The Well of the Saints: A Comedy in Three Acts

by J. M. Synge

PEOPLE.
You’re going wrong. It’s this way, Martin Doul.

[They push him over in front of the Saint, near centre. Martin Doul and Mary Doul stand with piteous hang-dog dejection.]

SAINT.
Let you not be afeard, for there’s great pity with the Lord.

MARTIN DOUL.
We aren’t afeard, holy father.

SAINT.
It’s many a time those that are cured with the well of the four beauties of God lose their sight when a time is gone, but those I cure a second time go on seeing till the hour of death. (He takes the cover from his can.) I’ve a few drops only left of the water, but, with the help of God, It’ll be enough for the two of you, and let you kneel down now upon the road. Martin Doul wheels round with Mary Doul and tries to get away.

SAINT.
You can kneel down here, I’m saying, we’ll not trouble this time going to the church.

TIMMY.
turning Martin Doul round, angrily. — Are you going mad in your head, Martin Doul? It’s here you’re to kneel. Did you not hear his reverence, and he speaking to you now?

SAINT.
Kneel down, I’m saying, the ground’s dry at your feet.

MARTIN DOUL.
with distress. — Let you go on your own way, holy father. We’re not calling you at all.

SAINT.
I’m not saying a word of penance, or fasting itself, for I’m thinking the Lord has brought you great teaching in the blindness of your eyes; so you’ve no call now to be fearing me, but let you kneel down till I give you your sight.