Where There is Nothing / Being Volume I of Plays for an Irish Theatre

by W. B. Yeats

[Charlie Ward is struggling to put rabbit inside his coat when Paul Ruttledge comes back.

Paul Ruttledge. Is there anything I can do for you? Do you want to come in?

Charlie Ward. I'm a tinker by trade, your honour. I wonder is there e'er a tin can the maids in the house might want mended or any chairs to be bottomed?

Paul Ruttledge. A tinker; where do you live?

Charlie Ward. Faith, I don't stop long in any place. I go about like the crows; picking up my way of living like themselves.

Paul Ruttledge. [Opening gate.] Come inside here. [Charlie Ward hesitates.] Come in, you are welcome.

[Puts his hand on his shoulder. Charlie Ward tries to close his shirt over rabbit.

Paul Ruttledge. Ah, you have a rabbit there. The keeper told me he had come across some snares in my woods.

Charlie Ward. If he did, sir, it was no snare of mine he found. This is a rabbit I bought in the town of Garreen early this morning. Sixpence I was made give for it, and to mend a tin can along with that.