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diff --git a/old/sglen10.txt b/old/sglen10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69e9bee --- /dev/null +++ b/old/sglen10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1106 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of In the Shadow of the Glen by Synge +#5 in our series by by J. M. Synge + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +In the Shadow of the Glen + +by J. M. 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George Roberts +NORA BURKE (his wife) . . . Maire Nic Shiubhlaigh +MICHEAL DARA (a young herd) . P. J. Kelly +A TRAMP . . . . . . . . W. G. Fay + + +IN THE SHADOW OF THE GLEN + +A PLAY IN ONE ACT + + +SCENE. -- {The last cottage at the head of a +long glen in County Wicklow. + +Cottage kitchen; turf fire on the right; a bed near it against +the wall with a body lying on it covered with a sheet. A door is +at the other end of the room, with a low table near it, and +stools, or wooden chairs. There are a couple of glasses on the +table, and a bottle of whisky, as if for a wake, with two cups, a +teapot, and a home-made cake. There is another small door near +the bed. Nora Burke is moving about the room, settling a few +things, and lighting candles on the table, looking now and +then at the bed with an uneasy look. Some one knocks softly at +the door. She takes up a stocking with money from the table and +puts it in her pocket. Then she opens the door.} + +TRAMP +{Outside.} +Good evening to you, lady of the house. + +NORA + +Good evening, kindly stranger, it's a wild +night, God help you, to be out in the rain falling. + +TRAMP +It is, surely, and I walking to Brittas from the Aughrim fair. + +NORA +Is it walking on your feet, stranger? + +TRAMP +On my two feet, lady of the house, and when I saw the light below +I thought maybe if you'd a sup of new milk and a quiet decent +corner where a man could sleep {he looks in past her +and sees the dead man.} The Lord have mercy on us all! + +NORA +It doesn't matter anyway, stranger, come in out of the rain. + +TRAMP +{Coming in slowly and going towards the bed.} +Is it departed he is? + +NORA +It is, stranger. He's after dying on me, God forgive him, and +there I am now with a hundred sheep beyond on the hills, and no +turf drawn for the winter. + +TRAMP +{Looking closely at the dead man.} +It's a queer look is on him for a man that's dead. + +NORA +{Half-humorously.} +He was always queer, stranger, and I suppose them that's queer +and they living men will be queer bodies after. + +TRAMP +Isn't it a great wonder you're letting him lie there, and he is +not tidied, or laid out itself? + +NORA +{Coming to the bed.} +I was afeard, stranger, for he put a black curse on me this +morning if I'ld touch his body the time he'ld die sudden, or let +any one touch it except his sister only, and it's ten miles away +she lives in the big glen over the hill. + +TRAMP +{Looking at her and nodding slowly.} +It's a queer story he wouldn't let his own wife touch him, and he +dying quiet in his bed. + +NORA +He was an old man, and an odd man, stranger, and it's always up +on the hills he was thinking thoughts in the dark mist. {She +pulls back a bit of the sheet.} Lay your hand on him now, and +tell me if it's cold he is surely. + +TRAMP +Is it getting the curse on me you'ld be, woman of the house? I +wouldn't lay my hand on him for the Lough Nahanagan and it filled +with gold. + +NORA +{Looking uneasily at the body.} +Maybe cold would be no sign of death with the like of him, for he +was always cold, every day since I knew him, -- and every night, +stranger, -- {she covers up his face and comes away from the +bed}; but I'm thinking it's dead he is surely, for he's +complaining a while back of a pain in his heart, and this +morning, the time he was going off to Brittas for three days or +four, he was taken with a sharp turn. Then he went into his bed +and he was saying it was destroyed he was, the time the shadow +was going up through the glen, and when the sun set on the bog +beyond he made a great lep, and let a great cry out of him, and +stiffened himself out the like of a dead sheep. + +TRAMP +{Crosses himself.} +God rest his soul. + +NORA +{Pouring him out a glass of whisky.} +Maybe that would do you better than the milk of the sweetest cow +in County Wicklow. + +TRAMP +The Almighty God reward you, and may it be to your good health. +{He drinks.} + +NORA +{Giving him a pipe and tobacco.} +I've no pipes saving his own, stranger, but they're sweet pipes +to smoke. + +TRAMP +Thank you kindly, lady of the house. + +NORA +Sit down now, stranger, and be taking your rest. + +TRAMP +{Filling a pipe and looking about the room.} +I've walked a great way through the world, lady of the house, and +seen great wonders, but I never seen a wake till this day with +fine spirits, and good tobacco, and the best of pipes, and no one +to taste them but a woman only. + +NORA +Didn't you hear me say it was only after dying on me he was when +the sun went down, and how would I go out into the glen and tell +the neighbours, and I a lone woman with no house near me? + +TRAMP +{Drinking.} +There's no offence, lady of the house? + +NORA +No offence in life, stranger. How would the like of you, passing +in the dark night, know the lonesome way I was with no house near +me at all? + +TRAMP +{Sitting down.} +I knew rightly. {He lights his pipe so that there is a sharp +light beneath his haggard face.} And I was thinking, and I +coming in through the door, that it's many a lone woman +would be afeard of the like of me in the dark night, in a place +wouldn't be so lonesome as this place, where there aren't two +living souls would see the little light you have shining from +the glass. + +NORA +{Slowly.} +I'm thinking many would be afeard, but I never knew what way I'd +be afeard of beggar or bishop or any man of you at all. {She +looks towards the window and lowers her voice.} It's other things +than the like of you, stranger, would make a person afeard. + +TRAMP +{Looking round with a half-shudder.} +It is surely, God help us all! + +NORA +{Looking at him for a moment with curiosity.} +You're saying that, stranger, as if you were easy afeard. + +TRAMP +{Speaking mournfully.} +Is it myself, lady of the house, that does be walking round in +the long nights, and crossing the hills when the fog is on them, +the time a little stick would seem as big as your arm, and a +rabbit as big as a bay horse, and a stack of turf as big as a +towering church in the city of Dublin? If myself was easily +afeard, I'm telling you, it's long ago I'ld have been locked +into the Richmond Asylum, or maybe have run up into the back +hills with nothing on me but an old shirt, and been eaten with +crows the like of Patch Darcy -- the Lord have mercy on him -- in +the year that's gone. + +NORA +{With interest.} +You knew Darcy? + +TRAMP +Wasn't I the last one heard his living voice in the whole world? + +NORA +There were great stories of what was heard at that time, but +would any one believe the things they do be saying in the glen? + +TRAMP +It was no lie, lady of the house. . . . I was passing below on a +dark night the like of this night, and the sheep were lying under +the ditch and every one of them coughing, and choking, like an +old man, with the great rain and the fog. Then I heard a thing +talking -- queer talk, you wouldn't believe at all, and you out +of your dreams, -- and "Merciful God," says I, "if I begin +hearing the like of that voice out of the thick mist, I'm +destroyed surely." Then I run, and I run, and I run, till I was +below in Rathvanna. I got drunk that night, I got drunk in the +morning, and drunk the day after, -- I was coming from the races +beyond -- and the third day they found Darcy. . . . Then I knew +it was himself I was after hearing, and I wasn't afeard any more. + +NORA +{Speaking sorrowfully and slowly.} +God spare Darcy, he'ld always look in here and he passing up or +passing down, and it's very lonesome I was after him a long while +{she looks over at the bed and lowers her voice, speaking very +clearly,} and then I got happy again -- if it's ever happy we +are, stranger, -- for I got used to being lonesome. +{A short pause; then she stands up.} + +NORA +Was there any one on the last bit of the road, stranger, and you +coming from Aughrim? + +TRAMP +There was a young man with a drift of mountain ewes, and he +running after them this way and that. + +NORA +{With a half-smile.} +Far down, stranger? + +TRAMP +A piece only. + +{She fills the kettle and puts it on the fire.} + +NORA +Maybe, if you're not easy afeard, you'ld stay here a short while +alone with himself. + +TRAMP +I would surely. A man that's dead can do no hurt. + +NORA +{Speaking with a sort of constraint.} +I'm going a little back to the west, stranger, for himself would +go there one night and another and whistle at that place, and +then the young man you're after seeing -- a kind of a farmer has +come up from the sea to live in a cottage beyond -- would walk +round to see if there was a thing we'ld have to be done, and I'm +wanting him this night, the way he can go down into the glen when +the sun goes up and tell the people that himself is dead. + +TRAMP +{Looking at the body in the sheet.} +It's myself will go for him, lady of the house, and let you not +be destroying yourself with the great rain. + +NORA +You wouldn't find your way, stranger, for there's a small path +only, and it running up between two sluigs where an ass and cart +would be drowned. {She puts a shawl over her head.} Let you be +making yourself easy, and saying a prayer for his soul, and it's +not long I'll be coming again. + +TRAMP +{Moving uneasily.} +Maybe if you'd a piece of a grey thread and a sharp needle -- +there's great safety in a needle, lady of the house -- I'ld be +putting a little stitch here and there in my old coat, the time +I'll be praying for his soul, and it going up naked to the saints +of God. + +NORA +{Takes a needle and thread from the front of her dress and gives +it to him.} +There's the needle, stranger, and I'm thinking you won't be +lonesome, and you used to the back hills, for isn't a dead man +itself more company than to be sitting alone, and hearing the +winds crying, and you not knowing on what thing your mind would +stay? + +TRAMP +{Slowly.} +It's true, surely, and the Lord have mercy on us all! + +{Nora goes out. The Tramp begins stitching one of the tags in +his coat, saying the "De Profundis" under his breath. In an +instant the sheet is drawn slowly down, and Dan Burke looks out. +The Tramp moves uneasily, then looks up, and springs to his feet +with a movement of terror.} + +DAN +{With a hoarse voice.} +Don't be afeard, stranger; a man that's dead can do no hurt. + +TRAMP +{Trembling.} +I meant no harm, your honour; and won't you leave me easy to be +saying a little prayer for your soul? + +{A long whistle is heard outside.} + +DAN +{Sitting up in his bed and speaking fiercely.} +Ah, the devil mend her. . . . Do you hear that, stranger? Did +ever you hear another woman could whistle the like of that with +two fingers in her mouth? {He looks at the table hurriedly.} +I'm destroyed with the drouth, and let you bring me a drop +quickly before herself will come back. + +TRAMP +{Doubtfully.} +Is it not dead you are? + +DAN +How would I be dead, and I as dry as a baked bone, stranger? + +TRAMP +{Pouring out the whisky.} +What will herself say if she smells the stuff on you, for I'm +thinking it's not for nothing you're letting on to be dead? + +DAN +It is not, stranger, but she won't be coming near me at all, and +it's not long now I'll be letting on, for I've a cramp in my +back, and my hip's asleep on me, and there's been the devil's own +fly itching my nose. It's near dead I was wanting to sneeze, and +you blathering about the rain, and Darcy {bitterly} -- the devil +choke him -- and the towering church. {Crying out impatiently.} +Give me that whisky. Would you have herself come back before I +taste a drop at all? + +{Tramp gives him the glass.} + +DAN +{After drinking.} +Go over now to that cupboard, and bring me a black stick you'll +see in the west corner by the wall. + +TRAMP +{Taking a stick from the cupboard} +Is it that? + +DAN +It is, stranger; it's a long time I'm keeping that stick for I've +a bad wife in the house. + +TRAMP +{With a queer look.} +Is it herself, master of the house, and she a grand woman to +talk? + +DAN +It's herself, surely, it's a bad wife she is -- a bad wife for an +old man, and I'm getting old, God help me, though I've an arm to +me still. {He takes the stick in his hand.} Let you wait now a +short while, and it's a great sight you'll see in this room in +two hours or three. {He stops to listen.} Is that somebody +above? + +TRAMP +{Listening.} +There's a voice speaking on the path. + +DAN +Put that stick here in the bed and smooth the sheet the way it +was lying. {He covers himself up hastily.} Be falling to sleep +now and don't let on you know anything, or I'll be having your +life. I wouldn't have told you at all but it's destroyed with +the drouth I was. + +TRAMP +{Covering his head.} +Have no fear, master of the house. What is it I know of the like +of you that I'ld be saying a word or putting out my hand to stay +you at all? + +{He goes back to the fire, sits down on a stool with his back to +the bed and goes on stitching his coat.} + +DAN +{Under the sheet, querulously.} +Stranger. + +TRAMP +{Quickly.} +Whisht, whisht. Be quiet I'm telling you, they're coming now at +the door. + +{Nora comes in with Micheal Dara, a tall, innocent young man +behind her.} + +NORA +I wasn't long at all, stranger, for I met himself on the path. + +TRAMP +You were middling long, lady of the house. + +NORA +There was no sign from himself? + +TRAMP +No sign at all, lady of the house. + +NORA +{To Micheal.} +Go over now and pull down the sheet, and look on himself, Micheal +Dara, and you'll see it's the truth I'm telling you. + +MICHEAL +I will not, Nora, I do be afeard of the dead. + +{He sits down on a stool next the table facing the tramp. Nora +puts the kettle on a lower hook of the pot hooks, and piles turf +under it.} + +NORA +{Turning to Tramp.} +Will you drink a sup of tea with myself and the young man, +stranger, or {speaking more persuasively} will you go into the +little room and stretch yourself a short while on the bed, I'm +thinking it's destroyed you are walking the length of that way in +the great rain. + +TRAMP +Is it to go away and leave you, and you having a wake, lady of +the house? I will not surely. {He takes a drink from his glass +which he has beside him.} And it's none of your tea I'm asking +either. + +{He goes on stitching. Nora makes the tea.} + +MICHEAL +{After looking at the tramp rather scornfully for a moment.} +That's a poor coat you have, God help you, and I'm thinking it's +a poor tailor you are with it. + +TRAMP +If it's a poor tailor I am, I'm thinking it's a poor herd does be +running back and forward after a little handful of ewes the way I +seen yourself running this day, young fellow, and you coming from +the fair. + +{Nora comes back to the table.} + +NORA +{To Micheal in a low voice.} +Let you not mind him at all, Micheal Dara, he has a drop taken +and it's soon he'll be falling asleep. + +MICHEAL +It's no lie he's telling, I was destroyed surely. They were that +wilful they were running off into one man's bit of oats, and +another man's bit of hay, and tumbling into the red bogs till +it's more like a pack of old goats than sheep they were. +Mountain ewes is a queer breed, Nora Burke, and I'm not used to +them at all. + +NORA +{Settling the tea things.} +There's no one can drive a mountain ewe but the men do be reared +in the Glen Malure, I've heard them say, and above by Rathvanna, +and the Glen Imaal, men the like of Patch Darcy, God spare his +soul, who would walk through five hundred sheep and miss one of +them, and he not reckoning them at all. + +MICHEAL +{Uneasily.} +Is it the man went queer in his head the year that's gone? + +NORA +It is surely. + +TRAMP +{Plaintively.} +That was a great man, young fellow, a great man I'm telling you. +There was never a lamb from his own ewes he wouldn't know before +it was marked, and he'ld run from this to the city of Dublin and +never catch for his breath. + +NORA +{Turning round quickly.} +He was a great man surely, stranger, and isn't it a grand thing +when you hear a living man saying a good word of a dead man, and +he mad dying? + +TRAMP +It's the truth I'm saying, God spare his soul. + +{He puts the needle under the collar of his coat, and settles +himself to sleep in the chimney-corner. Nora sits down at the +table; their backs are turned to the bed.} + +MICHEAL +{Looking at her with a queer look.} +I heard tell this day, Nora Burke, that it was on the path below +Patch Darcy would be passing up and passing down, and I heard +them say he'ld never past it night or morning without speaking +with yourself. + +NORA +{In a low voice.} +It was no lie you heard, Micheal Dara. + +MICHEAL +I'm thinking it's a power of men you're after knowing if it's in +a lonesome place you live itself. + +NORA +{Giving him his tea.} +It's in a lonesome place you do have to be talking with some one, +and looking for some one, in the evening of the day, and if it's +a power of men I'm after knowing they were fine men, for I was a +hard child to please, and a hard girl to please {she looks at him +a little sternly}, and it's a hard woman I am to please this day, +Micheal Dara, and it's no lie I'm telling you. + +MICHEAL +{Looking over to see that the tramp is asleep, and then pointing +to the dead man.} +Was it a hard woman to please you were when you took himself for +your man? + +NORA +What way would I live and I an old woman if I didn't marry a man +with a bit of a farm, and cows on it, and sheep on the back +hills? + +MICHEAL +{Considering.} +That's true, Nora, and maybe it's no fool +you were, for there's good grazing on it, if +it is a lonesome place, and I'm thinking it's +a good sum he's left behind. +28 + +NORA +{Taking the stocking with money from her pocket, and putting it +on the table.} +I do be thinking in the long nights it was a big fool I was that +time, Micheal Dara, for what good is a bit of a farm with cows on +it, and sheep on the back hills, when you do be sitting looking +out from a door the like of that door, and seeing nothing but the +mists rolling down the bog, and the mists again, and they rolling +up the bog, and hearing nothing but the wind crying out in the +bits of broken trees were left from the great storm, and the +streams roaring with the rain. + +MICHEAL +{Looking at her uneasily.} +What is it ails you, this night, Nora Burke? I've heard tell it's +the like of that talk you do hear from men, and they after being +a great while on the back hills. + +NORA +{Putting out the money on the table.} +It's a bad night, and a wild night, Micheal Dara, and isn't it a +great while I am at the foot of the back hills, sitting up here +boiling food for himself, and food for the brood sow, and baking +a cake when the night falls? {She puts up the money, listlessly, +in little piles on the table.} Isn't it a long while I am +sitting here in the winter and the summer, and the fine spring, +with the young growing behind me and the old passing, saying to +myself one time, to look on Mary Brien who wasn't that height +{holding out her hand}, and I a fine girl growing up, and there +she is now with two children, and another coming on her in three +months or four. {She pauses.} + +MICHEAL +{Moving over three of the piles.} +That's three pounds we have now, Nora Burke. + +NORA +{Continuing in the same voice.} +And saying to myself another time, to look on Peggy Cavanagh, who +had the lightest hand at milking a cow that wouldn't be easy, or +turning a cake, and there she is now walking round on the roads, +or sitting in a dirty old house, with no teeth in her mouth, and +no sense and no more hair than you'ld see on a bit of a hill and +they after burning the furze from it. + +MICHEAL +That's five pounds and ten notes, a good sum, surely! . . . It's +not that way you'll be talking when you marry a young man, Nora +Burke, and they were saying in the fair my lambs were the best +lambs, and I got a grand price, for I'm no fool now at making a +bargain when my lambs are good. + +NORA +What was it you got? + +MICHEAL +Twenty pound for the lot, Nora Burke. . . . We'ld do right to +wait now till himself will be quiet awhile in the Seven Churches, +and then you'll marry me in the chapel of Rathvanna, and I'll +bring the sheep up on the bit of a hill you have on the back +mountain, and we won't have anything we'ld be afeard to let our +minds on when the mist is down. + +NORA +{Pouring him out some whisky.} +Why would I marry you, Mike Dara? You'll be getting old and I'll +be getting old, and in a little while I'm telling you, you'll be +sitting up in your bed -- the way himself was sitting -- with a +shake in your face, and your teeth falling, and the white hair +sticking out round you like an old bush where sheep do be +leaping a gap. + +{Dan Burke sits up noiselessly from under the sheet, with his +hand to his face. His white hair is sticking out round his +head.} + +NORA +{Goes on slowly without hearing him.} +It's a pitiful thing to be getting old, but it's a queer thing +surely. It's a queer thing to see an old man sitting up there in +his bed with no teeth in him, and a rough word in his mouth, +and his chin the way it would take the bark from the edge of an +oak board you'ld have building a door. . . . God forgive me, +Micheal Dara, we'll all be getting old, but it's a queer thing +surely. + +MICHEAL +It's too lonesome you are from living a long time with an old +man, Nora, and you're talking again like a herd that would be +coming down from the thick mist {he puts his arm round her}, but +it's a fine life you'll have now with a young man, a fine life +surely. . . . + +{Dan sneezes violently. Micheal tries to get to the door, but +before he can do so, Dan jumps out of the bed in queer white +clothes, with his stick in his hand, and goes over and puts his +back against it.} + +MICHEAL +Son of God deliver us. + +{Crosses himself, and goes backward across the room.} + +DAN +{Holding up his hand at him.} +Now you'll not marry her the time I'm rotting below in the Seven +Churches, and you'll see the thing I'll give you will follow you +on the back mountains when the wind is high. + +MICHEAL +{To Nora.} +Get me out of it, Nora, for the love of God. He always did what +you bid him, and I'm thinking he would do it now. + +NORA +{Looking at the Tramp.} +Is it dead he is or living? + +DAN +{Turning towards her.} +It's little you care if it's dead or living I am, but there'll be +an end now of your fine times, and all the talk you have of young +men and old men, and of the mist coming up or going down. {He +opens the door.} You'll walk out now from that door, Nora Burke, +and it's not to-morrow, or the next day, or any day of your life, +that you'll put in your foot through it again. + +TRAMP +{Standing up.} +It's a hard thing you're saying for an old man, master of the +house, and what would the like of her do if you put her out on +the roads? + +DAN +Let her walk round the like of Peggy Cavanagh below, and be +begging money at the cross-road, or selling songs to the men. +{To Nora.} Walk out now, Nora Burke, and it's soon you'll be +getting old with that life, I'm telling you; it's soon your +teeth'll be falling and your head'll be the like of a bush where +sheep do be leaping a gap. + +{He pauses: she looks round at Micheal.} + +MICHEAL +{Timidly.} +There's a fine Union below in Rathdrum. + +DAN +The like of her would never go there. . . . It's lonesome roads +she'll be going and hiding herself away till the end will come, +and they find her stretched like a dead sheep with the frost on +her, or the big spiders, maybe, and they putting their webs on +her, in the butt of a ditch. + +NORA +{Angrily.} +What way will yourself be that day, Daniel Burke? What way will +you be that day and you lying down a long while in your grave? +For it's bad you are living, and it's bad you'll be when you're +dead. {She looks at him a moment fiercely, then half turns away +and speaks plaintively again.} Yet, if it is itself, Daniel +Burke, who can help it at all, and let you be getting up into +your bed, and not be taking your death with the wind blowing on +you, and the rain with it, and you half in your skin. + +DAN +It's proud and happy you'ld be if I was getting my death the day +I was shut of yourself. {Pointing to the door.} Let you walk out +through that door, I'm telling you, and let you not be passing +this way if it's hungry you are, or wanting a bed. + +TRAMP +{Pointing to Micheal.} +Maybe himself would take her. + +NORA +What would he do with me now? + +TRAMP +Give you the half of a dry bed, and good food in your mouth. + +DAN +Is it a fool you think him, stranger, or is it a fool you were +born yourself? Let her walk out of that door, and let you go +along with her, stranger -- if it's raining itself -- for it's +too much talk you have surely. + +TRAMP +{Going over to Nora.} +We'll be going now, lady of the house -- the rain is falling, but +the air is kind and maybe it'll be a grand morning by the grace +of God. + +NORA +What good is a grand morning when I'm destroyed surely, and I +going out to get my death walking the roads? + +TRAMP +You'll not be getting your death with myself, lady of the house, +and I knowing all the ways a man can put food in his mouth. . . . +We'll be going now, I'm telling you, and the time you'll be +feeling the cold, and the frost, and the great rain, and the sun +again, and the south wind blowing in the glens, you'll not be +sitting up on a wet ditch, the way you're after sitting in the +place, making yourself old with looking on each day, and it +passing you by. You'll be saying one time, "It's a grand evening, +by the grace of God," and another time, "It's a wild night, God +help us, but it'll pass surely." You'll be saying-- + +DAN +{Goes over to them crying out impatiently.} +Go out of that door, I'm telling you, and do your blathering +below in the glen. + +{Nora gathers a few things into her shawl.} + +TRAMP +{At the door.} +Come along with me now, lady of the house, and it's not my +blather you'll be hearing only, but you'll be hearing the herons +crying out over the black lakes, and you'll be hearing the grouse +and the owls with them, and the larks and the big thrushes when +the days are warm, and it's not from the like of them you'll be +hearing a talk of getting old like Peggy Cavanagh, and losing the +hair off you, and the light of your eyes, but it's fine songs +you'll be hearing when the sun goes up, and there'll be no old +fellow wheezing, the like of a sick sheep, close to your ear. + +NORA +I'm thinking it's myself will be wheezing that time with lying +down under the Heavens when the night is cold; but you've a fine +bit of talk, stranger, and it's with yourself I'll go. + +{She goes towards the door, then turns to Dan.} You think it's a +grand thing you're after doing with your letting on to be dead, +but what is it at all? What way would a woman live in a lonesome +place the like of this place, and she not making a talk with the +men passing? And what way will yourself live from this day, with +none to care for you? What is it you'll have now but a black +life, Daniel Burke, and it's not long I'm telling you, till +you'll be lying again under that sheet, and you dead surely. + +{She goes out with the Tramp. Micheal is slinking after them, but +Dan stops him.} + +DAN +Sit down now and take a little taste of the stuff, Micheal Dara. +There's a great drouth on me, and the night is young. + +MICHEAL +{Coming back to the table.} +And it's very dry I am, surely, with the fear of death you put on +me, and I after driving mountain ewes since the turn of the day. + +DAN +{Throwing away his stick.} +I was thinking to strike you, Micheal Dara, but you're a quiet +man, God help you, and I don't mind you at all. + +{He pours out two glasses of whisky, and gives one to Micheal.} + +DAN +Your good health, Micheal Dara. + +MICHEAL +God reward you, Daniel Burke, and may you have a long life, and a +quiet life, and good health with it. +{They drink.} + +CURTAIN. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg etext of In the Shadow of the Glen by Synge + |