thig liom-sa a ruagadh amach ar eagla a mhallacht.
SÍGHLE--Feuch Séamus bocht. Tá sé dul anonn go h-Úna.
[_Éirigheann Séamus ⁊ téidheann sé go h-Úna._]
SÉAMUS--An ndamhsóchaidh tú an ríl seo liom-sa, a Úna, nuair
bhéidheas an píobaire réidh.
MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag éirghe_]--Is mise Tomás O h-Annracháin, agus tá
mé ag labhairt le Úna Ní Ríogáin anois, agus chomh fad agus bhéidheas
fonn uirre-se bheith ag caint liom-sa ní leigfidh mé d’aon dhuine eile
do theacht eadrainn.
SÉAMUS [_gan aire ar Mac Ui h-Annracháin_]--Nach ndamhsóchaidh tú
liom, a Úna?
MAC UI h-ANN. [_go fíochmhar_]--Nár dhubhairt mé leat anois gur
liom-sa do bhí Úna Ní Ríogáin ag caint? Imthigh leat ar an móimid, a
bhodaigh, agus ná tóg clampar ann so.
SÉAMUS--A Úna----
MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag béicil_]--Fág sin!
[_Imthigheann Séamas agus tig sé go dtí an bheirt
shean-mhnaoi._]
SÉAMUS--A Mháire Ní Ríogáin, tá mé ag iarraidh cead ort-sa an
sgraiste mí-ádhamhail meisgeamhail sin do chaitheamh amach as an tigh.
Má leigeann tú dham, cuirfidh mise agus mo bheirt dhearbhráthar amach é,
agus nuair bhéidheas sé amuigh sochróchaidh mise leis.
MÁIRE--O! a Shéamais, ná déan. Tá faitchios orm roimhe. Tá mallacht
aige sin do sgoiltfeadh na crainn, deir siad.
SÉAMUS--Is cuma liom má tá mallacht aige do leagfadh na spéartha. Is
orm-sa tuitfidh sé, agus cuirim mo dhúbhshlán faoi. Dá marbhóchadh sé mé
ar an móimid ní leigfidh mé dhó a chuid phistreóg do chur ar Úna. A
Mháire, tabhair ’m cead.
SÍGHLE--Ná déan sin, a Shéamuis, tá cómhairle níos fearr ’ná sin
agam-sa.
SÉAMUS--Cia an chómhairle í sin?
SÍGHLE--Tá slighe in mo cheann agam le n-a chur amach. Má leanann
sibh-se mo chómhairle-se rachaidh se féin amach chomh socair le uan, d’á
thoil féin, agus nuair gheobhaidh sibh amuigh é, buailidh an dorus air,
agus ná leigidh asteach arís go bráth é.
MÁIRE--Rath ó Dhia ort, agus innis dam cad é tá in do cheann.
SÍGHLE--Déanfamaoid é chomh deas agus chomh simplidhe agus chonnaic
tú ariamh. Cuirfimid é ag casadh sugáin go bhfuighimid amuigh é, agus
buailfimid an dorus air ann sin.
MÁIRE--Is forus a rádh, acht ní forus a dhéanamh. Déarfaidh sé leat
“déan sugán, thú féin.”
SÍGHLE--Déarfamaoid, ann sin, nach bhfacaidh duine ar bith ann so
sugán féir ariamh, nach bhfuil duine ar bith an san tigh ar féidir leis
ceann aca dhéanamh.
SÉAMUS--Acht an gcreidfidh sé rud mar sin--nach bhfacamar sugán
riamh?
SÍGHLE--An gcreidfidh sé, an eadh? Creidfidh sé rud ar bith
chreidfeadh sé go raibh sé féin ’na righ ar Éirinn nuair bhfuil glaine
ólta aige, mar atá anois.
SÉAMUS--Acht cad é an croiceann chuirfeas sinn ar an mbréig seo,--go
bhfuil sugán féir ag teastál uainn?
MÁIRE--Smuaín ar chroicionn do chur air sin, a Shéamus.
SÉAMUS--Déarfaidh mé go bhfuil an ghaoth ag eirighe agus go bhfuil
cúmhdach an tighe d’á sguabadh leis an stoirm, agus go gcaithfimid sugán
tharraingt air.
MÁIRE--Acht má éisteann sé ag an dorus béidh fhios aige nach bhfuil
gaoth ná stoirm ann. Smuaín ar chroicionn eile, a Shéamuis.
SÍGHLE--’Nois, tá an chómhairle cheart agam-sa. Abair go bhfuil
cóiste leagtha ag bonn an chnuic, agus go bhfuil siad ag iarraidh sugáin
leis an gcóiste do leasughadh. Ní fheicfidh sé chomh fada sin ó’n dorus,
agus ní bhéidh fhios aige nach fíor é.
MÁIRE--Sin é an sgéal, a Shíghle. ’Nois, a Shéamuis, gabh imeasg na
ndaoine agus leig an rún leó. Innis dóibh cad tá aca le rádh--nach
bhfacaidh duine ar bith san tír seo sugán féir riamh--agus cuir
croicionn maith ar an mbréig, thú féin.
[_Imthigheann Séamus ó dhuine go duine ag cogarnaigh leó.
Tosaigheann cuid aca ag gáire. Tagann an píobaire agus
tosuigheann sé ag seinm. Éirigheann trí no ceathrar de
chúplachaibh, agus tosuigheann siad ag damhsa. Imthigheann
Séamas amach._]
MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag éirighe tar éis a bheith ag féachaint orra ar
feadh cúpla móimid_]--Psuit! stopagaidh! An dtugann sibh damhsa ar an
strapaireacht sin! Tá sibh ag bualadh an urláir mar bheith an oiread sin
d’eallach. Tá sibh chomh trom lé bulláin, agus chomh ciotach le asail.
Go dtachtar mo phíobán dá mb’fhearr liom bheith ag féachaint orraibh ’ná
ar an oiread sin lachain bacach, ag léimnigh ar fud an tigh ar
leath-chois! Fágaidh an t-urlár fá Úna Ní Ríogáin agus fúm-sa.
FEAR [_atá dul ag damhsa_]--Agus cad fáth a bhfágfamaois an t-urlár
fút-sa?
MAC UI h-ANN.--Tá an eala ar bhruach na toinne, tá an Phoénics
Ríoghdha, tá péarla an bhrollaigh bháin, tá an Bhénus ameasg na mban, tá
Úna Ní Ríogáin ag seasamh suas liom-sa, agus áit ar bith a n-éirigheann
sise suas úmhluigheann an ghealach agus an ghrian féin dí, agus
úmhlóchaidh sibh-se. Tá sí ró áluinn agus ró spéireamhail le h-aon bhean
eile do bheith ’na h-aice. Acht fan go fóil, sul thaisbeánaim daoibh mar
gnidheann an buachaill breágh Connachtach rinnce, déarfaidh mé an
t-abhrán daoibh do rinne mé do Reult Chúige Múmhan--d’Úna ní Ríogáin.
Éirigh, a ghrian na mban, agus déarfamaoid an t-abhrán le chéile, gach
le bhéarsa, agus ann sin múinfimid dóibh cad é is rinnce fíreannach ann.
[_Eirigheann siad ⁊ gabhaid abhrán_].
MAC UI h-ANN.
’Sí Úna bhán, na gruaige buidhe,
An chúilfhionn ’chrádh in mo lár mo chroidhe,
Is ise mo rún, ’s mo chumann go buan,
Is cuma liom choidhche bean acht í.
ÚNA.
A bháird na súile duibhe, is tú
Fuair buaidh in san saoghal a’s clú,
Goirim do bhéal, a’s molaim thú féin,
Do chuiris mo chroidhe in mo chléibh amúgh.
MAC UI h-ANN.
’Sí Úna bhán na gruaige óir,
Mo shearc, mo chumann, mo ghrádh, mo stór.
Rachaidh sí féin le n-a bárd i gcéin,
Do loit sí a chroidhe in a chléibh go mór.
ÚNA.
Níor bhfhada oidhche liom, ná lá,
Ag éisteacht le do chómhrádh breágh.
Is binne do bhéal ná seinm na n-éan,
Óm’ chroidhe in mo chléibh do fuairis grádh.
MAC UI h-ANN.
Do shiúbhail mé féin an domhan iomlán,
Sacsana, Éire, an Fhrainc ’s an Spáin,
Ní fhacaidh mé féin i mbaile ná’ ’gcéin
Aon ainnir fa’n ngréin mar Úna bhán.
ÚNA.
Do chualaidh mise an chláirseach bhinn
San tsráid sin Chorcaigh, ag seinm linn,
Is binne go mór liom féin do ghlór,
Is binne go mór do bhéal ’ná sin.
MAC UI h-ANN.
Do bhí mé féin mo chadhan bocht, tráth,
Níor léir dham oidhche thar an lá,
Go bhfacaidh mé í, do ghoid mo chroidhe,
A’s do dhíbir dhíom mo bhrón ’s mo chrádh.
ÚNA.
Do bhí mé féin ar maidin indé
Ag siúbhal cois coille le fáinne an laé,
Bhí eun ann sin ag seinm go binn,
“Mo ghrádh-sa an grádh, a’s nach áluinn é!”
[_Glaodh agus torann, agus buaileann Séamus O h-Iarainn an dorus
asteach_].
SÉAMUS--Ob ob ú, och on í ó, go deó! Tá an cóiste mór leagtha ag
bonn an chnuic. Tá an mála a bhfuil litreacha na tíre ann pléasgtha,
agus ní’l sreang ná téad ná rópa ná dadaidh aca le na cheangailt arís.
Tá siad ag glaodhach amach anois ar sugán féir do dhéanamh dóibh--cibé
sórt ruid é sin--agus deir siad go mbéidh na litreacha ⁊ an cóiste
caillte ar easbhuidh sugáin féir le n-a gceangailt.
MAC UI h-ANN--Na bí ’g ár mbodhrughadh! Tá ár n-abhrán ráidhte
againn, agus anois támaoid dul ag damhsa. Ní thagann an cóiste an
bealach sin ar aon chor.
SÉAMUS--Tagann sé an bealach sin anois--acht is dóigh gur strainséar
thusa, agus nach bhfuil eólas agad air. Nach dtagann an cóiste thar an
gcnoc anois a chómharsanna?
IAD UILE--Tagann, tagann go cinnte.
MAC UI h-ANN.--Is cuma liom, má thagann no muna dtagann. Acht
b’fearr liom fiche cóiste bheith briste ar an mbóthar ná go gcuirfeá
Péarla an bhrollaigh bháin ó dhamhsa dúinn. Abair leis an gcóisteóir
rópa do chasadh dhó féin.
SÉAMUS--O murder, ní thig leis, tá an oiread sin de fuinneamh agus
de theas agus de shpreacadh agus de lúth in sna caplaibh aigeanta sin go
gcaithidh mo chóisteór bocht breith ar a gcinn. Is ar éigin-báis is
féidir leis a gceapadh ná a gcongbháil. Tá faitchios a anam’ air go
n-eireóchaidh siad in a mhullach, agus go n-imtheóchaidh siad uaidh de
ruaig. Tá h-uile sheitreach asta, ní fhacaidh tú riamh a leithéid de
chaplaibh fiadháine!
MAC UI h-ANN.--Má tá, tá daoine eile ins an gcóiste a dhéanfas rópa
má’s éigin do’n chóisteóir bheith ag ceann na gcapall: fág sin agus leig
dúinn damhsa.
SÉAMUS--Tá; tá triúr eile ann, acht maidir le ceann aca, tá sé ar
leath-láimh, agus fear eile aca,--tá sé ag crith agus ag crathadh leis
an sgannradh fuair sé, ní thig leis seasamh ar a dhá chois leis an eagla
atá air; agus maidir leis an tríomhadh fear ní’l duine ar bith sin tír
do leigfeadh an focal sin “rópa” as a bheul in a fhiadhnuise, mar nach
le rópa do chrochadh a athair féin anurraigh, mar gheall ar chaoirigh do
ghoid.
MAC UI h-ANN.--Casadh fear agaibh féin sugán dó, mar sin, agus
fágaidh an t-urlár fúinn. [_Le Úna._] ’Nois, a réilt na mban, taisbeán
dóibh mar imthigheann Iúnó imeasg na ndéithe, no Helen fá’r sgriosadh an
Traoi Dar mo láimh, ó d’éag Déirdre, fá’r cuireadh Naoise mac Uisneach
chum báis, ní’l a hoidhre i nÉirinn indiú acht thu féin. Tosóchamaoid.
SÉAMUS--Ná tosaigh, go mbéidh an sugán againn. Ní thig linn-ne sugán
chasadh. Ní’l duine ar bith annso ar féidir leis rópa do dhéanamh!
MAC UI h-ANN--Ní’l duine ar bith ann so ar féidir leis rópa
dhéanamh!!
IAD UILE--Ní’l.
SÍGHLE--Agus is fíor dhaoibh sin. Ní dhearnaidh duine ar bith ins an
tír seo sugán féir ariamh, ní mheasaim go bhfuil duine in san tigh seo
do chonnaic ceann aca, féin, acht mise. Is maith cuimhnighim-se, nuair
nach raibh ionnam acht girseach bheag go bhfacaidh mé ceann aca ar
ghabhar do rug mo shean-athair leis as Chonnachtaibh. Bhíodh na daoine
uile ag rádh, “ara! cia ’n sórt ruid é sin chor ar bith?” agus dubhairt
seisean gur sugán do bhí ann, agus go gnidís na daoine a leithéid sin
shíos i gConnachtaibh. Dubhairt sé go rachadh fear aca ag congbháil an
fhéir agus fear eile d’á chasadh. Congbhóchaidh mise an féar anois, má
théidheann tusa d’á chasadh.
SÉAMUS--Bhéarfaidh mise glac féir asteach.
[_Imthigheann sé amach._]
MAC UI h-ANN [_ag gabháil_]--
Déanfaidh mé cáineadh cúige Múmhan,
Ní fhágann siad an t-urlár fúinn;
Ní’l ionnta casadh sugáin, féin!
Cúige Mumhan gan snas gan seun!
Gráin go deó ar chúige Múmhan,
Nach bhfágann siad an t-urlár fúinn;
Cúige Múmhan na mbaillseóir mbréan,
Nach dtig leó casadh sugáin, féin!
SÉAMUS [_ar ais_]--Seo an féar anois.
MAC UI h-ANN.--Tabhair ’m ann so é. Taisbeánfaidh mise dhaoibh cad
dhéanfas an Connachtach deagh-mhúinte deaslámhach, an Connachtach cóir
cliste ciallmhar, a bhfuil lúth agus lán-stuaim aige in a láimh, agus
ciall in a cheann, agus coráiste in a chroidhe, acht gur sheól mi-ádh
agus mór-bhuaidhreadh an tsaoghail é ameasg leibidíní chúige Mumhan, atá
gan aoirde gan uaisle, atá gan eólas ar an eala thar an lachain, no ar
an ór thar an bprás, no ar an lile thar an bhfóthanán, no ar reult na
mbán óg, agus ar phéarla an bhrollaigh bháin, thar a gcuid straoille
agus giobach féin. Tabhair ’m cipín!
[_Séachaideann fear maide dhó, cuireann sé sop féir timchioll
air; tosaigheann sé dh’á chasadh, agus Síghle ag tabhairt
amach an fhéir dó._]
MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag gabhail_]--
Tá péarla mná ’tabhairt soluis dúinn,
Is í mo ghrádh, is í mo rún,
’S í Úna bhán, an righ-bhean chiuin,
’S ní thuigid na Muimhnigh leath a stuaim.
Atá na Muimhnigh seo dallta ag Dia,
Ní aithnighid eala thar lacha liath,
Acht tiucfaidh sí liom-sa, mo Hélen bhreágh
Mar a molfar a pearsa ’s a sgéimh go bráth.
Ara! mhuise! mhuise! mhuise! Nach é seo an baile breágh lághach,
nach é seo an baile thar bárr, an baile a mbíonn an oiread sin rógaire
crochta ann nach mbíonn aon easbhuidh rópa ar na daoinibh, leis an méad
rópa ghoideann siad ó’n gcrochaire. Cráidhteacháin atá ionnta. Tá na
rópaidh aca agus ní thugann siad uatha iad--acht go gcuireann siad an
Connachtach bocht ag casadh sugáin dóibh! Níor chas siad sugán féir in
san mbaile seo ariamh--agus an méad sughán cnáibe atá aca de bhárr an
chrochaire!
Gnidheann Connachtach ciallmhar
Rópa dhó féin,
Acht goideann an Muimhneach
Ó’n gcrochaire é!
Go bhfeicidh mé rópa
Breágh cnáibe go fóill
D’á fhásgadh ar sgóigibh
Gach aoinne ann so!
Mar gheall ar aon mhnaoi amháin d’imthigheadar na Gréagaigh, agus
níor stopadar agus níor mhór-chómhnuigheadar no gur sgriosadar an Traoi,
agus mar gheall ar aon mhnaoi amháin béidh an baile seo damanta go deó
na ndeór agus go bruinne an bhrátha, le Dia na ngrás, go síorruidhe
suthain, nuair nár thuigeadar gur ab í Úna ní Ríogáin an dara Helen do
rugadh in a measg, agus go rug sí bárr áille ar Helen agus ar Bhénus, ar
a dtáinig roimpi agus ar dtiucfas ’na diaigh.
Acht tiucfaidh sí liom mo phéarla mná
Go cúige Connacht na ndaoine breágh;
Geobhaidh sí féasta fíon a’s feóil,
Rinnceanna árda, spórt a’s ceól.
O! mhuise! mhuise! nár éirighidh an ghrian ar an mbaile seo, agus
nár lasaidh réalta air, agus nár----
[_Tá sé san am so amuigh thar an dorus. Éirigheann na fir uile
agus dúnaid é d’aon ruaig amháin air. Tugann Úna léim chum
an doruis, acht beirid na mná uirri. Téidheann Séamus anonn
chuici._]
ÚNA--O! O! O! ná cuirigidhe amach é. Leig ar ais é. Sin Tomás O
h-Annrachain, is file é, is bárd é, is fear iongantach é. O leig ar ais
é, ná déan sin air!
SÉAMUS--A Úna bhán, agus a chuisle dhíleas, leig dó. Tá sé
imthighthe anois agus a chuid phistreóg leis. Béidh sé imthighthe as do
cheann amárach, agus béidh tusa imhthighthe as a cheann-san. Nach bhfuil
fhios agat go maith go mb’fearr liom thu ’ná céad míle Déirdre, agus gur
tusa m’aon phéarla mná amháin d’á bhfuil in san domhan.
MAC UI h-ANN [_amuigh, ag bualadh ar an dorus_]--Fosgail! fosgail!
fosgail! Leigidh asteach mé. O mo sheacht gcéad míle mallacht orraibh,
Mallacht na lag orraibh ’s na láidir,
Mallacht na sagart agus na mbráthair,
Mallacht na n-Easball agus an Phápa,
Mallacht na mbaintreabhach ’s na ngarlach.
Fosgail! fosgail! fosgail!
[_Buaileann sé an dorus arís agus arís eile._]
SÉAMUS--Tá mé buidheach díbh a chómharsanna, agus béidh Úna
buidheach díbh amarach. Buail leat, a sgraiste! déan do dhamhsa leat
féin amuigh ann sin, anois! Ní bhfuighidh tú asteach ann so! Óra, a
chómharsanna nach breágh é, duine do bheith ag éisteacht leis an stoirm
taobh amuigh, agus é fhéin go socair sásta cois na teineadh. Buail leat!
Buail leat. Cá ’uil Connacht anois?
[CRÍOCH.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Twisting of the Rope.
HANRAHAN.--_A wandering poet._
SHEAMUS O’HERAN.--_Engaged to_ OONA.
MAURYA.--_The woman of the house._
SHEELA.--_A neighbour._
OONA.--_Maurya’s daughter._
_Neighbours and a piper who have come to Maurya’s house for a dance._
SCENE.--_A farmer’s house in Munster a hundred years ago. Men and women
moving about and standing round the walls as if they had just finished a
dance. HANRAHAN, in the foreground, talking to OONA_.
_The piper is beginning a preparatory drone for another dance,
but SHEAMUS brings him a drink and he stops. A man has come
and holds out his hand to OONA, as if to lead her out, but
she pushes him away_.
OONA.--Don’t be bothering me now; don’t you see I’m listening to
what he is saying. [_To HANRAHAN_] Go on with what you were saying just
now.
HANRAHAN.--What did that fellow want of you?
OONA.--He wanted the next dance with me, but I wouldn’t give it to
him.
HANRAHAN.--And why would you give it to him? Do you think I’d let
you dance with anyone but myself, and I here. I had no comfort or
satisfaction this long time until I came here to-night, and till I saw
yourself.
OONA.--What comfort am I to you?
HANRAHAN.--When a stick is half burned in the fire does it not get
comfort when water is poured on it?
OONA.--But sure, you are not half burned?
HANRAHAN.--I am, and three quarters of my heart is burned, and
scorched and consumed, struggling with the world and the world
struggling with me.
OONA.--You don’t look that bad.
HANRAHAN.--Oh, Oona ni Regaun, you have not knowledge of the life of
a poor bard, without house or home or havings, but he going and ever
going a drifting through the wide world, without a person with him but
himself. There is not a morning in the week when I rise up that I do not
say to myself that it would be better to be in the grave than to be
wandering. There is nothing standing to me but the gift I got from God,
my share of songs; when I begin upon them, my grief and my trouble go
from me, I forget my persecution and my ill luck, and now since I saw
you Oona, I see there is something that is better even than the songs.
OONA.--Poetry is a wonderful gift from God, and as long as you have
that, you are more rich than the people of stock and store, the people
of cows and cattle.
HANRAHAN.--Ah, Oona, it is a great blessing but it is a great curse
as well for a man, he to be a poet. Look at me, have I a friend in this
world? Is there a man alive who has a wish for me, is there the love of
anyone at all on me? I am going like a poor lonely barnacle goose
throughout the world; like Usheen after the Fenians; every person hates
me; you do not hate me, Oona?
OONA.--Do not say a thing like that, it is impossible that anyone
would hate you.
HANRAHAN.--Come and we will sit in the corner of the room together,
and I will tell you the little song I made for you, it is for you I made
it. (_They go to a corner and sit down together. SHEELA comes in at the
door_.)
SHEELA.--I came to you as quick as I could.
MAURYA.--And a hundred welcomes to you.
SHEELA.--What have you going on now?
MAURYA.--Beginning we are, we had one jig, and now the piper is
drinking a glass. They’ll begin dancing again in a minute when the piper
is ready.
SHEELA.--There are a good many people gathering in to you to-night.
We will have a fine dance.
MAURYA.--Maybe so, Sheela, but there’s a man of them there, and I’d
sooner him out than in.
SHEELA.--It’s about the long brown man you are talking isn’t it? The
man that is in close talk with Oona in the corner. Where is he from and
who is he himself?
MAURYA.--That’s the greatest vagabond ever came into Ireland; Tumaus
Hanrahan they call him, but it’s Hanrahan the rogue he ought to have
been christened by right. Aurah, wasn’t there the misfortune on me, him
to come in to us at all to-night.
SHEELA.--What sort of a person is he? Isn’t he a man that makes
songs, out of Connacht? I heard talk of him before, and they say there
is not another dancer in Ireland so good as him. I would like to see him
dance.
MAURYA.--Bad luck to the vagabond! It is well I know what sort he
is, because there was a kind of friendship between himself and the first
husband I had, and it’s often I heard from poor Diarmuid--the Lord have
mercy on him!--what sort of person he was. He was a schoolmaster down in
Connacht, but he used to have every trick worse than another, ever
making songs he used to be, and drinking whiskey and setting quarrels
afoot among the neighbours with his share of talk. They say there isn’t
a woman in the five provinces that he wouldn’t deceive. He is worse than
Donal na Greina long ago. But the end of the story is that the priest
routed him out of the parish altogether; he got another place then, and
followed on at the same tricks until he was routed out again, and
another again with it. Now he has neither place nor house nor anything,
but he to be going the country, making songs and getting a night’s
lodging from the people, nobody will refuse him, because they are afraid
of him. He’s a great poet, and maybe he’d make a rann on you that would
stick to you for ever, if you were to anger him.
SHEELA.--God preserve us, but what brought him in to-night?
MAURYA.--He was travelling the country and he heard there was to be
a dance here, and he came in because he knew us, he was rather great
with my first husband. It is wonderful how he is making out his way of
life at all, and he with nothing but his share of songs. They say that
there is no place that he’ll go to, that the women don’t love him and
that the men don’t hate him.
SHEELA.--(_Catching MAURYA by the shoulder_) Turn your head, Maurya,
look at him now, himself and your daughter, and their heads together;
he’s whispering in her ear; he’s after making a poem for her and he’s
whispering it in her ear. O the villain, he’ll be putting his spells on
her now.
MAURYA.--Ohone, go deo! isn’t it a misfortune that he came. He’s
talking every moment with Oona since he came in three hours ago. I did
my best to separate them from each other, but it failed me. Poor Oona is
given up to every sort of old songs and old made up stories, and she
thinks it sweet to be listening to him. The marriage is settled between
herself and Sheamus O’Herin there, a quarter from to-day. Look at poor
Sheamus at the door, and he watching them. There is grief and hanging of
the head on him; it’s easy to see that he’d like to choke the vagabond
this minute. I am greatly afraid that the head will be turned on Oona
with his share of blathering. As sure as I am alive there will come evil
out of this night.
SHEELA.--And couldn’t you put him out?
MAURYA.--I could. There’s no person here to help him unless there
would be a woman or two; but he is a great poet, and he has a curse that
would split the trees and that would burst the stones. They say the seed
will rot in the ground and the milk go from the cows when a poet like
him makes a curse, if a person routed him out of the house; but if he
were once out, I’ll go bail that I wouldn’t let him in again.
SHEELA.--If himself were to go out willingly, there would be no
virtue in his curse then?
MAURYA.--There would not, but he will not go out willingly, and I
cannot rout him out myself for fear of his curse.
SHEELA.--Look at poor Sheamus. He is going over to her (_SHEAMUS
gets up and goes over to her_).
SHEAMUS.--Will you dance this reel with me, Oona, as soon as the
piper is ready?
HANRAHAN (_rising up_).--I am Tumaus Hanrahan, and I am speaking now
to Oona ni Regaun, and as long as she is willing to be talking to me, I
will allow no living person to come between us.
SHEAMUS (_without heeding HANRAHAN_).--Will you not dance with me,
Oona?
HANRAHAN (_savagely_).--Didn’t I tell you now that it was to me Oona
ni Regaun was talking? Leave that on the spot you clown, and do not
raise a disturbance here.
SHEAMUS.--Oona----
HANRAHAN (_shouting_)--Leave that! (_SHEAMUS goes away and comes
over to the two old women_).
SHEAMUS.--Maurya Regaun, I am asking permission of you to throw that
ill-mannerly, drunken vagabond out of the house. Myself and my two
brothers will put him out if you will allow us; and when he’s outside
I’ll settle with him.
MAURYA.--Sheamus, do not; I am afraid of him. That man has a curse
they say that would split the trees.
SHEAMUS.--I don’t care if he had a curse that would overthrow the
heavens, it is on me it will fall, and I defy him! If he were to kill me
on the moment, I will not allow him to put his spells on Oona. Give me
leave, Maurya.
SHEELA.--Do not, Sheamus. I have a better advice than that.
SHEAMUS.--What advice is that?
SHEELA.--I have a way in my head to put him out. If you follow my
advice he will go out himself as quiet as a lamb, and when you get him
out, slap the door on him, and never let him in again.
MAURYA.--Luck from God on you, Sheela, and tell us what’s in your
head.
SHEELA.--We will do it as nice and easy as you ever saw. We will put
him to twist a hay-rope till he is outside, and then we will shut the
door on him.
SHEAMUS.--It’s easy to say, but not easy to do. He will say to you,
“Make a hay-rope yourself.”
SHEELA.--We will say then that no one ever saw a hay-rope made, that
there is no one at all in the house to make the beginning of it.
SHEAMUS.--But will _he_ believe that we never saw a hay-rope?
SHEELA.--He’d believe it, is it? He’d believe anything, he’d believe
that himself is king over Ireland when he has a glass taken, as he has
now.
SHEAMUS.--But what excuse can we make for saying we want a hay-rope?
MAURYA.--Can’t you think of something yourself, Sheamus?
SHEAMUS.--Sure I can say the wind is rising, and I must bind the
thatch, or it will be off the house.
SHEELA.--But he’ll know the wind is not rising if he does but listen
at the door. You must think of some other excuse, Sheamus.
SHEAMUS.--Wait, I have a good idea now; say that there is a coach
upset at the bottom of the hill, and that they are asking for a hay-rope
to mend it with. He can’t see as far as that from the door, and he wont
know it’s not true it is.