MEN.
going.—Come on then. Good luck for the while!
PEGEEN.
radiantly, wiping his face with her shawl.—Well, you’re the lad, and you’ll have great times from this out when you could win that wealth of prizes, and you sweating in the heat of noon!
CHRISTY.
looking at her with delight.—I’ll have great times if I win the crowning prize I’m seeking now, and that’s your promise that you’ll wed me in a fortnight, when our banns is called.
PEGEEN.
backing away from him.—You’ve right daring to go ask me that, when all knows you’ll be starting to some girl in your own townland, when your father’s rotten in four months, or five.
CHRISTY.
indignantly.—Starting from you, is it? (He follows her.) I will not, then, and when the airs is warming in four months, or five, it’s then yourself and me should be pacing Neifin in the dews of night, the times sweet smells do be rising, and you’d see a little shiny new moon, maybe, sinking on the hills.
PEGEEN.
looking at him playfully.—And it’s that kind of a poacher’s love you’d make, Christy Mahon, on the sides of Neifin, when the night is down?
CHRISTY.
It’s little you’ll think if my love’s a poacher’s, or an earl’s itself, when you’ll feel my two hands stretched around you, and I squeezing kisses on your puckered lips, till I’d feel a kind of pity for the Lord God is all ages sitting lonesome in his golden chair.
PEGEEN.
That’ll be right fun, Christy Mahon, and any girl would walk her heart out before she’d meet a young man was your like for eloquence, or talk, at all.
CHRISTY.
encouraged.—Let you wait, to hear me talking, till we’re astray in Erris, when Good Friday’s by, drinking a sup from a well, and making mighty kisses with our wetted mouths, or gaming in a gap or sunshine, with yourself stretched back unto your necklace, in the flowers of the earth.
PEGEEN.
in a lower voice, moved by his tone.—I’d be nice so, is it?