and she’s setting great store
+on her marriage the way you’d have a right to be taking her easy, and
+not minding the can. What differ would an empty can make with a fine,
+rich, hardy man the like of you?
+
+SARAH
+_imploringly._—Marry us, your reverence, for the ten shillings in gold,
+and we’ll make you a grand can in the evening—a can would be fit to
+carry water for the holy man of God. Marry us now and I’ll be saying
+fine prayers for you, morning and night, if it’d be raining itself, and
+it’d be in two black pools I’d be setting my knees.
+
+PRIEST
+_loudly._—It’s a wicked, thieving, lying, scheming lot you are, the
+pack of you. Let you walk off now and take every stinking rag you have
+there from the ditch.
+
+MARY
+_putting her shawl over her head._—Marry her, your reverence, for the
+love of God, for there’ll be queer doings below if you send her off the
+like of that and she swearing crazy on the road.
+
+SARAH
+_angrily._—It’s the truth she’s saying; for it’s herself, I’m thinking,
+is after swapping the tin can for a pint, the time she was raging mad
+with the drouth, and ourselves above walking the hill.
+
+MARY
+_crying out with indignation._—Have you no shame, Sarah Casey, to tell
+lies unto a holy man?
+
+SARAH
+_to Mary, working herself into a rage._—It’s making game of me you’d
+be, and putting a fool’s head on me in the face of the world; but if
+you were thinking to be mighty cute walking off, or going up to hide in
+the church, I’ve got you this time, and you’ll not run from me now.
+
+_She seizes up one of the bottles._
+
+MARY
+_hiding behind the priest._—Keep her off, your reverence, keep her off
+for the love of the Almighty God. What at all would the Lord Bishop say
+if he found me here lying with my head broken across, or the two of
+yous maybe digging a bloody grave for me at the door of the church?
+
+PRIEST
+_waving Sarah off._—Go along, Sarah Casey. Would you be doing murder at
+my feet? Go along from me now, and wasn’t I a big fool to have to do
+with you when it’s nothing but distraction and torment I get from the
+kindness of my heart?
+
+SARAH
+_shouting._—I’ve bet a power of strong lads east and west through the
+world, and are you thinking I’d turn back from a priest? Leave the road
+now, or maybe I would strike yourself.
+
+PRIEST
+You would not, Sarah Casey. I’ve no fear for the lot of you; but let
+you walk off, I’m saying, and not be coming where you’ve no business,
+and screeching tumult and murder at the doorway of the church.
+
+SARAH
+I’ll not go a step till I have her head broke, or till I’m wed with
+himself. If you want to get shut of us, let you marry us now, for I’m
+thinking the ten shillings in gold is a good price for the like of you,
+and you near burst with the fat.
+
+PRIEST
+I wouldn’t have you coming in on me and soiling my church; for there’s
+nothing at all, I’m thinking, would keep the like of you from hell.
+_(He throws down the ten shillings on the ground.)_ Gather up your gold
+now, and begone from my sight, for if ever I set an eye on you again
+you’ll hear me telling the peelers who it was stole the black ass
+belonging to Philly O’Cullen, and whose hay it is the grey ass does be
+eating.
+
+SARAH
+You’d do that?
+
+PRIEST
+I would, surely.
+
+SARAH
+If you do, you’ll be getting all the tinkers from Wicklow and Wexford,
+and the County Meath, to put up block tin in the place of glass to
+shield your windows where you do be looking out and blinking at the
+girls. It’s hard set you’ll be that time, I’m telling you, to fill the
+depth of your belly the long days of Lent; for we wouldn’t leave a
+laying pullet in your yard at all.
+
+PRIEST
+_losing his temper finally._—Go on, now, or I’ll send the Lords of
+Justice a dated story of your villainies—burning, stealing, robbing,
+raping to this mortal day. Go on now, I’m saying, if you’d run from
+Kilmainham or the rope itself.
+
+MICHAEL
+_taking off his coat._—Is it run from the like of you, holy father? Go
+up to your own shanty, or I’ll beat you with the ass’s reins till the
+world would hear you roaring from this place to the coast of Clare.
+
+PRIEST
+Is it lift your hand upon myself when the Lord would blight your
+members if you’d touch me now? Go on from this.
+
+[_He gives him a shove._
+
+MICHAEL
+Blight me is it? Take it then, your reverence, and God help you so.
+
+[_He runs at him with the reins._
+
+PRIEST
+_runs up to ditch crying out._—There are the peelers passing by the
+grace of God—hey, below!
+
+MARY
+_clapping her hand over his mouth._—Knock him down on the road; they
+didn’t hear him at all.
+
+[_Michael pulls him down._
+
+SARAH
+Gag his jaws.
+
+MARY
+Stuff the sacking in his teeth.
+
+[_They gag him with the sack that had the can in it._
+
+SARAH
+Tie the bag around his head, and if the peelers come, we’ll put him
+head-first in the boghole is beyond the ditch.
+
+[_They tie him up in some sacking._
+
+MICHAEL
+_to Mary._—Keep him quiet, and the rags tight on him for fear he’d
+screech. _(He goes back to their camp.)_ Hurry with the things, Sarah
+Casey. The peelers aren’t coming this way, and maybe we’ll get off from
+them now.
+
+[_They bundle the things together in wild haste, the priest wriggling
+and struggling about on the ground, with old Mary trying to keep him
+quiet._
+
+MARY
+_patting his head._—Be quiet, your reverence. What is it ails you, with
+your wrigglings now? Is it choking maybe? _(She puts her hand under the
+sack, and feels his mouth, patting him on the back.)_ It’s only letting
+on you are, holy father, for your nose is blowing back and forward as
+easy as an east wind on an April day. _(In a soothing voice.)_ There
+now, holy father, let you stay easy, I’m telling you, and learn a
+little sense and patience, the way you’ll not be so airy again going to
+rob poor sinners of their scraps of gold. _(He gets quieter.)_ That’s a
+good boy you are now, your reverence, and let you not be uneasy, for we
+wouldn’t hurt you at all. It’s sick and sorry we are to tease you; but
+what did you want meddling with the like of us, when it’s a long time
+we are going our own ways—father and son, and his son after him, or
+mother and daughter, and her own daughter again—and it’s little need we
+ever had of going up into a church and swearing—I’m told there’s
+swearing with it—a word no man would believe, or with drawing rings on
+our fingers, would be cutting our skins maybe when we’d be taking the
+ass from the shafts, and pulling the straps the time they’d be slippy
+with going around beneath the heavens in rains falling.
+
+MICHAEL
+_who has finished bundling up the things, comes over to Sarah._—We’re
+fixed now; and I have a mind to run him in a boghole the way he’ll not
+be tattling to the peelers of our games to-day.
+
+SARAH
+You’d have a right too, I’m thinking.
+
+MARY
+_soothingly._—Let you not be rough with him, Sarah Casey, and he after
+drinking his sup of porter with us at the fall of night. Maybe he’d
+swear a mighty oath he wouldn’t harm us, and then we’d safer loose him;
+for if we went to drown him, they’d maybe hang the batch of us, man and
+child and woman, and the ass itself.
+
+MICHAEL
+What would he care for an oath?
+
+MARY
+Don’t you know his like do live in terror of the wrath of God?
+_(Putting her mouth to the Priest’s ear in the sacking.)_ Would you
+swear an oath, holy father, to leave us in our freedom, and not talk at
+all? _(Priest nods in sacking.)_ Didn’t I tell you? Look at the poor
+fellow nodding his head off in the bias of the sacks. Strip them off
+from him, and he’ll be easy now.
+
+MICHAEL
+_as if speaking to a horse._—Hold up, holy father.
+
+[_He pulls the sacking off, and shows the priest with his hair on end.
+They free his mouth._
+
+MARY
+Hold him till he swears.
+
+PRIEST
+_in a faint voice._—I swear surely. If you let me go in peace, I’ll not
+inform against you or say a thing at all, and may God forgive me for
+giving heed unto your like to-day.
+
+SARAH
+_puts the ring on his finger._—There’s the ring, holy father, to keep
+you minding of your oath until the end of time; for my heart’s scalded
+with your fooling; and it’ll be a long day till I go making talk of
+marriage or the like of that.
+
+MARY
+_complacently, standing up slowly._—She’s vexed now, your reverence;
+and let you not mind her at all, for she’s right surely, and it’s
+little need we ever had of the like of you to get us our bit to eat,
+and our bit to drink, and our time of love when we were young men and
+women, and were fine to look at.
+
+MICHAEL
+Hurry on now. He’s a great man to have kept us from fooling our gold;
+and we’ll have a great time drinking that bit with the trampers on the
+green of Clash.
+
+[_They gather up their things. The priest stands up._
+
+PRIEST
+_lifting up his hand._—I’ve sworn not to call the hand of man upon your
+crimes to-day; but I haven’t sworn I wouldn’t call the fire of heaven
+from the hand of the Almighty God.
+
+[_He begins saying a Latin malediction in a loud ecclesiastical voice._
+
+MARY
+There’s an old villain.
+
+ALL
+_together._—Run, run. Run for your lives.
+
+[_They rush out, leaving the Priest master of the situation._
+
+CURTAIN
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tinker’s Wedding, by J. M. Synge
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