Conan: A bellows! There's no sense in that!
Timothy: Have it your own way so, and give
me leave to go feeding the little chickens and the
hens, for if I cannot hear what they say and they
cannot understand what I say, they put no reproach
on me after, no more than I would put
it on themselves. (Goes.)
Celia: Let you be satisfied now and not torment
yourself, for if you got the world wide you
couldn't discover it. You might as well think to
throw your hat to hit the stars.
Conan: You have me tormented among the
whole of ye. To be without ye would be no harm
at all. (Sits down and weeps.) Of all the families
anyone would wish to live away from I am full
sure my family is the worst.
Mother: Ah, dear, you're worn out and contrary
with the want of sleep. Come now into the
room and stretch yourself on the bed. To go
sleeping out in the grass has no right rest in it at
all! (Takes his arm.)
Conan: Where's the use of lying on my bed
where it is convenient to the yard, that I'd be
afflicted by the turkeys yelping and the pullets
praising themselves after laying an egg! and the
cackling and hissing of the geese.
Mother: Lie down so on the settle, and I'll let
no one disturb you. You're destroyed, avic, with
the want of sleep.
Conan: There'll be no peace in this kitchen no
more than on the common highway with the
people running in and out.
Mother: I'll go sit in the little gap without, and
the whole place will be as quiet as St. Colman's
wilderness of stones.
Conan: The boards are too hard.