SHEAMUS. The coach does come this way now; but sure you're a stranger, and you don't know. Doesn't the coach come over the hill now, neighbours?

ALL. It does, it does, surely.

HANRAHAN. I don't care whether it does come or whether it doesn't. I would sooner twenty coaches to be overthrown on the road than the pearl of the white breast to be stopped from dancing to us. Tell the coachman to twist a rope for himself.

SHEAMUS. Oh! murder! he can't. There's that much vigour, and fire, and activity, and courage in the horses, that my poor coachman must take them by the heads; it's on the pinch of his life he's able to control them; he's afraid of his soul they'll go from him of a rout.

They are neighing like anything; you never saw the like of them for wild horses.

HANRAHAN. Are there no other people in the coach that will make a rope, if the coachman has to be at the horses' heads? Leave that, and let us dance.

SHEAMUS. There are three others in it; but as to one of them, he is one-handed, and another man of them, he's shaking and trembling with the fright he got; it's not in him now to stand up on his two feet with the fear that's on him; and as for the third man, there isn't a person in this country would speak to him about a rope at all, for his own father was hanged with a rope last year for stealing sheep.

HANRAHAN. Then let one of yourselves twist a rope so, and leave the floor to us. (_To_ OONA.) Now, O star of women, show me how Juno goes among the G.o.ds, or Helen for whom Troy was destroyed. By my word, since Deirdre died, for whom Naoise son of Usnech, was put to death, her heir is not in Ireland to-day but yourself. Let us begin.

SHEAMUS. Do not begin until we have a rope; we are not able to twist a rope; there's n.o.body here can twist a rope.

HANRAHAN. There's n.o.body here is able to twist a rope?

ALL. n.o.body at all.

SHEELA. And that's true; n.o.body in this place ever made a hay sugaun. I don't believe there's a person in this house who ever saw one itself but me. It's well I remember when I was a little girsha that I saw one of them on a goat that my grandfather brought with him out of Connacht. All the people used to be saying: "Aurah, what sort of a thing is that at all?" And he said that it was a sugaun that was in it; and that people used to make the like of that down in Connacht. He said that one man would go holding the hay, and another man twisting it. I'll hold the hay now; and you'll go twisting it.

SHEAMUS. I'll bring in a lock of hay. (_He goes out._)

HANRAHAN.

I will make a dispraising of the province of Munster They do not leave the floor to us; It isn't in them to twist even a sugaun; The province of Munster without nicety, without prosperity.

Disgust for ever on the province of Munster, That they do not leave us the floor; The province of Munster of the foul clumsy people.

They cannot even twist a sugaun!

SHEAMUS (_coming back_). Here's the hay now.

HANRAHAN. Give it here to me; I'll show ye what the well-learned, hardy, honest, clever, sensible Connachtman will do, that has activity and full deftness in his hands, and sense in his head, and courage in his heart; but that the misfortune and the great trouble of the world directed him among the _lebidins_ of the province of Munster, without honour, without n.o.bility, without knowledge of the swan beyond the duck, or of the gold beyond the bra.s.s, or of the lily beyond the thistle, or of the star of young women, and the pearl of the white breast, beyond their own share of s.l.u.ts and slatterns. Give me a kippeen. (_A man hands him a stick; he puts a wisp of hay round it, and begins twisting it; and_ SHEELA _giving him out the hay._)

HANRAHAN.

There is a pearl of a woman giving light to us; She is my love; she is my desire; She is fair Oona, the gentle queen-woman.

And the Munstermen do not understand half her courtesy.

These Munstermen are blinded by G.o.d; They do not recognise the swan beyond the grey duck; But she will come with me, my fine Helen, Where her person and her beauty shall be praised for ever.

Arrah, wisha, wisha, wisha! isn't this the fine village? isn't this the exceeding village? The village where there be that many rogues hanged that the people have no want of ropes with all the ropes that they steal from the hangman!

The sensible Connachtman makes A rope for himself; But the Munsterman steals it From the hangman; That I may see a fine rope, A rope of hemp yet, A stretching on the throats Of every person here!

On account of one woman only the Greeks departed, and they never stopped, and they never greatly stayed, till they destroyed Troy; and on account of one woman only this village shall be d.a.m.ned; _go deo, ma neoir_, and to the womb of judgment, by G.o.d of the graces, eternally and everlastingly, because they did not understand that Oona ni Regaun is the second Helen, who was born in their midst, and that she overcame in beauty Deirdre and Venus, and all that came before or that will come after her!

But she will come with me, my pearl of a woman, To the province of Connacht of the fine people; She will receive feasts, wine, and meat, High dances, sport, and music!

Oh, wisha, wisha! that the sun may never rise upon this village; and that the stars may never shine on it and that----. (_He is by this time outside the door. All the men make a rush at the door and shut it._ OONA _runs towards the door, but the women seize her._ SHEAMUS _goes over to her._)

OONA. Oh! oh! oh! do not put him out; let him back; that is Tumaus Hanrahan--he is a poet--he is a bard--he is a wonderful man. O, let him back; do not do that to him!

SHEAMUS. O Oona _ban, acushla dilis_, let him be; he is gone now, and his share of spells with him! He will be gone out of your head to-morrow; and you will be gone out of his head. Don't you know that I like you better than a hundred thousand Deirdres, and that you are my one pearl of a woman in the world?

HANRAHAN (_outside, beating on the door_). Open, open, open; let me in! Oh, my seven hundred thousand curses on you--the curse of the weak and of the strong--the curse of the poets and of the bards upon you! The curse of the priests on you and the friars! The curse of the bishops upon you, and the Pope! The curse of the widows on you, and the children! Open! (_He beats on the door again and again._)

SHEAMUS. I am thankful to ye, neighbours; and Oona will be thankful to ye to-morrow. Beat away, you vagabond! Do your dancing out there with yourself now! Isn't it a fine thing for a man to be listening to the storm outside, and himself quiet and easy beside the fire? Beat away, beat away! Where's Connacht now?

THE MARRIAGE

MARTIN, _a young man._

MARY. _His newly married wife._

A BLIND FIDDLER.

NEIGHBOURS.

SCENE.--_A cottage kitchen. A table poorly set out, with two cups, a jug of milk, and a cake of bread._ MARTIN _and_ MARY _sitting down to it._

MARTIN. This is a poor wedding dinner I have for you, Mary; and a poor house I brought you to. I wish it was seven thousand times better for your sake.

MARY. Only we have to part again, there wouldn't be in the world a pair happier than myself and yourself; but where's the good of fretting when there's no help for it?

MARTIN. If I had but a couple of pounds, I could buy a little a.s.s and earn a share of money bringing turf to the big town; or I could job at the fairs. But, my grief, we haven't it, or ten shillings.

MARY. And if I could get but a few hens, and what would feed them, I could be selling the eggs or rearing chickens. But unless G.o.d would work a miracle for us, there's no chance of that itself. (_She wipes her eyes with her ap.r.o.n._)

MARTIN. Don't be crying, Mary. You belong to me now; am I not rich so long as you belong to me? Whatever place I will go to I will know you are thinking of me.

MARY. That is a true word you say, Martin; I will never be poor so long as I know you to be thinking of me. No riches at all would be so good as that. There's a line my poor father used to be saying:--

'Cattle and gold, store and goods, They pa.s.s away like the high floods.'

It was Raftery, the blind man, said that. I never saw him; but my father used to be talking of him.

MARTIN. I don't care what he said. I wish we had goods and store. He said the exact contrary another time:--

'Brogues in the fashion, a good house, Are better than the bare sky over us.'

MARY. Poor Raftery! he'd give us all that if he had the chance.