The Tinker’s Wedding, by J. M. Synge

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The gift pretend play capes for 12 year oldsTinker’s Wedding

A COMEDY IN TWO ACTS

by J. M. Synge

Contents

PREFACE.

The drama is made serious—in the French sense of the word—not bythe degree in which it is taken up with problems that are serious inthemselves, but by the degree in which it gives the nourishment, not very easyto define, on which our imaginations live. We should not go to the theatre aswe go to a chemist’s, or a dram-shop, but as we go to a dinner, where thefood we need is taken with pleasure and excitement. This was nearly always soin Spain and England and France when the drama was at its richest—theinfancy and decay of the drama tend to be didactic—but in these days theplayhouse is too often stocked with the drugs of many seedy problems, or withthe absinthe or vermouth of the last musical comedy.

The drama, like the symphony, does not teach or prove anything. Analysts withtheir problems, and teachers with their systems, are soon as old-fashioned asthe pharmacopœia of Galen,—look at Ibsen and the Germans—but thebest plays of Ben Jonson and Molière can no more go out of fashion than theblack-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 thegreatest sign of the Satanic element in man; and where a country loses itshumor, as some towns in Ireland are doing, there will be morbidity of mind, asBaudelaire’s mind was morbid.

In the greater part of Ireland, however, the whole people, from the tinkers tothe clergy, have still a life, and view of life, that are rich and genial andhumorous. I do not think that these country people, who have so much humorthemselves, will mind being laughed at without malice, as the people in everycountry 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 nearthe ditch a little to the right. Michael is working beside it. In thebackground, 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 thisplace, 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’tready with my wedding ring. (She goes over to him.)Is it near done thistime, or what way is it at all?

MICHAEL
A poor way only, Sarah Casey, for it’s the divil’s job making aring, and you’ll be having my hands destroyed in a short while the wayI’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.—Ifit’s the divil’s job, let you mind it, and leave your speeches thatwould choke a fool.

MICHAEL
slowly and glumly.—And it’s you’ll go talking offools, Sarah Casey, when no man did ever hear a lying story even of your likeunto this mortal day. You to be going beside me a great while, and rearing alot of them, and then to be setting off with your talk of getting married, andyour 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 whatis 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 queerthoughts 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 thinkingI’d have a right to be going off to the rich tinkers do be travellingfrom Tibradden to the Tara Hill; for it’d be a fine life to be drivingwith young Jaunting Jim, where there wouldn’t be any big hills to breakthe 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 kindair, 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 thering.—Will that fit you now?

SARAH
trying it on.—It’s making it tight you are, and the edgessharp 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 thatyou’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, ifyou’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 fooleven 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 thisnight, Michael Byrne (raising her voice); and let you make haste now, orherself will be coming with the porter.

MICHAEL
defiantly, raising his voice.—Let me make haste? I’ll bemaking haste maybe to hit you a great clout; for I’m thinking on the dayI 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 Icame behind you that time, and hit you a great clout in the lug, and how quietand 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 bigfool I was too, maybe; but we’ll be seeing Jaunting Jim to-morrow inBallinaclash, and he after getting a great price for his white foal in thehorse-fair of Wicklow, the way it’ll be a great sight to see himsquandering his share of gold, and he with a grand eye for a fine horse, and agrand eye for a woman.

MICHAEL
working again with impatience.—The divil do him good with the twoof 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 awoman.

MICHAEL
with contempt.—It’s the like of that name they do be puttingon the horses they have below racing in Arklow. It’s easy pleased youare, 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 thepeelers followed me ten miles along the Glen Malure, and they talking love tome in the dark night, or of the children you’ll meet coming from schooland they saying one to the other, “It’s this day we seen SarahCasey, 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 comingwith 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 whereyou’ll be lying down that night, I’m telling you, and you hearingthe old woman making a great noise in her sleep, and the bats squeaking in thetrees.

MICHAEL
Whist. I hear some one coming the road.

SARAH
looking out right.—It’s some one coming forward from thedoctor’s door.

MICHAEL
It’s often his reverence does be in there playing cards, or drinking asup, 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 agreat 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 speakwith the like of us at all.

SARAH
tidying herself, in great excitement.—Let you be sitting here andkeeping a great blaze, the way he can look on my face; and let you seem to beworking, for it’s great love the like of him have to talk of work.

MICHAEL
moodily, sitting down andbeginning to work at a tincan.—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 atall?

SARAH
It’s Sarah Casey I am, your reverence, the Beauty of Ballinacree, andit’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 yourreverence.

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 werethinking maybe we’d have a right to be getting married; and we werethinking it’s yourself would marry us for not a halfpenny at all; foryou’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 littlesmall 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’smaking it a sight cheaper than I’d make it for one of my own pairs isliving 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, andyour stealing east and west in Wicklow and Wexford and the county Meath? (Hetries to pass her.)Let you leave the road, and not be plaguing me more.

SARAH
pleadingly, taking money from her pocket.—Wouldn’t you havea little mercy on us, your reverence? (Holding out money.)Wouldn’t you marry us for a half a sovereign, and it a nice shiny onewith 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, andI’ll marry you then.

SARAH
whining.—It’s two years we are getting that bit, yourreverence, with our pence and our halfpence and an odd three-penny bit; and ifyou don’t marry us now, himself and the old woman, who has a greatdrouth, will be drinking it to-morrow in the fair (she puts her apron to hereyes, half sobbing), and then I won’t be married any time, andI’ll be saying till I’m an old woman: “It’s a cruel anda 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 yourwhole life walking the roads.

SARAH
sobbing.—It’s two years we are getting the gold, yourreverence, and now you won’t marry us for that bit, and we hard-workingpoor people do be making cans in the dark night, and blinding our eyes with theblack 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 candone, Michael Byrne?

MICHAEL
In a short space only, your reverence, for I’m putting the last dab ofsolder on the rim.

PRIEST
Let you get a crown along with the ten shillings and the gallon can, SarahCasey, and I will wed you so.

MARY
suddenly shouting behind, tipsily.—Larry was a fine lad, I’msaying; Larry was a fine lad, Sarah Casey—

MICHAEL
Whist, now, the two of you. There’s my mother coming, and she’dhave us destroyed if she heard the like of that talk the time she’s beendrinking 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 youleave me easy, Sarah Casey. I won’t spill it, I’m saying. God helpyou; are you thinking it’s frothing full to the brim it is at this hourof the night, and I after carrying it in my two hands a long step from JemmyNeill’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 yourreverence. I’m after bringing down a smart drop; and let you drink it upnow, for it’s a middling drouthy man you are at all times, God forgiveyou, 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 tellingyou; 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 youput me down now in the ditch, and I won’t sing it till himself will begone; for it’s bad enough he is, I’m thinking, without ourselvesmaking him worse.

SARAH
putting her down, to the priest, half laughing.—Don’t mindher at all, your reverence. She’s no shame the time she’s a droptaken; and if it was the Holy Father from Rome was in it, she’d give hima 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 itup, I’m saying, and not be letting on you wouldn’t do the like ofit, and you with a stack of pint bottles above, reaching the sky.

PRIEST
with resignation.—Well, here’s to your good health, and Godforgive 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, anddrinking a sup with the like of us, and we the poorest, wretched, starvingcreatures you’d see any place on the earth?

PRIEST
If it’s starving you are itself, I’m thinking it’s well forthe like of you that do be drinking when there’s drouth on you, and lyingdown to sleep when your legs are stiff. (He sighs gloomily.)What wouldyou 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 peopleagain and they saying their sins?

MARY
with compassion.—It’s destroyed you must be hearing the sinsof the rural people on a fine spring.

PRIEST
with despondency.—It’s a hard life, I’m telling you, ahard life, Mary Byrne; and there’s the bishop coming in the morning, andhe 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 talkingand sighing the like of that, your reverence. (She pats him on theknee.)Let you rouse up, now, if it’s a poor, single man you areitself, and I’ll be singing you songs unto the dawn of day.

PRIEST
interrupting her.—What is it I want with your songs whenit’d be better for the like of you, that’ll soon die, to be down onyour 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 apower 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, butthere’s one thing I never heard any time, and that’s a real priestsaying a prayer.

PRIEST
The Lord protect us!

MARY
It’s no lie, holy father. I often heard the rural people making a queernoise and they going to rest; but who’d mind the like of them? AndI’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 oldflagrant 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 giveyou my blessing and the last sup from the jug.

PRIEST
breaking away.—Leave me go, Mary Byrne; for I have never met yourlike for hard abominations the score and two years I’m living in theplace.

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’masking, holy father? for I’m thinking you’ll do it surely, and nothave 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 theAlmighty God.

SARAH
to the priest.—Do you hear her now, your reverence? Isn’t ittrue, surely, she’s an old, flagrant heathen, would destroy the world?

PRIEST
to Sarah, moving off.—Well, I’ll be coming down early to thechapel, and let you come to me a while after you see me passing, and bring thebit 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 soulif 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 youhear me telling you she’s flighty a while back since the change of themoon? With her fussing for marriage, and she making whisper-talk with one manor another man along by the road.

MICHAEL
—Whist now, or she’ll knock the head of you the time she comesback.

MARY
—Ah, it’s a bad, wicked way the world is this night, ifthere’s a fine air in it itself. You’d never have seen me, and I ayoung woman, making whisper-talk with the like of him, and he the fearfullestold 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 abovewith himself?

SARAH
exultingly.—Lie down, and leave us in peace. She whispers withMichael.

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 areitself, you’re a grand handsome woman, the glory of tinkers, the pride ofWicklow, the Beauty of Ballinacree. I wouldn’t have you lying down andyou lonesome to sleep this night in a dark ditch when the spring is coming inthe trees; so let you sit down there by the big bough, and I’ll betelling you the finest story you’d hear any place from Dundalk toBallinacree, with great queens in it, making themselves matches from the startto the end, and they with shiny silks on them the length of the day, and whiteshifts for the night.

MICHAEL
standing up with the tin can in his hand.—Let you go asleep, andnot have us destroyed.

MARY
lying back sleepily.—Don’t mind him, Sarah Casey. Sit downnow, and I’ll be telling you a story would be fit to tell a woman thelike of you in the springtime of the year.

SARAH
taking the can from Michael, and tying it up in a piece ofsacking.—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; andnow we’ve that done, Michael Byrne, I’ll go along with you andwelcome for Tim Flaherty’s hens.

[She puts the can in the ditch.

MARY
sleepily.—I’ve a grand story of the great queens of Irelandwith white necks on them the like of Sarah Casey, and fine arms would hit you aslap the way Sarah Casey would hit you.

SARAH
beckoning on the left.—Come along now, Michael, while she’sfalling 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 upthrough the back wood to get two of Tim Flaherty’s hens are roosting inthe ash-tree above at the well.

MARY
And it’s leaving me lone you are? Come back here, Sarah Casey. Come backhere, I’m saying; or if it’s off you must go, leave me the twolittle coppers you have, the way I can walk up in a short while, and getanother pint for my sleep.

SARAH
It’s too much you have taken. Let you stretch yourself out and take along sleep; for isn’t that the best thing any woman can do, and she anold drinking heathen like yourself.

[She and Michael go out left.

MARY
standing up slowly.—It’s gone they are, and I with my feetthat weak under me you’d knock me down with a rush, and my head with anoise in it the like of what you’d hear in a stream and it runningbetween two rocks and rain falling. (She goes over to the ditch where thecan is tied in sacking, and takes it down.)What good am I this night, Godhelp me? What good are the grand stories I have when it’s few wouldlisten to an old woman, few but a girl maybe would be in great fear the timeher hour was come, or a little child wouldn’t be sleeping with the hungeron a cold night? (She takes the can from the sacking and fits in three emptybottles and straw in its place, and ties them up.)Maybe the two of themhave a good right to be walking out the little short while they’d beyoung; but if they have itself, they’ll not keep Mary Byrne from her fullpint 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.)JemmyNeill’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 alittle stroke on your head beside sitting lonesome on a fine night, hearing thedogs barking, and the bats squeaking, and you saying over, it’s a shortwhile only till you die.

[She goes out singing “The night before Larry wasstretched.”

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 asleepagainst the ditch.

SARAH
to Michael, with pleased excitement.—Go over, now, to the bundlebeyond, and you’ll find a kind of a red handkerchief to put upon yourneck, and a green one for myself.

MICHAEL
getting them.—You’re after spending more money on the likeof them. Well, it’s a power we’re losing this time, and we notgaining 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 roundunder your chin; and let you not forget to take your hat from your head when wego up into the church. I asked Biddy Flynn below, that’s after marryingher 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 thinkingwe’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’sfools 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 herturning 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; andit’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 washingis a rare thing, and you’re after waking me up, and I having a greatsleep in the sun.

[She looks around cautiously at the bundle in which she has hidden thebottles.

SARAH
coaxingly.—Let you stretch out again for a sleep, Mary Byrne, forit’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 aday the like of this, when there’s a warm sun in it, and a kind air, andyou’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 seewould you get a few halfpence from the rich men do be driving early to thefair.

MARY
When rich men do be driving early, it’s queer tempers they have, the Lordforgive them; the way it’s little but bad words and swearing outyou’d get from them all.

SARAH
losing her temper and breaking out fiercely.—Then if you’llneither beg nor sleep, let you walk off from this place where you’re notwanted, 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 aterror since the moon did change? (She gets up slowly.)And I’dbest 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’tyou the scorn of women to think that you’d have that drouth and rogueryon you that you’d go drinking the can and the dew not dried from thegrass?

MARY
in a feigned tone of pacification, with the bundle still in herhand.—It’s not a drouth but a heartburn I have this day, SarahCasey, so I’m going down to cool my gullet at the blessed well; andI’ll sell the can to the parson’s daughter below, a harmless poorcreature 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 tongueto-day.

MARY
There’s not a drink-house from this place to the fair, Sarah Casey; theway 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 thatcan, I’m saying.

MARY
looking at her for a moment in terror, and putting down the bundle in theditch.—Is it raving mad you’re going, Sarah Casey, and you thepride of women to destroy the world?

SARAH
going up to her, and giving her a push off left.—I’ll showyou if it’s raving mad I am. Go on from this place, I’m saying, andbe wary now.

MARY
turning back after her.—If I go, I’ll be telling old andyoung you’re a weathered heathen savage, Sarah Casey, the one did putdown 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 quenchedthe flaming candles on the throne of God the time your shadow fell within thepillars of the chapel door.

[Sarah turns on her, and she springs round nearly into the Priest’sarms. When she sees him, she claps her shawl over her mouth, and goes uptowards the ditch, laughing to herself.

PRIEST
going to Sarah, half terrified at the language that he hasheard.—Well, aren’t you a fearful lot? I’m thinkingit’s only humbug you were making at the fall of night, and youwon’t need me at all.

SARAH
with anger still in her voice.—Humbug is it! Would you be turningback upon your spoken promise in the face of God?

PRIEST
dubiously.—I’m thinking you were never christened, SarahCasey; and it would be a queer job to go dealing Christian sacraments unto thelike 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 walkon, 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 faceof all.

PRIEST
You’d do that!

SARAH
I would surely, holy father, if I walked to the city of Dublin with blood andblisters on my naked feet.

PRIEST
uneasily scratching his ear.—I wish this day was done, SarahCasey; for I’m thinking it’s a risky thing getting mixed up in anymatters with the like of you.

SARAH
Be hasty then, and you’ll have us done with before you’d think atall.

PRIEST
giving in.—Well, maybe it’s right you are, and let you comeup 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 withoutanger.—Going to the chapel! It’s at marriage you’refooling again, maybe? (Sarah turns her back on her.)It was for that youwere washing your face, and you after sending me for porter at the fall ofnight the way I’d drink a good half from the jug? (Going round infront of Sarah.)Is it at marriage you’re fooling again?

SARAH
triumphantly.—It is, Mary Byrne. I’ll be married now in ashort while; and from this day there will no one have a right to call me adirty name and I selling cans in Wicklow or Wexford or the city of Dublinitself.

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 ofderision.—Well, she’s a tight, hardy girl, and it’s nolie; 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, andhorses’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 offto Jaunting Jim maybe at the fall of night; and it’s well yourself knowsthere isn’t the like of her for getting money and selling songs to themen.

MARY
And you’re thinking it’s paying gold to his reverence would make awoman stop when she’s a mind to go?

SARAH
angrily.—Let you not be destroying us with your talk whenI’ve as good a right to a decent marriage as any speckled female does besleeping in the black hovels above, would choke a mule.

MARY
soothingly.—It’s as good a right you have surely, SarahCasey, but what good will it do? Is it putting that ring on your finger willkeep you from getting an aged woman and losing the fine face you have, or beeasing your pains, when it’s the grand ladies do be married in silkdresses, with rings of gold, that do pass any woman with their share of tormentin the hour of birth, and do be paying the doctors in the city of Dublin agreat price at that time, the like of what you’d pay for a good ass and acart?

[She sits down.

SARAH
puzzled.—Is that the truth?

MARY
pleased with the point she has made.—Wouldn’t any knowit’s the truth? Ah, it’s a few short years you are yet in theworld, Sarah Casey, and it’s little or nothing at all maybe you knowabout it.

SARAH
vehement but uneasy.—What is it yourself knows of the fine ladieswhen 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’ssoon you get great knowledge and a great sight into the world. You’ll seemen there, and women there, sitting up on the ends of barrels in the darknight, 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 ifyou’ve sense in you at all, you’d have a right still to leave yourfooling, and not be wasting our gold.

SARAH
decisively.—If it’s wise or fool I am, I’ve made agood 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 andthe tin can, is it?

MICHAEL
The half a sovereign, and the gallon can.

MARY
scrambling to her feet quickly.—Well, I think I’ll bewalking off the road to the fair the way you won’t be destroying me goingtoo fast on the hills. (She goes a few steps towards the left, then turnsand speaks to Sarah very persuasively.) Let you not take the can from thesack, 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 leaveit safe in the bag, I’m saying, Sarah darling. It’s that way willbe best.

[She goes towards left, and pauses for a moment, looking about her withembarrassment.

MICHAEL
in a low voice.—What ails her at all?

SARAH
anxiously.—It’s real wicked she does be when you hear herspeaking 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 walkingto the fair.

MARY
I’m going up into the chapel to give you my blessing and hear the priestsaying 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 singlein 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 keepme 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 roadto-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 itover, standing a little behind Sarah. He feels the bundle, and looks at Marywith 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, yourreverence. We tied it up in the inside of that to keep it from rusting in thedews of night, and let you not open it now or you’ll have the peoplemaking game of us and telling the story on us, east and west to the butt of thehills.

PRIEST
taking the bundle.—Give it here into my hand, Sarah Casey. What isit 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 weare, it’s fine cans we can make, and himself, God help him, is a greatman 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 deceiton me, and telling lies to me, and I going to marry you for a little sumwouldn’t marry a child.

SARAH
crestfallen and astonished.—It’s the divil did it, yourreverence, and I wouldn’t tell you a lie. (Raising her hands.)Maythe Lord Almighty strike me dead if the divil isn’t after hooshing thetin 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 believethe like of that, when it’s after selling it you are or making a swap fordrink of it, maybe, in the darkness of the night.

MARY
in a peacemaking voice, putting her hand on the Priest’s leftarm.—She wouldn’t do the like of that, your reverence, when shehasn’t a decent standing drouth on her at all; and she’s settinggreat store on her marriage the way you’d have a right to be taking hereasy, 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 ingold, and we’ll make you a grand can in the evening—a can would befit to carry water for the holy man of God. Marry us now and I’ll besaying fine prayers for you, morning and night, if it’d be rainingitself, and it’d be in two black pools I’d be setting my knees.

PRIEST
loudly.—It’s a wicked, thieving, lying, scheming lot youare, the pack of you. Let you walk off now and take every stinking rag you havethere from the ditch.

MARY
putting her shawl over her head.—Marry her, your reverence, forthe love of God, for there’ll be queer doings below if you send her offthe like of that and she swearing crazy on the road.

SARAH
angrily.—It’s the truth she’s saying; for it’sherself, I’m thinking, is after swapping the tin can for a pint, the timeshe was raging mad with the drouth, and ourselves above walking the hill.

MARY
crying out with indignation.—Have you no shame, Sarah Casey, totell lies unto a holy man?

SARAH
to Mary, working herself into a rage.—It’s making game of meyou’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 inthe 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 heroff for the love of the Almighty God. What at all would the Lord Bishop say ifhe found me here lying with my head broken across, or the two of yous maybedigging a bloody grave for me at the door of the church?

PRIEST
waving Sarah off.—Go along, Sarah Casey. Would you be doing murderat my feet? Go along from me now, and wasn’t I a big fool to have to dowith you when it’s nothing but distraction and torment I get from thekindness of my heart?

SARAH
shouting.—I’ve bet a power of strong lads east and westthrough 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 youwalk 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 withhimself. If you want to get shut of us, let you marry us now, for I’mthinking the ten shillings in gold is a good price for the like of you, and younear burst with the fat.

PRIEST
I wouldn’t have you coming in on me and soiling my church; forthere’s nothing at all, I’m thinking, would keep the like of youfrom hell. (He throws down the ten shillings on the ground.)Gather upyour gold now, and begone from my sight, for if ever I set an eye on you againyou’ll hear me telling the peelers who it was stole the black assbelonging to Philly O’Cullen, and whose hay it is the grey ass does beeating.

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 yourwindows where you do be looking out and blinking at the girls. It’s hardset you’ll be that time, I’m telling you, to fill the depth of yourbelly the long days of Lent; for we wouldn’t leave a laying pullet inyour yard at all.

PRIEST
losing his temper finally.—Go on, now, or I’ll send theLords of Justice a dated story of your villainies—burning, stealing,robbing, raping to this mortal day. Go on now, I’m saying, if you’drun 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 reinstill 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 ifyou’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 thegrace of God—hey, below!

MARY
clapping her hand over his mouth.—Knock him down on the road; theydidn’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 himhead-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 fearhe’d screech. (He goes back to their camp.)Hurry with the things,Sarah Casey. The peelers aren’t coming this way, and maybe we’llget off from them now.

[They bundle the things together in wild haste, the priest wriggling andstruggling 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 thesack, and feels his mouth, patting him on the back.)It’s onlyletting on you are, holy father, for your nose is blowing back and forward aseasy 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 senseand patience, the way you’ll not be so airy again going to rob poorsinners of their scraps of gold. (He gets quieter.)That’s a goodboy you are now, your reverence, and let you not be uneasy, for wewouldn’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 timewe are going our own ways—father and son, and his son after him, ormother and daughter, and her own daughter again—and it’s littleneed we ever had of going up into a church and swearing—I’m toldthere’s swearing with it—a word no man would believe, or withdrawing rings on our fingers, would be cutting our skins maybe when we’dbe taking the ass from the shafts, and pulling the straps the time they’dbe slippy with going around beneath the heavens in rains falling.

MICHAEL
who has finished bundling up the things, comes over toSarah.—We’re fixed now; and I have a mind to run him in aboghole 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 heafter drinking his sup of porter with us at the fall of night. Maybe he’dswear a mighty oath he wouldn’t harm us, and then we’d safer loosehim; for if we went to drown him, they’d maybe hang the batch of us, manand 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 youswear 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 poorfellow 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. Theyfree 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 mefor 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’sscalded with your fooling; and it’ll be a long day till I go making talkof marriage or the like of that.

MARY
complacently, standing up slowly.—She’s vexed now, yourreverence; and let you not mind her at all, for she’s right surely, andit’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; andwe’ll have a great time drinking that bit with the trampers on the greenof Clash.

[They gather up their things. The priest stands up.

PRIEST
lifting up his hand.—I’ve sworn not to call the hand of manupon your crimes to-day; but I haven’t sworn I wouldn’t call thefire 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

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