CATHLEEN. How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul? Is the green grave so terrible a thing?
FIRST MERCHANT. Some sell because the money gleams, and some Because they are in terror of the grave, And some because their neighbours sold before, And some because there is a kind of joy In casting hope away, in losing joy, In ceasing all resistance, in at last Opening one's arms to the eternal flames.
In casting all sails out upon the wind; To this—full of the gaiety of the lost— Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone.
CATHLEEN. There is something, Merchant, in your voice That makes me fear. When you were telling how A man may lose his soul and lose his God Your eyes were lighted up, and when you told How my poor money serves the people, both— Merchants forgive me—seemed to smile.
FIRST MERCHANT. Man's sins Move us to laughter only; we have seen So many lands and seen so many men. How strange that all these people should be swung As on a lady's shoe-string,—under them The glowing leagues of never-ending flame.
CATHLEEN. There is a something in you that I fear; A something not of us; but were you not born In some most distant corner of the world?
(The SECOND MERCHANT, who has been listening at the door, comes forward, and as he comes a sound of voices and feet is heard.)
SECOND MERCHANT. Away now—they are in the passage—hurry, For they will know us, and freeze up our hearts With Ave Marys, and burn all our skin With holy water.
FIRST MERCHANT. Farewell; for we must ride Many a mile before the morning come; Our horses beat the ground impatiently.
(They go out. A number of PEASANTs enter by other door.)