CHRISTY.
And to think I’m long years hearing women talking that talk, to all bloody fools, and this the first time I’ve heard the like of your voice talking sweetly for my own delight.
PEGEEN.
And to think it’s me is talking sweetly, Christy Mahon, and I the fright of seven townlands for my biting tongue. Well, the heart’s a wonder; and, I’m thinking, there won’t be our like in Mayo, for gallant lovers, from this hour, to-day. (Drunken singing is heard outside.) There’s my father coming from the wake, and when he’s had his sleep we’ll tell him, for he’s peaceful then. [They separate.]
MICHAEL.
singing outside—
The jailor and the turnkey
They quickly ran us down,
And brought us back as prisoners
Once more to Cavan town.
[He comes in supported by Shawn.]
There we lay bewailing
All in a prison bound....
[He sees Christy. Goes and shakes him drunkenly by the hand, while Pegeen and Shawn talk on the left.]
MICHAEL.
to Christy.—The blessing of God and the holy angels on your head, young fellow. I hear tell you’re after winning all in the sports below; and wasn’t it a shame I didn’t bear you along with me to Kate Cassidy’s wake, a fine, stout lad, the like of you, for you’d never see the match of it for flows of drink, the way when we sunk her bones at noonday in her narrow grave, there were five men, aye, and six men, stretched out retching speechless on the holy stones.
CHRISTY.
uneasily, watching Pegeen.—Is that the truth?
MICHAEL.
It is then, and aren’t you a louty schemer to go burying your poor father unbeknownst when you’d a right to throw him on the crupper of a Kerry mule and drive him westwards, like holy Joseph in the days gone by, the way we could have given him a decent burial, and not have him rotting beyond, and not a Christian drinking a smart drop to the glory of his soul?
CHRISTY.
gruffly.—It’s well enough he’s lying, for the likes of him.