Bridget. She is not. I saw the widow Casey one time at the market in Ballina, a stout fresh woman.
Peter [to Old Woman]. Did you hear a noise of cheering, and you coming up the hill?
Old Woman. I thought I heard the noise I used to hear when my friends came to visit me. [She begins singing half to herself.]
I will go cry with the woman,
For yellow-haired Donough is dead,
With a hempen rope for a neckcloth,
And a white cloth on his head,—
Michael [coming from the door]. What is that you are singing, ma'am?
Old Woman. Singing I am about a man I knew one time, yellow-haired Donough, that was hanged in Galway. [She goes on singing, much louder.]
I am come to cry with you, woman,