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 God;
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 damned; _go deo, ma
neoir_, and to the womb of judgment, by God 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 _bán, acushla dílis_, 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?