PEGEEN.
blowing the fire, with a bellows.—Leave go now, young fellow, or I’ll scorch your shins.
CHRISTY.
You’re blowing for to torture me (His voice rising and growing stronger.) That’s your kind, is it? Then let the lot of you be wary, for, if I’ve to face the gallows, I’ll have a gay march down, I tell you, and shed the blood of some of you before I die.
SHAWN.
in terror.—Keep a good hold, Philly. Be wary, for the love of God. For I’m thinking he would liefest wreak his pains on me.
CHRISTY.
almost gaily.—If I do lay my hands on you, it’s the way you’ll be at the fall of night, hanging as a scarecrow for the fowls of hell. Ah, you’ll have a gallous jaunt I’m saying, coaching out through Limbo with my father’s ghost.
SHAWN.
to Pegeen.—Make haste, will you? Oh, isn’t he a holy terror, and isn’t it true for Father Reilly, that all drink’s a curse that has the lot of you so shaky and uncertain now?
CHRISTY.
If I can wring a neck among you, I’ll have a royal judgment looking on the trembling jury in the courts of law. And won’t there be crying out in Mayo the day I’m stretched upon the rope with ladies in their silks and satins snivelling in their lacy kerchiefs, and they rhyming songs and ballads on the terror of my fate? [He squirms round on the floor and bites Shawn’s leg.]
SHAWN.
shrieking.—My leg’s bit on me. He’s the like of a mad dog, I’m thinking, the way that I will surely die.
CHRISTY.
delighted with himself.—You will then, the way you can shake out hell’s flags of welcome for my coming in two weeks or three, for I’m thinking Satan hasn’t many have killed their da in Kerry, and in Mayo too. [Old Mahon comes in behind on all fours and looks on unnoticed.]
MEN.
to Pegeen.—Bring the sod, will you?
PEGEEN.
coming over.—God help him so. (Burns his leg.)