Bridget. You did not tell us your name yet, ma'am.
Old Woman. Some call me the Poor Old Woman, and there are some that call me Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
Peter. I think I knew someone of that name once. Who was it, I wonder? It must have been someone I knew when I was a boy. No, no, I remember, I heard it in a song.
Old Woman [who is standing in the doorway]. They are wondering that there were songs made for me; there have been many songs made for me. I heard one on the wind this morning. [She sings.]
Do not make a great keening When the graves have been dug to-morrow. Do not call the white-scarfed riders To the burying that shall be to-morrow.
Do not spread food to call strangers To the wakes that shall be to-morrow; Do not give money for prayers For the dead that shall die to-morrow ...
they will have no need of prayers, they will have no need of prayers.
Michael. I do not know what that song means, but tell me something I can do for you.
Peter. Come over to me, Michael.
Michael. Hush, father, listen to her.