SARAH
You’d do that?
PRIEST
I would, surely.
SARAH
If you do, you’ll be getting all the tinkers from Wicklow and Wexford, and the County Meath, to put up block tin in the place of glass to shield your windows where you do be looking out and blinking at the girls. It’s hard set you’ll be that time, I’m telling you, to fill the depth of your belly the long days of Lent; for we wouldn’t leave a laying pullet in your yard at all.
PRIEST
losing his temper finally.—Go on, now, or I’ll send the Lords of Justice a dated story of your villainies—burning, stealing, robbing, raping to this mortal day. Go on now, I’m saying, if you’d run from Kilmainham or the rope itself.
MICHAEL
taking off his coat.—Is it run from the like of you, holy father? Go up to your own shanty, or I’ll beat you with the ass’s reins till the world would hear you roaring from this place to the coast of Clare.
PRIEST
Is it lift your hand upon myself when the Lord would blight your members if you’d touch me now? Go on from this.
[He gives him a shove.
MICHAEL
Blight me is it? Take it then, your reverence, and God help you so.
[He runs at him with the reins.
PRIEST
runs up to ditch crying out.—There are the peelers passing by the grace of God—hey, below!