_Conan_: Is that the truth you're saying?

_Timothy_: Hear, is it! I can hear every whisper in this parish and the seven parishes are nearest.

And the little midges roaring in the air.--Let ye whist now with your sneezing in the draught!

_Conan_: This is surely the work of the bellows.

Another blast gone!

_Rock_: So it would be too. Mostly the whole of them gone and spent. It's hard know in the morning what way will it be with you at night.

_(Sings.)_

"I saw from the beach when the morning was shining A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on-- came when the sun o'er the beach was declining, The bark was still there, but the waters were gone."

_Timothy_: It is yourself brought the misfortune on me, calling your Druid spells into the house.

_Conan_: It is not upon you I ever turned it.

_Timothy_: You have a great wrong done to me!

_Mother_: It is glad you should be and happy.

_Timothy_; Happy, is it? Give me a hareskin cap for to put over my ears, having wool in it very thick!

_(Sings.)_

"Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water, Break not ye breezes your chain of repose, While murmuring mournfully Lir's lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.

"When shall the swan, her death-note singing, Sleep with wings in darkness furl'd?

When will heaven its sweet bells ringing Call my spirit from this stormy world?"

_Mother_: Come with me now and I'll be chatting to you.

_Timothy_: Why would I be listening to your blather when I have the voices of the four winds to be listening to? The night wind, the east wind, the black wind and the wind from the south!

_Conan_: Such a thing I never saw before in all my natural life.

_Timothy_: To be hearing, without understanding it, the language of the tribes of the birds! (_Puts hands over ears again_.) There's too many sounds in the world! The sounds of the earth are terrible!

The roots squeezing and jostling one another through the clefts, and the crashing of the acorn from the oak. The cry of the little birdeen in under the silence of the hawk!

_Conan:_ (_To Mother_.) As it you let it loose upon him, let you bring him away to some hole or cave of the earth.

_Timothy_: It is my desire to go cast myself in the ocean where there'll be but one sound of its waves, the fishes in its meadows being dumb!

(_Goes to corner and hides his head in a sack_.)

_Mother_: Even so there might likely be a mermaid playing reels on her silver comb, and yourself craving after the world you left.

(_Sings: Air, "Spailpin Fanach_.")

"You think to go from every woe to peace in the wide ocean, But you will find your foolish mind repent its foolish notion.

When dog-fish dash and mermaids splash their finny tails to find you, I'll make a bet that you'll regret the world you left behind you!"

_Celia:_ (_Clattering in with broom, etc_.) What are ye doing, coming in this room again after I having it settled so nice? I'll allow no one in the place again, only carriage company that will have no speck of dust upon the sole of their shoe!

_Mother_: Oh, Celia, there has strange things happened!

_Celia_: What I see strange is that some person has meddled with that hill of ashes on the hearth and set it flying athrough the air. Is it hens ye are wishful to be, that would be searching and scratching in the dust for grains? And this thrown down in the midst! (_Holds up bellows_.)

_Conan_: Give me my bellows!

_Mother_: No, but give it to me!

_Rock and Flannery_: Give it to myself!

_Timothy:_ (_Looking up, with hands on ears_.) My curse upon it and its work. Little I care if it goes up with the clouds.

_Celia_: What in the world wide makes the whole of ye so eager to get hold of such a thing?

_Conan_: It has but the one blast left!

(_Sings_.)

"'Tis the last Rose of Summer Left blooming alone, All her lovely companions Are faded and gone.

No flower of her kindred, No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes Or give sigh for sigh!"

_Celia_: What are you fretting about blasts and about roses?

_Rock:_ It has a charm on it--

_Flannery:_ To change the world--

_Mother:_ That chedang myself--

_Conan:_ For the worse--

_Mother:_ And Timothy--

_Conan:_ For the worse--

_Rock:_ Myself and Flannery--

_Conan:_ For the worse, for the worse--

_Mother:_ Conan that changed yourself with it--

_Conan:_ For the very worst!

_Celia:_ (_To Conan_.) Is it riddles, or is it that you put a spell and a change upon me?

_Conan:_ If I did, it was for your own good!

_Celia:_ Do you call it for my good to set me running till I have my toes going through my shoes?

(_Holds them out_.)