Sarah. It’s Sarah Casey I am, your reverence, the Beauty of Ballinacree, and it’s Michael Byrne is below in the ditch.
Priest. A holy pair, surely! Let you get out of my way.
[He tries to pass by.
Sarah [keeping in front of him]. We are wanting a little word with your reverence.
Synge, The Tinker’s Wedding
(4) Hornblower enters—a man of medium height, thoroughly broadened, blown out, as it were, with success. He has thick, coarse hair, just grizzled, very bushy eyebrows, a wide mouth. He wears quite ordinary clothes, as if that department were in charge of someone who knew about such things. He has a small rose in his buttonhole, and carries a Homburg hat, which one suspects will look too small on his head.
Hornblower. Good morning! good morning! How are ye, Dawker? Fine morning! Lovely weather!
[His voice has a curious blend in its tone of brass and oil, and an accent not quite Scotch nor quite North country.
Haven’t seen ye for a long time Hillcrist.
Hillcrist [who has risen]. Not since I sold you Longmeadow and those cottages, I believe.