Blind Man.
This is a man has love to God,
Opening his hand to give out food;
Better a small house filled with wheat,
Than a big house that's bare of meat.
Old Farmer. Maisead, long life to you, Raftery.
Blind Man. Are you there, boy?
Boy. I am.
Blind Man. I hear more wheels coming. Go out, and tell the people Raftery will let no person come in here without a present for the woman of the house.
Boy. I am going. (He goes out.)
Old Farmer. They say there was not the like of you for a poet in Connacht these hundred years back.
(A middle-aged woman comes in, a pound of tea and a parcel of sugar in her hand.)
Woman. God save all here! I heard Raftery the poet was in it; and I brought this little present to the woman of the house. (Puts them into Mary's hands.) I would sooner see Raftery than be out there in the cart.