MARY
soothingly.—It’s as good a right you have surely, Sarah Casey, but what good will it do? Is it putting that ring on your finger will keep you from getting an aged woman and losing the fine face you have, or be easing your pains, when it’s the grand ladies do be married in silk dresses, with rings of gold, that do pass any woman with their share of torment in the hour of birth, and do be paying the doctors in the city of Dublin a great price at that time, the like of what you’d pay for a good ass and a cart?
[She sits down.
SARAH
puzzled.—Is that the truth?
MARY
pleased with the point she has made.—Wouldn’t any know it’s the truth? Ah, it’s a few short years you are yet in the world, Sarah Casey, and it’s little or nothing at all maybe you know about it.
SARAH
vehement but uneasy.—What is it yourself knows of the fine ladies when they wouldn’t let the like of you go near them at all?
MARY
If you do be drinking a little sup in one town and another town, it’s soon you get great knowledge and a great sight into the world. You’ll see men there, and women there, sitting up on the ends of barrels in the dark night, and they making great talk would soon have the like of you, Sarah Casey, as wise as a March hare.
MICHAEL
to Sarah.—That’s the truth she’s saying, and maybe if you’ve sense in you at all, you’d have a right still to leave your fooling, and not be wasting our gold.
SARAH
decisively.—If it’s wise or fool I am, I’ve made a good bargain and I’ll stand to it now.
MARY
What is it he’s making you give?
MICHAEL
The ten shillings in gold, and the tin can is above tied in the sack.