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diff --git a/old/1328-h/1328-h.htm b/old/1328-h/1328-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e2ee88 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1328-h/1328-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2312 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title> The Tinker’s Wedding, by J. M. 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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 +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> + + +<div class="fig" style="width:70%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" /><br /><br /> +</div> + +<h1> The Tinker’s Wedding </h1> + +<h5>A COMEDY IN TWO ACTS</h5> + +<p> +<br /> +</p> + +<h3> by J. M. Synge </h3> + +<p> +<br/> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br/> +</p> + +<h2> +Contents +</h2> + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">PREFACE.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">THE TINKER’S WEDDING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">PERSONS.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">ACT I.</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">ACT II.</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<p> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="chap01"></a></p> <h2>PREFACE.</h2> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +J. M. S. +</p> + +<p> +<i>December 2nd</i>, 1907. +</p> + +<p> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="chap02"></a></p> <h2>THE TINKER’S WEDDING</h2> + +<p><a name="chap03"></a></p> <h2>PERSONS</h2> + +<p> +MICHAEL BYRNE, a tinker.<br/> +MARY BYRNE, an old woman, his mother.<br/> +SARAH CASEY, a young tinker woman.<br/> +A PRIEST.<br/> +</p> + +<p> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="chap04"></a></p> <h2>ACT I.</h2> + +<p> +SCENE: <i>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.</i><br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH CASEY<br /> +<i>coming in on right, eagerly.</i>—We’ll see his reverence this +place, Michael Byrne, and he passing backward to his house to-night. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>grimly.</i>—That’ll be a sacred and a sainted joy! +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>sharply.</i>—It’ll be small joy for yourself if you aren’t +ready with my wedding ring. <i>(She goes over to him.)</i> Is it near done this +time, or what way is it at all? +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>sitting down beside him and throwing sticks on the fire.</i>—If +it’s the divil’s job, let you mind it, and leave your speeches that +would choke a fool. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>slowly and glumly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>Sarah turns her back to him and arranges something in the ditch.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>angrily.</i>—Can’t you speak a word when I’m asking what +is it ails you since the moon did change? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>musingly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +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? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>teasingly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>with dismay.</i>—It’s the like of that you do be thinking! +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>looks at her for a moment with horror, and then hands her the +ring.</i>—Will that fit you now? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>trying it on.</i>—It’s making it tight you are, and the edges +sharp on the tin. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>looking at it carefully.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>giving it back to him.</i>—Fix it now, and it’ll do, if +you’re wary you don’t squeeze it again. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>moodily, working again.</i>—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. <i>(He starts violently.)</i> The divil mend you, +I’m scalded again! +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>scornfully.</i>—If you are, it’s a clumsy man you are this +night, Michael Byrne <i>(raising her voice)</i>; and let you make haste now, or +herself will be coming with the porter. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>defiantly, raising his voice.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>standing up and throwing all her sticks into the fire.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>working again with impatience.</i>—The divil do him good with the two +of them. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>kicking up the ashes with her foot.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>with contempt.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Liar! +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +Liar, surely. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>indignantly.</i>—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.” +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +God help the lot of them! +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +Whist. I hear some one coming the road. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>looking out right.</i>—It’s some one coming forward from the +doctor’s door. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +It’s often his reverence does be in there playing cards, or drinking a +sup, or singing songs, until the dawn of day. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>going to her and giving her the ring.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>tidying herself, in great excitement.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>moodily, sitting down and</i> <i>beginning to work at a tin +can.</i>—Great love surely. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>eagerly.</i>—Make a great blaze now, Michael Byrne. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>The priest comes in on right; she comes forward in front of him.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>in a very plausible voice.</i>—Good evening, your reverence. +It’s a grand fine night, by the grace of God. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +The Lord have mercy on us! What kind of a living woman is it that you are at +all? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +It’s Sarah Casey I am, your reverence, the Beauty of Ballinacree, and +it’s Michael Byrne is below in the ditch. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +A holy pair, surely! Let you get out of my way. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He tries to pass by.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>keeping in front of him.</i>—We are wanting a little word with your +reverence. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +I haven’t a halfpenny at all. Leave the road I’m saying. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>with astonishment.</i>—Is it marry you for nothing at all? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +It is, your reverence; and we were thinking maybe you’d give us a little +small bit of silver to pay for the ring. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>loudly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Where would the like of us get a pound, your reverence? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +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? <i>(He +tries to pass her.)</i> Let you leave the road, and not be plaguing me more. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>pleadingly, taking money from her pocket.</i>—Wouldn’t you have +a little mercy on us, your reverence? <i>(Holding out money.)</i> +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? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +If it’s ten shillings you have, let you get ten more the same way, and +I’ll marry you then. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>whining.</i>—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 <i>(she puts her apron to her +eyes, half sobbing)</i>, 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.” +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>turning up towards the fire.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>sobbing.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>An old woman is heard singing tipsily on the left.</i> +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>looking at the can Michael is making.</i>—When will you have that can +done, Michael Byrne? +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +In a short space only, your reverence, for I’m putting the last dab of +solder on the rim. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +Let you get a crown along with the ten shillings and the gallon can, Sarah +Casey, and I will wed you so. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>suddenly shouting behind, tipsily.</i>—Larry was a fine lad, I’m +saying; Larry was a fine lad, Sarah Casey— +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>comes in singing</i><br /><br /> + And when we asked him what way he’d die,<br /> + And he hanging unrepented,<br /> + “Begob,” says Larry, “that’s all in my eye,<br /> + By the clergy first invented.” +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Give me the jug now, or you’ll have it spilt in the ditch. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>holding the jug with both her hands, in a stilted voice.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>anxiously.</i>—Is there a sup left at all? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>looking into the jug.</i>—A little small sup only I’m thinking. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>sees the priest, and holds out jug towards him.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She tries to go towards him. Sarah holds her back.</i> +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>waving her away.</i>—Let you not be falling to the flames. Keep off, +I’m saying. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>persuasively.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She takes up a tin mug, pours some porter into it, and gives it to him.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>singing, and holding the jug in her hand.</i><br /><br /> + A lonesome ditch in Ballygan<br /> + The day you’re beating a tenpenny can;<br /> + A lonesome bank in Ballyduff<br /> + The time . . .<br /><br /> + +[<i>She breaks off.</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>putting her down, to the priest, half laughing.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>to the priest.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>with resignation.</i>—Well, here’s to your good health, and God +forgive us all. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He drinks.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +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. <i>(He sighs gloomily.)</i> 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? +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>with compassion.</i>—It’s destroyed you must be hearing the sins +of the rural people on a fine spring. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>with despondency.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>with great sympathy.</i>—It’d break my heart to hear you talking +and sighing the like of that, your reverence. <i>(She pats him on the +knee.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>interrupting her.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +The Lord protect us! +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>scandalized.</i>—Stop your talking, Mary Byrne; you’re an old +flagrant heathen, and I’ll stay no more with the lot of you. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He rises.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>catching hold of him.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>breaking away.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>innocently.</i>—Is that the truth? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +—It is, then, and God have mercy on your soul. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>The priest goes towards the left, and Sarah follows him.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>in a low voice.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>calling out shrilly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>to the priest.</i>—Do you hear her now, your reverence? Isn’t it +true, surely, she’s an old, flagrant heathen, would destroy the world? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>to Sarah, moving off.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>following him out.</i>—The blessing of the Almighty God be on you, +holy father, and that He may reward and watch you from this present day. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>nudging Michael.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +—Whist now, or she’ll knock the head of you the time she comes +back. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>Sarah comes back quickly.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>calling out to her.</i>—What is it you’re after whispering above +with himself? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>exultingly.</i>—Lie down, and leave us in peace. <i>She whispers with +Michael.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>poking out her pipe with a straw, sings</i>—<br /><br /> + She’d whisper with one, and she’d whisper with two—<br /><br /> + +<i>She breaks off coughing.</i>—My singing voice is gone for this night, +Sarah Casey. <i>(She lights her pipe.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>standing up with the tin can in his hand.</i>—Let you go asleep, and +not have us destroyed. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>lying back sleepily.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>taking the can from Michael, and tying it up in a piece of +sacking.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>[She puts the can in the ditch.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>sleepily.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>beckoning on the left.</i>—Come along now, Michael, while she’s +falling asleep. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He goes towards left. Mary sees that they are going, starts up suddenly, +and turns over on her hands and knees.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>piteously.</i>—Where is it you’re going? Let you walk back here, +and not be leaving me lonesome when the night is fine. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She and Michael go out left.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>standing up slowly.</i>—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. <i>(She goes over to the ditch where the +can is tied in sacking, and takes it down.)</i> 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? <i>(She takes the can from the sacking and fits in three empty +bottles and straw in its place, and ties them up.)</i> 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. +<i>(She takes up the can, and puts the package back in the ditch.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She goes out singing “The night before Larry was +stretched.”</i> +</p> + +<h5>CURTAIN</h5> + +<p> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</p> + +<p><a name="chap05"></a></p> <h2>ACT II.</h2> + +<p> +SCENE: <i>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.</i> +</p> + +<p> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>to Michael, with pleased excitement.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>getting them.</i>—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. <i>(With the handkerchief.)</i> Is it them two? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +It is, Michael. <i>(She takes one of them.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>Mary yawns, and turns over in her sleep.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>with anxiety.</i>—There she is waking up on us, and I thinking +we’d have the job done before she’d know of it at all. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +She’ll be crying out now, and making game of us, and saying it’s +fools we are surely. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>waking up, and looking at them with curiosity, +blandly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She looks around cautiously at the bundle in which she has hidden the +bottles.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>coaxingly.</i>—Let you stretch out again for a sleep, Mary Byrne, for +it’ll be a middling time yet before we go to the fair. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>with suspicion.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>losing her temper and breaking out fiercely.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>rather uneasy, turning to Michael.</i>—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? <i>(She gets up slowly.)</i> And I’d +best be going forward to sell the gallon can. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She goes over and takes up the bundle.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>crying out angrily.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>in a feigned tone of pacification, with the bundle still in her +hand.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Leave down the tin can, Mary Byrne, for I hear the drouth upon your tongue +to-day. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>[She turns to go off left.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>jumping up, and picking up the hammer threateningly.</i>—Put down that +can, I’m saying. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>looking at her for a moment in terror, and putting down the bundle in the +ditch.</i>—Is it raving mad you’re going, Sarah Casey, and you the +pride of women to destroy the world? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>going up to her, and giving her a push off left.</i>—I’ll show +you if it’s raving mad I am. Go on from this place, I’m saying, and +be wary now. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>turning back after her.</i>—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 +<i>(the Priest comes in behind her, on the left, and listens)</i>, and quenched +the flaming candles on the throne of God the time your shadow fell within the +pillars of the chapel door. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>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.</i> +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>going to Sarah, half terrified at the language that he has +heard.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>with anger still in her voice.</i>—Humbug is it! Would you be turning +back upon your spoken promise in the face of God? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>dubiously.</i>—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. <i>(Persuasively feeling in his pocket.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +You’d do that! +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +I would surely, holy father, if I walked to the city of Dublin with blood and +blisters on my naked feet. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>uneasily scratching his ear.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Be hasty then, and you’ll have us done with before you’d think at +all. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>giving in.</i>—Well, maybe it’s right you are, and let you come +up to the chapel when you see me looking from the door. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He goes up into the chapel.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>calling after him.</i>—We will, and God preserve you, holy father. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>coming down to them, speaking with amazement and consternation, but without +anger.</i>—Going to the chapel! It’s at marriage you’re +fooling again, maybe? <i>(Sarah turns her back on her.)</i> 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? <i>(Going round in +front of Sarah.)</i> Is it at marriage you’re fooling again? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>triumphantly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>turning to Michael.</i>—And it’s yourself is wedding her, +Michael Byrne? +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>gloomily.</i>—It is, God spare us. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>looks at Sarah for a moment, and then bursts out into a laugh of +derision.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>gloomily.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +And you’re thinking it’s paying gold to his reverence would make a +woman stop when she’s a mind to go? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>angrily.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>soothingly.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She sits down.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>puzzled.</i>—Is that the truth? +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>pleased with the point she has made.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>vehement but uneasy.</i>—What is it yourself knows of the fine ladies +when they wouldn’t let the like of you go near them at all? +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>to Sarah.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>decisively.</i>—If it’s wise or fool I am, I’ve made a +good bargain and I’ll stand to it now. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +What is it he’s making you give? +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +The ten shillings in gold, and the tin can is above tied in the sack. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>looking at the bundle with surprise and dread.</i>—The bit of gold and +the tin can, is it? +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +The half a sovereign, and the gallon can. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>scrambling to her feet quickly.</i>—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. <i>(She goes a few steps towards the left, then turns +and speaks to Sarah very persuasively.</i>) 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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She goes towards left, and pauses for a moment, looking about her with +embarrassment.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>in a low voice.</i>—What ails her at all? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>anxiously.</i>—It’s real wicked she does be when you hear her +speaking as easy as that. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>to herself.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>She comes hobbling back towards the right.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Where is it you’re going? It isn’t that way we’ll be walking +to the fair. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>As she reaches the chapel-gate, the Priest comes to it in his surplice.</i> +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>crying out.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +We’re coming now, holy father. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +Give me the bit of gold into my hand. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +It’s here, holy father. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>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.</i> +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>looking at the gold.</i>—It’s a good one, I’m thinking, +wherever you got it. And where is the can? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>taking the bundle.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>taking the bundle.</i>—Give it here into my hand, Sarah Casey. What is +it any person would think of a tinker making a can. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He begins opening the bundle.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>Priest opens the bundle; the three empty bottles fall out.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Glory to the saints of joy! +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>crestfallen and astonished.</i>—It’s the divil did it, your +reverence, and I wouldn’t tell you a lie. <i>(Raising her hands.)</i> May +the Lord Almighty strike me dead if the divil isn’t after hooshing the +tin can from the bag. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>vehemently.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>in a peacemaking voice, putting her hand on the Priest’s left +arm.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>imploringly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>loudly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>putting her shawl over her head.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>angrily.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>crying out with indignation.</i>—Have you no shame, Sarah Casey, to +tell lies unto a holy man? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>to Mary, working herself into a rage.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +<i>She seizes up one of the bottles.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>hiding behind the priest.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>waving Sarah off.</i>—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? +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>shouting.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +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. <i>(He throws down the ten shillings on the ground.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +You’d do that? +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +I would, surely. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>losing his temper finally.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>taking off his coat.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +Is it lift your hand upon myself when the Lord would blight your members if +you’d touch me now? Go on from this. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He gives him a shove.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +Blight me is it? Take it then, your reverence, and God help you so. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He runs at him with the reins.</i> +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>runs up to ditch crying out.</i>—There are the peelers passing by the +grace of God—hey, below! +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>clapping her hand over his mouth.</i>—Knock him down on the road; they +didn’t hear him at all. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>Michael pulls him down.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Gag his jaws. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +Stuff the sacking in his teeth. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>They gag him with the sack that had the can in it.</i> +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +Tie the bag around his head, and if the peelers come, we’ll put him +head-first in the boghole is beyond the ditch. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>They tie him up in some sacking.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>to Mary.</i>—Keep him quiet, and the rags tight on him for fear +he’d screech. <i>(He goes back to their camp.)</i> Hurry with the things, +Sarah Casey. The peelers aren’t coming this way, and maybe we’ll +get off from them now. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>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.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>patting his head.</i>—Be quiet, your reverence. What is it ails you, +with your wrigglings now? Is it choking maybe? <i>(She puts her hand under the +sack, and feels his mouth, patting him on the back.)</i> 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. <i>(In a soothing voice.)</i> 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. <i>(He gets quieter.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>who has finished bundling up the things, comes over to +Sarah.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +You’d have a right too, I’m thinking. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>soothingly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +What would he care for an oath? +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +Don’t you know his like do live in terror of the wrath of God? +<i>(Putting her mouth to the Priest’s ear in the sacking.)</i> Would you +swear an oath, holy father, to leave us in our freedom, and not talk at all? +<i>(Priest nods in sacking.)</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +<i>as if speaking to a horse.</i>—Hold up, holy father. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He pulls the sacking off, and shows the priest with his hair on end. They +free his mouth.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +Hold him till he swears. +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>in a faint voice.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +SARAH<br /> +<i>puts the ring on his finger.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +<i>complacently, standing up slowly.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p> +MICHAEL<br /> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>They gather up their things. The priest stands up.</i> +</p> + +<p> +PRIEST<br /> +<i>lifting up his hand.</i>—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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>He begins saying a Latin malediction in a loud ecclesiastical voice.</i> +</p> + +<p> +MARY<br /> +There’s an old villain. +</p> + +<p> +ALL<br /> +<i>together.</i>—Run, run. Run for your lives. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +[<i>They rush out, leaving the Priest master of the situation.</i> +</p> + +<h5>CURTAIN</h5> + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Tinker’s Wedding, by J. M. 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