Timothy: Have a care now with your screeching
would you split the drum of my ear?
Conan: Is it that you have got your hearing?
Timothy: My hearing is it? As good as that I
can hear a lie, and it forming in the mind.
Conan: Is that the truth you're saying?
Timothy: Hear, is it! I can hear every whisper
in this parish and the seven parishes are nearest.
And the little midges roaring in the air.—Let ye
whist now with your sneezing in the draught!
Conan: This is surely the work of the bellows.
Another blast gone!
Rock: So it would be too. Mostly the whole
of them gone and spent. It's hard know in the
morning what way will it be with you at night.
(Sings.)
"I saw from the beach when the morning was
shining
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on—
came when the sun o'er the beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone."
Timothy: It is yourself brought the misfortune
on me, calling your Druid spells into the house.
Conan: It is not upon you I ever turned it.
Timothy: You have a great wrong done to me!