MARTIN DOUL.
It’s on your two knees you should be thanking the Lord God you’re not looking on yourself, for if it was yourself you seen you’d be running round in a short while like the old screeching mad-woman is running round in the glen.
MARY DOUL.
beginning to realize herself. — If I’m not so fine as some of them said, I have my hair, and big eyes, and my white skin.
MARTIN DOUL.
breaking out into a passionate cry. — Your hair, and your big eyes, is it?... I’m telling you there isn’t a wisp on any gray mare on the ridge of the world isn’t finer than the dirty twist on your head. There isn’t two eyes in any starving sow isn’t finer than the eyes you were calling blue like the sea.
MARY DOUL.
interrupting him. — It’s the devil cured you this day with your talking of sows; it’s the devil cured you this day, I’m saying, and drove you crazy with lies.
MARTIN DOUL.
Isn’t it yourself is after playing lies on me, ten years, in the day and in the night; but what is that to you now the Lord God has given eyes to me, the way I see you an old wizendy hag, was never fit to rear a child to me itself.
MARY DOUL.
I wouldn’t rear a crumpled whelp the like of you. It’s many a woman is married with finer than yourself should be praising God if she’s no child, and isn’t loading the earth with things would make the heavens lonesome above, and they scaring the larks, and the crows, and the angels passing in the sky.
MARTIN DOUL.
Go on now to be seeking a lonesome place where the earth can hide you away; go on now, I’m saying, or you’ll be having men and women with their knees bled, and they screaming to God for a holy water would darken their sight, for there’s no man but would liefer be blind a hundred years, or a thousand itself, than to be looking on your like.
MARY DOUL.
raising her stick. — Maybe if I hit you a strong blow you’d be blind again, and having what you want.
[The Saint is seen in the church door with his head bent in prayer.]
MARTIN DOUL.
raising his stick and driving Mary Doul back towards left. — Let you keep off from me now if you wouldn’t have me strike out the little handful of brains you have about on the road.