The Well of the Saints .........................................................................................................................................1

J. M. Synge..............................................................................................................................................1

ACT I.......................................................................................................................................................1

ACT II ....................................................................................................................................................12

ACT III ..................................................................................................................................................19

Some lonely mountainous district in the east of Ireland one or more centuries ago.

THE WELL OF THE SAINTS was first produced in the Abbey Theatre in February, 1905, by the Irish

National Theatre Society, under the direction of W. G. Fay, and with the following cast.

[Roadside with big stones, etc., on the right; low loose wall at back with gap near centre; at left, ruined

doorway of church with bushes beside it. Martin Doul and Mary Doul grope in on left and pass over to

MARY DOUL [raising her head.] The length of that! Well, the sun's getting warm this day if it's late

MARTIN DOUL [putting out his hands in sun.] What way wouldn't it be warm and it getting high up

in the south? You were that length plaiting your yellow hair you have the morning lost on us, and the people

MARY DOUL. It isn't going to the fair, the time they do be driving their cattle and they with a litter of pigs

maybe squealing in their carts, they'd give us a thing at all. (She sits down.) It's well you know that, but you

MARTIN DOUL [sitting down beside her and beginning to shred rushes she gives him.] If I didn't

talk I'd be destroyed in a short while listening to the clack you do be making, for you've a queer cracked

MARY DOUL. Who wouldn't have a cracked voice sitting out all the year in the rain falling? It's a bad life

for the voice, Martin Doul, though I've heard tell there isn't anything like the wet south wind does be blowing

upon us for keeping a white beautiful skin the like of my skin on your neck and on your brows, and

MARTIN DOUL [teasingly, but with good humour.] I do be thinking odd times we don't know

rightly what way you have your splendour, or asking myself, maybe, if you have it at all, for the time I was a

young lad, and had fine sight, it was the ones with sweet voices were the best in face.

MARY DOUL. Let you not be making the like of that talk when you've heard Timmy the smith, and Mat

Simon, and Patch Ruadh, and a power besides saying fine things of my face, and you know rightly it was "the

MARTIN DOUL [as before.] If it was itself I heard Molly Byrne saying at the fall of night it was

MARY DOUL [sharply.] She was jealous, God forgive her, because Timmy the smith was after

MARY DOUL. Ay, jealous, Martin Doul; and if she wasn't itself, the young and silly do be always making

game of them that's dark, and they'd think it a fine thing if they had us deceived, the way we wouldn't know

MARTIN DOUL [a little plaintively.] I do be thinking in the long nights it'd be a grand thing if we

could see ourselves for one hour, or a minute itself, the way we'd know surely we were the finest man and the

finest woman of the seven counties of the east (bitterly) and then the seeing rabble below might be destroying

MARY DOUL. If you weren't a big fool you wouldn't heed them this hour, Martin Doul, for they're a bad lot

those that have their sight, and they do have great joy, the time they do be seeing a grand thing, to let on they

don't see it at all, and to be telling fool's lies, the like of what Molly Byrne was telling to yourself.

MARTIN DOUL. If it's lies she does be telling she's a sweet, beautiful voice you'd never tire to be hearing,

if it was only the pig she'd be calling, or crying out in the long grass, maybe after her hens. (Speaking

pensively.) It should be a fine, soft, rounded woman, I'm thinking, would have a voice the like of that.

MARY DOUL [sharply again, scandalized.] Let you not be minding if it's flat or rounded she is; for

she's a flighty, foolish woman, you'll hear when you're off a long way, and she making a great noise and

MARY DOUL [bitterly.] A nice thing is it? A nice thing to hear a woman making a loud braying

laugh the like of that? Ah, she's a great one for drawing the men, and you'll hear Timmy himself, the time he

does be sitting in his forge, getting mighty fussy if she'll come walking from Grianan, the way you'll hear his

MARTIN DOUL [slightly piqued.] I've heard him say a power of times it's nothing at all she is when

you see her at the side of you, and yet I never heard any man's breath getting uneasy the time he'd be looking

MARY DOUL. I'm not the like of the girls do be running round on the roads, swinging their legs, and they

with their necks out looking on the men. . . . Ah, there's a power of villainy walking the world, Martin Doul,

among them that do be gadding around with their gaping eyes, and their sweet words, and they with no sense

MARTIN DOUL [sadly.] It's the truth, maybe, and yet I'm told it's a grand thing to see a young girl

MARY DOUL. You'd be as bad as the rest of them if you had your sight, and I did well, surely, not to marry

a seeing man it's scores would have had me and welcome for the seeing is a queer lot, and you'd never

MARY DOUL. Let you put the pith away out of their sight, or they'll be picking it out with the spying eyes

MARTIN DOUL [with a begging voice.] Leave a bit of silver for blind Martin, your honour. Leave a

bit of silver, or a penny copper itself, and we'll be praying the Lord to bless you and you going the way.

TIMMY [stopping before them.] And you letting on a while back you knew my step! [He sits down.]

MARTIN [with his natural voice.] I know it when Molly Byrne's walking in front, or when she's two

perches, maybe, lagging behind; but it's few times I've heard you walking up the like of that, as if you'd met a

TIMMY [hot and breathless, wiping his face.] You've good ears, God bless you, if you're a liar itself;

MARTIN DOUL [rather contemptuously.] You're always hearing queer wonderful things, and the lot

of them nothing at all; but I'm thinking, this time, it's a strange thing surely you'd be walking up before the

turn of day, and not waiting below to look on them lepping, or dancing, or playing shows on the green of

TIMMY [huffed.] I was coming to tell you it's in this place there'd be a bigger wonder done in a short

while (Martin Doul stops working) than was ever done on the green of Clash, or the width of Leinster itself;

but you're thinking, maybe, you're too cute a little fellow to be minding me at all.

MARTIN DOUL [amused, but incredulous.] There'll be wonders in this place, is it?

MARTIN DOUL. I never heard tell of anything to happen in this place since the night they killed the old

fellow going home with his gold, the Lord have mercy on him, and threw down his corpse into the bog. Let

them not be doing the like of that this night, for it's ourselves have a right to the crossing roads, and we don't

want any of your bad tricks, or your wonders either, for it's wonder enough we are ourselves.

TIMMY. If I'd a mind I'd be telling you of a real wonder this day, and the way you'll be having a great joy,

MARTIN DOUL [interested.] Are they putting up a still behind in the rocks? It'd be a grand thing if

I'd sup handy the way I wouldn't be destroying myself groping up across the bogs in the rain falling.

TIMMY [still moodily.] It's not a still they're bringing, or the like of it either.

MARY DOUL [persuasively, to Timmy.] Maybe they're hanging a thief, above at the bit of a tree. I'm

told it's a great sight to see a man hanging by his neck; but what joy would that be to ourselves, and we not

TIMMY [more pleasantly.] They're hanging no one this day, Mary Doul, and yet, with the help of

MARY DOUL. Well you've queer humbugging talk. . . . What way would I see a power hanged, and I a

TIMMY. Did ever you hear tell of a place across a bit of the sea, where there is an island, and the grave of

MARY DOUL. I've heard people have walked round from the west and they speaking of that.

TIMMY [impressively.] There's a green ferny well, I'm told, behind of that place, and if you put a

drop of the water out of it on the eyes of a blind man, you'll make him see as well as any person is walking

MARTIN DOUL [with excitement.] Is that the truth, Timmy? I'm thinking you're telling a lie.

TIMMY [gruffly.] That's the truth, Martin Doul, and you may believe it now, for you're after

MARY DOUL. Maybe we could send us a young lad to bring us the water. I could wash a naggin bottle in

the morning, and I'm thinking Patch Ruadh would go for it, if we gave him a good drink, and the bit of

TIMMY. It'd be no good to be sending a sinful man the like of ourselves, for I'm told the holiness of the

water does be getting soiled with the villainy of your heart, the time you'd be carrying it, and you looking

MARTIN DOUL [with disappointment.] It'd be a long terrible way to be walking ourselves, and I'm

TIMMY [turning on him impatiently.] What is it you want with your walking? It's as deaf as blind

you're growing if you're not after hearing me say it's in this place the wonder would be done.

MARTIN DOUL [with a flash of anger.] If it is can't you open the big slobbering mouth you have

and say what way it'll be done, and not be making blather till the fall of night.

TIMMY [jumping up.] I'll be going on now (Mary Doul rises), and not wasting time talking civil talk

MARY DOUL [standing up, disguising her impatience.] Let you come here to me, Timmy, and not

be minding him at all. (Timmy stops, and she gropes up to him and takes him by the coat).] You're not huffy

with myself, and let you tell me the whole story and don't be fooling me more. . . . Is it yourself has brought

MARY DOUL. Then tell us your wonder, Timmy. . . . What person'll bring it at all?

TIMMY [relenting.] It's a fine holy man will bring it, a saint of the Almighty God.

TIMMY. Ay, a fine saint, who's going round through the churches of Ireland, with a long cloak on him, and

naked feet, for he's brought a sup of the water slung at his side, and, with the like of him, any little drop is

enough to cure the dying, or to make the blind see as clear as the gray hawks do be high up, on a still day,

MARTIN DOUL [feeling for his stick.] What place is he, Timmy? I'll be walking to him now.

TIMMY. Let you stay quiet, Martin. He's straying around saying prayers at the churches and high crosses,

between this place and the hills, and he with a great crowd go ing behind for it's fine prayers he does be

saying, and fasting with it, till he's as thin as one of the empty rushes you have there on your knee; then he'll

be coming after to this place to cure the two of you we're after telling him the way you are and to say

MARTIN DOUL [turning suddenly to Mary Doul.] And we'll be seeing ourselves this day. Oh, glory

MARY DOUL [very pleased, to Timmy.] Maybe I'd have time to walk down and get the big shawl I

have below, for I do look my best, I've heard them say, when I'm dressed up with that thing on my head.

MARTIN DOUL [listening.] Whisht now. . . . I hear people again coming by the stream.

TIMMY [looking out left, puzzled.] It's the young girls I left walking after the Saint. . . . They're

coming now (goes up to entrance) carrying things in their hands, and they walking as easy as you'd see a

[Molly Byrne and Bride come on left and cross to Martin Doul, carrying watercan, Saint's bell, and cloak.]

MOLLY [volubly.] God bless you, Martin. I've holy water here, from the grave of the four saints of

TIMMY [crosses to Molly, interrupting her.] He's heard that. God help you. But where at all is the

MOLLY BYRNE. He was afeard to go a far way with the clouds is coming beyond, so he's gone up now

through the thick woods to say a prayer at the crosses of Grianan, and he's coming on this road to the church.

TIMMY [still astonished.] And he's after leaving the holy water with the two of you? It's a wonder,

MOLLY BYRNE. The lads told him no person could carry them things through the briars, and steep,

slippyfeeling rocks he'll be climbing above, so he looked round then, and gave the water, and his big cloak,

and his bell to the two of us, for young girls, says he, are the cleanest holy people you'd see walking the

MARY DOUL [sits down, laughing to herself.] Well, the Saint's a simple fellow, and it's no lie.

MARTIN DOUL [leaning forward, holding out his hands.] Let you give me the water in my hand,

MOLLY BYRNE [giving it to him.] Wonders is queer things, and maybe it'd cure you, and you

MARTIN DOUL [looking round.] It does not, Molly. I'm not seeing at all. (He shakes the can.)

There's a small sup only. Well, isn't it a great wonder the little trifling thing would bring seeing to the blind,

and be showing us the big women and the young girls, and all the fine things is walking the world.

MARTIN DOUL [pointing to Bride.] And what is it herself has, making sounds in her hand?

BRIDE [crossing to Martin Doul.] It's the Saint's bell; you'll hear him ringing out the time he'll be

MARY DOUL. You'd know, I'm thinking, by the little silvery voice of it, a fasting holy man was after

MOLLY BYRNE [unfolding Saint's cloak.] Let you stand up now, Martin Doul, till I put his big

cloak on you. (Martin Doul rises, comes forward, centre a little.) The way we'd see how you'd look, and you a

MARTIN DOUL [standing up, a little diffidently.] I've heard the priests a power of times making

great talk and praises of the beauty of the saints. [Molly Byrne slips cloak round him.]

TIMMY [uneasily.] You'd have a right to be leaving him alone, Molly. What would the Saint say if

MOLLY BYRNE [recklessly.] How would he see us, and he saying prayers in the wood? (She turns

Martin Doul round.) Isn't that a fine holylooking saint, Timmy the smith? (Laughing foolishly.) There's a

grand, handsome fellow, Mary Doul; and if you seen him now you'd be as proud, I'm thinking, as the

MARY DOUL [with quiet confidence going to Martin Doul and feeling his cloak.] It's proud we'll be

MOLLY BYRNE [to Martin Doul.] Would you think well to be all your life walking round the like

MARY DOUL [turning on her, fiercely.] How would he be bellringing with the saints of God and

MARTIN DOUL. It's the truth she's saying, and if bellringing is a fine life, yet I'm thinking, maybe, it's

MOLLY BYRNE [scornfully.] You're thinking that, God help you; but it's little you know of her at

MARTIN DOUL. It's little surely, and I'm destroyed this day waiting to look upon her face.

TIMMY [awkwardly.] It's well you know the way she is; for the like of you do have great knowledge

MARTIN DOUL [still feeling the cloak.] We do, maybe. Yet it's little I know of faces, or of fine

beautiful cloaks, for it's few cloaks I've had my hand to, and few faces (plaintively); for the young girls is

mighty shy, Timmy the smith and it isn't much they heed me, though they do be saying I'm a handsome man.

MARY DOUL [mockingly, with good humour.] Isn't it a queer thing the voice he puts on him, when

you hear him talking of the skinnylooking girls, and he married with a woman he's heard called the wonder

TIMMY [pityingly.] The two of you will see a great wonder this day, and it's no lie.

MARTIN DOUL. I've heard tell her yellow hair, and her white skin, and her big eyes are a wonder, surely.

BRIDE [who has looked out left.] Here's the saint coming from the selvage of the wood. . . . Strip the

MOLLY BYRNE [hastily to Bride.] Take the bell and put yourself by the stones. (To Martin Doul.)

Will you hold your head up till I loosen the cloak? (She pulls off the cloak and throws it over her arm. Then

she pushes Martin Doul over and stands him beside Mary Doul.) Stand there now, quiet, and let you not be

[She and Bride stand a little on their left, demurely, with bell, etc., in their hands.]

MARTIN DOUL [nervously arranging his clothes.] Will he mind the way we are, and not tidied or

MOLLY BYRNE. He'll not see what way you are. . . . He'd walk by the finest woman in Ireland, I'm

thinking, and not trouble to raise his two eyes to look upon her face. . . . Whisht!

TIMMY [officiously.] They are, holy father; they do be always sitting here at the crossing of the

roads, asking a bit of copper from them that do pass, or stripping rushes for lights, and they not mournful at

all, but talking out straight with a full voice, and making game with them that likes it.

SAINT [to Martin Doul and Mary Doul.] It's a hard life you've had not seeing sun or moon, or the

holy priests itself praying to the Lord, but it's the like of you who are brave in a bad time will make a fine use

of the gift of sight the Almighty God will bring to you today. (He takes his cloak and puts it about him.) It's

on a bare starving rock that there's the grave of the four beauties of God, the way it's little wonder, I'm

thinking, if it's with bare starving people the water should be used. (He takes the water and bell and slings

them round his shoulders.) So it's to the like of yourselves I do be going, who are wrinkled and poor, a thing

rich men would hardly look at at all, but would throw a coin to or a crust of bread.

SAINT [looks at them a moment, continues.] If it's raggy and dirty you are itself, I'm saying, the

Almighty God isn't at all like the rich men of Ireland; and, with the power of the water I'm after bringing in a

little curagh into Cashla Bay, He'll have pity on you, and put sight into your eyes.

SAINT [taking him by the hand.] I'll cure you first, and then I'll come for your wife. We'll go up now

into the church, for I must say a prayer to the Lord. (To Mary Doul, as he moves off.) And let you be making

your mind still and saying praises in your heart, for it's a great wonderful thing when the power of the Lord of

SAINT [waving them back.] Stay back where you are, for I'm not wanting a big crowd making

whispers in the church. Stay back there, I'm saying, and you'd do well to be thinking on the way sin has

brought blindness to the world, and to be saying a prayer for your own sakes against false prophets and

heathens, and the words of women and smiths, and all knowledge that would soil the soul or the body of a

[People shrink back. He goes into church. Mary Doul gropes halfway towards the door and kneels near

TIMMY. Isn't it a fine, beautiful voice he has, and he a fine, brave man if it wasn't for the fasting?

MOLLY BYRNE. It'd be a fine thing if some one in this place could pray the like of him, for I'm thinking

the water from our own blessed well would do rightly if a man knew the way to be saying prayers, and then

there'd be no call to be bringing water from that wild place, where, I'm told, there are no decent houses, or

BRIDE [who is looking in at door from right.] Look at the great trembling Martin has shaking him,

TIMMY [anxiously.] God help him. . . What will he be doing when he sees his wife this day? I'm

thinking it was bad work we did when we let on she was finelooking, and not a wrinkled, wizened hag the

MAT SIMON. Why would he be vexed, and we after giving him great joy and pride, the time he was dark?

MOLLY BYRNE [sitting down in Mary Doul's seat and tidying her hair.] If it's vexed he is itself,

he'll have other things now to think on as well as his wife; and what does any man care for a wife, when it's

MAT SIMON. That's the truth now, Molly, and it's more joy dark Martin got from the lies we told of that

hag is kneeling by the path than your own man will get from you, day or night, and he living at your side.

MOLLY BYRNE [defiantly.] Let you not be talking, Mat Simon, for it's not yourself will be my man,

though you'd be crowing and singing fine songs if you'd that hope in you at all.

TIMMY [shocked, to Molly Byrne.] Let you not be raising your voice when the Saint's above at his

SAINT [solemnly.] Laus Patri sit et Filio cum Spiritu Paraclito Qui Suae dono gratiae misertus est

MARTIN DOUL [ecstatically.] Oh, glory be to God, I see now surely. . . . I see the walls of the

church, and the green bits of ferns in them, and yourself, holy father, and the great width of the sky.

[He runs out halffoolish with joy, and comes past Mary Doul as she scrambles to her feet, drawing a little

[The Saint comes out behind Martin Doul, and leads Mary Doul into the church. Martin Doul comes on to

the People. The men are between him and the Girls; he verifies his position with his stick.]

MARTIN DOUL [crying out joyfully.] That's Timmy, I know Timmy by the black of his head. . . .

That's Mat Simon, I know Mat by the length of his legs. . . . That should be Patch Ruadh, with the gamey

eyes in him, and the fiery hair. (He sees Molly Byrne on Mary Doul's seat, and his voice changes

completely.) Oh, it was no lie they told me, Mary Doul. Oh, glory to God and the seven saints I didn't die and

not see you at all. The blessing of God on the water, and the feet carried it round through the land. The

blessing of God on this day, and them that brought me the Saint, for it's grand hair you have (she lowers her

head a little confused), and soft skin, and eyes would make the saints, if they were dark awhile and seeing

again, fall down out of the sky. (He goes nearer to her.) Hold up your head, Mary, the way I'll see it's richer I

am than the great kings of the east. Hold up your head, I'm saying, for it's soon you'll be seeing me, and I not

MOLLY BYRNE. Let you keep away from me, and not be soiling my chin. [People laugh heartily.]

MARTIN DOUL. Which of you all is herself? (He goes up to Bride.) Is it you is Mary Doul? I'm thinking

you're more the like of what they said (peering at her.) For you've yellow hair, and white skin, and it's the

BRIDE [pulling away her shawl.] I'm not your wife, and let you get out of my way. [The People

MARTIN DOUL [with misgiving, to another Girl.] Is it yourself it is? You're not so finelooking,

but I'm thinking you'd do, with the grand nose you have, and your nice hands and your feet.

GIRL [scornfully.] I never seen any person that took me for blind, and a seeing woman, I'm thinking,

[She turns away, and the People laugh once more, drawing back a little and leaving him on their left.]

PEOPLE [jeeringly.] Try again, Martin, try again, and you'll be finding her yet.

MARTIN DOUL [passionately.] Where is it you have her hidden away? Isn't it a black shame for a

drove of pitiful beasts the like of you to be making game of me, and putting a fool's head on me the grand day

of my life? Ah, you're thinking you're a fine lot, with your giggling, weeping eyes, a fine lot to be making

[During this speech, which he gives with his back towards the church, Mary Doul has come out with her

sight cured, and come down towards the right with a silly simpering smile, till she is a little behind Martin

MARTIN DOUL [wheeling round.] It's her voice surely. [They stare at each other blankly.]

MOLLY BYRNE [to Martin Doul.] Go up now and take her under the chin and be speaking the way

MARTIN DOUL [in a low voice, with intensity.] If I speak now, I'll speak hard to the two of you.

MOLLY BYRNE [to Mary Doul.] You're not saying a word, Mary. What is it you think of himself,

MARY DOUL. I'm thinking it's a poor thing when the Lord God gives you sight and puts the like of that

MARTIN DOUL. It's on your two knees you should be thanking the Lord God you're not looking on

yourself, for if it was yourself you seen you'd be running round in a short while like the old screeching

MARY DOUL [beginning to realize herself.] If I'm not so fine as some of them said, I have my hair,

MARTIN DOUL [breaking out into a passionate cry.] Your hair, and your big eyes, is it? . . . I'm

telling you there isn't a wisp on any gray mare on the ridge of the world isn't finer than the dirty twist on your

head. There isn't two eyes in any starving sow isn't finer than the eyes you were calling blue like the sea.

MARY DOUL [interrupting him.] It's the devil cured you this day with your talking of sows; it's the

MARTIN DOUL. Isn't it yourself is after playing lies on me, ten years, in the day and in the night; but what

is that to you now the Lord God has given eyes to me, the way I see you an old wizendy hag, was never fit to

MARY DOUL. I wouldn't rear a crumpled whelp the like of you. It's many a woman is married with finer

than yourself should be praising God if she's no child, and isn't loading the earth with things would make the

heavens lonesome above, and they scaring the larks, and the crows, and the angels passing in the sky.

MARTIN DOUL. Go on now to be seeking a lonesome place where the earth can hide you away; go on

now, I'm saying, or you'll be having men and women with their knees bled, and they screaming to God for a

holy water would darken their sight, for there's no man but would liefer be blind a hundred years, or a

MARY DOUL [raising her stick.] Maybe if I hit you a strong blow you'd be blind again, and having

MARTIN DOUL [raising his stick and driving Mary Doul back towards left.] Let you keep off from

me now if you wouldn't have me strike out the little handful of brains you have about on the road.

TIMMY. Have you no shame to be making a great row, and the Saint above saying his prayers?

MARTIN DOUL. What is it I care for the like of him? (Struggling to free himself). Let me hit her one good

SAINT [coming forward, centre.] Are their minds troubled with joy, or is their sight uncertain, the

TIMMY. It's too certain their sight is, holy father; and they're after making a great fight, because they're a

SAINT [coming between them.] May the Lord who has given you sight send a little sense into your

heads, the way it won't be on your two selves you'll be looking on two pitiful sinners of the earth but

on the splendour of the Spirit of God, you'll see an odd time shining out through the big hills, and steep

streams falling to the sea. For if it's on the like of that you do be thinking, you'll not be minding the faces of

men, but you'll be saying prayers and great praises, till you'll be living the way the great saints do be living,

with little but old sacks, and skin covering their bones. (To Timmy.) Leave him go now, you're seeing he's

quiet again. (He frees Martin Doul.) And let you (he turns to Mary Doul) not be raising your voice, a bad

thing in a woman; but let the lot of you, who have seen the power of the Lord, be thinking on it in the dark

night, and be saying to yourselves it's great pity and love He has for the poor, starving people of Ireland. (He

gathers his cloak about him.) And now the Lord send blessing to you all, for I am going on to Annagolan,

where there is a deaf woman, and to Laragh, where there are two men without sense, and to Glenassil, where

there are children blind from their birth; and then I'm going to sleep this night in the bed of the holy Kevin,

and to be prais ing God, and asking great blessing on you all. [He bends his head.]

[Village roadside, on left the door of a forge, with broken wheels, etc., lying about. A well near centre, with

board above it, and room to pass behind it. Martin Doul is sitting near forge, cutting sticks.]

TIMMY [heard hammering inside forge, then calls.] Let you make haste out there. . . . I'll be putting

MARTIN DOUL [gloomily.] It's destroyed I'll be whacking your old thorns till the turn of day, and I

with no food in my stomach would keep the life in a pig. (He turns towards the door.) Let you come out here

and cut them yourself if you want them cut, for there's an hour every day when a man has a right to his rest.

TIMMY [coming out, with a hammer, impatiently.] Do you want me to be driving you off again to be

walking the roads? There you are now, and I giving you your food, and a corner to sleep, and money with it;

and, to hear the talk of you, you'd think I was after beating you, or stealing your gold.

TIMMY [throws down hammer; picks up some of the sticks already cut, and throws them into

door.] There's no fear of your having gold a lazy, basking fool the like of you.

MARTIN DOUL. No fear, maybe, and I here with yourself, for it's more I got a while since and I sitting

blinded in Grianan, than I get in this place working hard, and destroying myself, the length of the day.

TIMMY [stopping with amazement.] Working hard? (He goes over to him.) I'll teach you to work

hard, Martin Doul. Strip off your coat now, and put a tuck in your sleeves, and cut the lot of them, while I'd

MARTIN DOUL [horrified.] Would you have me getting my death sitting out in the black wintry air

MARTIN DOUL [bitterly.] Oh, God help me! (He begins taking off his coat.) I've heard tell you

stripped the sheet from your wife and you putting her down into the grave, and that there isn't the like of you

for plucking your living ducks, the short days, and leaving them running round in their skins, in the great

rains and the cold. (He tucks up his sleeves.) Ah, I've heard a power of queer things of yourself, and there

TIMMY [pulling over a big stick.] Let you cut that now, and give me rest from your talk, for I'm not

MARTIN DOUL [taking stick.] That's a hard, terrible stick, Timmy; and isn't it a poor thing to be

cutting strong timber the like of that, when it's cold the bark is, and slippy with the frost of the air?

TIMMY [gathering up another armful of sticks.] What way wouldn't it be cold, and it freezing since

MARTIN DOUL [querulously, as he cuts slowly.] What way, indeed, Timmy? For it's a raw, beastly

day we do have each day, till I do be thinking it's well for the blind don't be seeing them gray clouds driving

on the hill, and don't be looking on people with their noses red, the like of your nose, and their eyes weeping

MARTIN DOUL [very miserably.] It's a hard thing for a man to have his sight, and he living near to

the like of you (he cuts a stick and throws it away), or wed with a wife (cuts a stick); and I do be thinking it

should be a hard thing for the Almighty God to be looking on the world, bad days, and on men the like of

TIMMY [with pothooks which he taps on anvil.] You'd have a right to be minding, Martin Doul, for

it's a power the Saint cured lose their sight after a while. Mary Doul's dimming again, I've heard them say;

and I'm thinking the Lord, if he hears you making that talk, will have little pity left for you at all.

MARTIN DOUL. There's not a bit of fear of me losing my sight, and if it's a dark day itself it's too well I see

TIMMY [looking at him sharply.] The day's not dark since the clouds broke in the east.

MARTIN DOUL. Let you not be tormenting yourself trying to make me afeard. You told me a power of bad

lies the time I was blind, and it's right now for you to stop, and be taking your rest (Mary Doul comes in

unnoticed on right with a sack filled with green stuff on her arm), for it's little ease or quiet any person would

get if the big fools of Ireland weren't weary at times. (He looks up and sees Mary Doul.) Oh, glory be to God,

TIMMY [amused, to Mary Doul, as she is going by without looking at them.] Look on him now,

Mary Doul. You'd be a great one for keeping him steady at his work, for he's after idling and blathering to

TIMMY [laughing.] Of himself, surely. Look on him there, and he with the shirt on him ripping from

his back. You'd have a right to come round this night, I'm thinking, and put a stitch into his clothes, for it's

MARTIN DOUL [stops work and looks after her.] Well, isn't it a queer thing she can't keep herself

TIMMY [jeeringly.] Looking on your face is it? And she after going by with her head turned the way

you'd see a priest going where there'd be a drunken man in the side ditch talking with a girl. (Martin Doul

gets up and goes to corner of forge, and looks out left.) Come back here and don't mind her at all. Come back

here, I'm saying, you've no call to be spying behind her since she went off, and left you, in place of breaking

MARTIN DOUL [crying out indignantly.] You know rightly, Timmy, it was myself drove her away.

TIMMY. That's a lie you're telling, yet it's little I care which one of you was driving the other, and let you

MARTIN DOUL. There's a person walking above. . . . It's Molly Byrne, I'm thinking, coming down with her

TIMMY. If she is itself let you not be idling this day, or minding her at all, and let you hurry with them

sticks, for I'll want you in a short while to be blowing in the forge. [He throws down pothooks.]

MARTIN DOUL [crying out.] Is it roasting me now you'd be? (Turns back and sees pothooks; he

takes them up.) Pothooks? Is it over them you've been inside sneezing and sweating since the dawn of day?

TIMMY [resting himself on anvil, with satisfaction.] I'm making a power of things you do have when

you're settling with a wife, Martin Doul; for I heard tell last night the Saint'll be passing again in a short

while, and I'd have him wed Molly with myself. . . . He'd do it, I've heard them say, for not a penny at all.

MARTIN DOUL [lays down hooks and looks at him steadily.] Molly'll be saying great praises now to

MARTIN DOUL [looking up right.] Why wouldn't she, indeed, Timmy? . . . . The Almighty God's

made a fine match in the two of you, for if you went marrying a woman was the like of yourself you'd be

having the fearfullest little children, I'm thinking, was ever seen in the world.

TIMMY [seriously offended.] God forgive you! if you're an ugly man to be looking at, I'm thinking

MARTIN DOUL [hurt also.] Isn't it destroyed with the cold I am, and if I'm ugly itself I never seen

anyone the like of you for dreepiness this day, Timmy the smith, and I'm thinking now herself's coming

above you'd have a right to step up into your old shanty, and give a rub to your face, and not be sitting there

with your bleary eyes, and your big nose, the like of an old scarecrow stuck down upon the road.

TIMMY [looking up the road uneasily.] She's no call to mind what way I look, and I after building a

house with four rooms in it above on the hill. (He stands up.) But it's a queer thing the way yourself and Mary

Doul are after setting every person in this place, and up beyond to Rathvanna, talking of nothing, and

thinking of nothing, but the way they do be looking in the face. (Going towards forge.) It's the devil's work

you're after doing with your talk of fine looks, and I'd do right, maybe, to step in and wash the blackness from

[He goes into forge. Martin Doul rubs his face furtively with the tail of his coat. Molly Byrne comes on right

MARTIN DOUL. It's a power of dirty days, and dark mornings, and shabbylooking fellows (he makes a

gesture over his shoulder) we do have to be looking on when we have our sight, God help us, but there's one

fine thing we have, to be looking on a grand, white, handsome girl, the like of you . . . . and every time I set

my eyes on you I do be blessing the saints, and the holy water, and the power of the Lord Almighty in the

MOLLY BYRNE. I've heard the priests say it isn't looking on a young girl would teach many to be saying

MARTIN DOUL. It isn't many have been the way I was, hearing your voice speaking, and not seeing you at

MOLLY BYRNE. That should have been a queer time for an old, wicked, coaxing fool to be sitting there

MARTIN DOUL. If it was a queer time itself it was great joy and pride I had the time I'd hear your voice

speaking and you passing to Grianan (beginning to speak with plaintive intensity), for it's of many a fine

thing your voice would put a poor dark fellow in mind, and the day I'd hear it it's of little else at all I would be

MOLLY BYRNE. I'll tell your wife if you talk to me the like of that. . . . You've heard, maybe, she's below

picking nettles for the widow O'Flinn, who took great pity on her when she seen the two of you fighting, and

MARTIN DOUL [impatiently.] Is there no living person can speak a score of words to me, or say

"God speed you," itself, without putting me in mind of the old woman, or that day either at Grianan?

MOLLY BYRNE [maliciously.] I was thinking it should be a fine thing to put you in mind of the day

MARTIN DOUL. Grand day, is it? (Plaintively again, throwing aside his work, and leaning towards her.) Or

a bad black day when I was roused up and found I was the like of the little children do be listening to the

stories of an old woman, and do be dreaming after in the dark night that it's in grand houses of gold they are,

with speckled horses to ride, and do be waking again, in a short while, and they destroyed with the cold, and

MOLLY BYRNE [working indifferently.] You've great romancing this day, Martin Doul. Was it up at

MARTIN DOUL [stands up, comes towards her, but stands at far (right) side of well.] It was not,

Molly Byrne, but lying down in a little rickety shed. . . . Lying down across a sop of straw, and I thinking I

was seeing you walk, and hearing the sound of your step on a dry road, and hearing you again, and you

laughing and making great talk in a high room with dry timber lining the roof. For it's a fine sound your voice

has that time, and it's better I am, I'm thinking, lying down, the way a blind man does be lying, than to be

MOLLY BYRNE [looking at him with interest.] It's queer talk you have if it's a little, old, shabby

MARTIN DOUL [despondingly.] It's not a lie you're telling, maybe, for it's long years I'm after losing

from the world, feeling love and talking love, with the old woman, and I fooled the whole while with the lies

MOLLY BYRNE [half invitingly.] It's a fine way you're wanting to pay Timmy the smith. . . . And

MARTIN DOUL. It is not, Molly, and the Lord forgive us all. (He passes behind her and comes near her

left.) For I've heard tell there are lands beyond in Cahir Iveraghig and the Reeks of Cork with warm sun in

them, and fine light in the sky. (Bending towards her.) And light's a grand thing for a man ever was blind, or

a woman, with a fine neck, and a skin on her the like of you, the way we'd have a right to go off this day till

we'd have a fine life passing abroad through them towns of the south, and we telling stories, maybe, or

MOLLY BYRNE [turning round half amused, and looking him over from head to foot.] Well, isn't it

a queer thing when your own wife's after leaving you because you're a pitiful show, you'd talk the like of that

MARTIN DOUL [drawing back a little, hurt, but indignant.] It's a queer thing, maybe, for all things

is queer in the world. (In a low voice with peculiar emphasis.) But there's one thing I'm telling you, if she

walked off away from me, it wasn't because of seeing me, and I no more than I am, but because I was looking

on her with my two eyes, and she getting up, and eating her food, and combing her hair, and lying down for

MOLLY BYRNE [interested, off her guard.] Wouldn't any married man you'd have be doing the like

MARTIN DOUL [seizing the moment that he has her attention.] I'm thinking by the mercy of God

it's few sees anything but them is blind for a space (with excitement.) It's a few sees the old woman rotting for

the grave, and it's few sees the like of yourself. (He bends over her.) Though it's shining you are, like a high

MARTIN DOUL [quickly, with low, furious intensity.] It's the truth I'm telling you. (He puts his hand

on her shoulder and shakes her.) And you'd do right not to marry a man is after looking out a long while on

the bad days of the world; for what way would the like of him have fit eyes to look on yourself, when you

rise up in the morning and come out of the little door you have above in the lane, the time it'd be a fine thing

if a man would be seeing, and losing his sight, the way he'd have your two eyes facing him, and he going the

roads, and shining above him, and he looking in the sky, and springing up from the earth, the time he'd lower

his head, in place of the muck that seeing men do meet all roads spread on the world.

MOLLY BYRNE [who has listened half mesmerized, starting away.] It's the like of that talk you'd

MARTIN DOUL [going after her, passing to her right.] It'd be little wonder if a man near the like of

you would be losing his mind. Put down your can now, and come along with myself, for I'm seeing you this

day, seeing you, maybe, the way no man has seen you in the world. (He takes her by the arm and tries to pull

her away softly to the right.) Let you come on now, I'm saying, to the lands of Iveragh and the Reeks of Cork,

where you won't set down the width of your two feet and not be crushing fine flowers, and making sweet

MOLLY BYRNE [laying down the can; trying to free herself.] Leave me go, Martin Doul! Leave me

MARTIN DOUL. Let you not be fooling. Come along now the little path through the trees.

MOLLY BYRNE [crying out towards forge.] Timmy the smith. (Timmy comes out of forge, and

Martin Doul lets her go. Molly Byrne, excited and breathless, pointing to Martin Doul.) Did ever you hear

that them that loses their sight loses their senses along with it, Timmy the smith!

TIMMY [suspicious, but uncertain.] He's no sense, surely, and he'll be having himself driven off this

MOLLY BYRNE [as before.] He's a bigger fool than that, Timmy. Look on him now, and tell me if

that isn't a grand fellow to think he's only to open his mouth to have a fine woman, the like of me, running

[Martin Doul recoils towards centre, with his hand to his eyes; Mary Doul is seen on left coming forward

TIMMY [with blank amazement.] Oh, the blind is wicked people, and it's no lie. But he'll walk off

[Turns back left and picks up Martin Doul's coat and stick; some things fall out of coat pocket, which he

MARTIN DOUL [turns around, sees Mary Doul, whispers to Molly Byrne with imploring agony.]

Let you not put shame on me, Molly, before herself and the smith. Let you not put shame on me and I after

saying fine words to you, and dreaming . . . dreams . . . . in the night. (He hesitates, and looks round the sky.)

Is it a storm of thunder is coming, or the last end of the world? (He staggers towards Mary Doul, tripping

slightly over tin can.) The heavens is closing, I'm thinking, with darkness and great trouble passing in the sky.

(He reaches Mary Doul, and seizes her left arm with both his hands with a frantic cry.) Is it darkness of

MARY DOUL [snatches her arm away, and hits him with empty sack across the face.] I see you a

MOLLY BYRNE [clapping her hands.] That's right, Mary. That's the way to treat the like of him is

after standing there at my feet and asking me to go off with him, till I'd grow an old wretched roadwoman

MARY DOUL [defiantly.] When the skin shrinks on your chin, Molly Byrne, there won't be the like

of you for a shrunk hag in the four quarters of Ireland. . . . It's a fine pair you'd be, surely!

TIMMY [coming over to Mary Doul.] Is it no shame you have to let on she'd ever be the like of you?

MARY DOUL. It's them that's fat and flabby do be wrinkled young, and that whitish yellowy hair she has

does be soon turning the like of a handful of thin grass you'd see rotting, where the wet lies, at the north of a

sty. (Turning to go out on right.) Ah, it's a better thing to have a simple, seemly face, the like of my face, for

twoscore years, or fifty itself, than to be setting fools mad a short while, and then to be turning a thing

[She goes out; Martin Doul has come forward again, mastering himself, but uncertain.]

TIMMY. Oh, God protect us, Molly, from the words of the blind. (He throws down Martin Doul's coat and

stick.) There's your old rubbish now, Martin Doul, and let you take it up, for it's all you have, and walk off

through the world, for if ever I meet you coming again, if it's seeing or blind you are itself, I'll bring out the

big hammer and hit you a welt with it will leave you easy till the judgment day.

MARTIN DOUL [rousing himself with an effort.] What call have you to talk the like of that with

TIMMY [pointing to Molly Byrne.] It's well you know what call I have. It's well you know a decent

girl, I'm thinking to wed, has no right to have her heart scalded with hearing talk and queer, bad talk, I'm

MARTIN DOUL [raising his voice.] It's making game of you she is, for what seeing girl would

marry with yourself? Look on him, Molly, look on him, I'm saying, for I'm seeing him still, and let you raise

your voice, for the time is come, and bid him go up into his forge, and be sitting there by himself, sneezing

and sweating, and he beating pothooks till the judgment day. [He seizes her arm again.]

TIMMY [pushing Martin Doul aside.] Would you have me strike you, Martin Doul? Go along now

MARTIN DOUL [despairingly.] Won't you raise your voice, Molly, and lay hell's long curse on his

MOLLY BYRNE [on Timmy's left.] I'll be telling him it's destroyed I am with the sight of you and

the sound of your voice. Go off now after your wife, and if she beats you again, let you go after the tinker

girls is above running the hills, or down among the sluts of the town, and you'll learn one day, maybe, the

way a man should speak with a wellreared, civil girl the like of me. (She takes Timmy by the arm.) Come

up now into the forge till he'll be gone down a bit on the road, for it's near afeard I am of the wild look he has

TIMMY. Let me not find you out here again, Martin Doul. (He bares his arm.) It's well you know Timmy the

smith has great strength in his arm, and it's a power of things it has broken a sight harder than the old bone of

MARTIN DOUL [stands a moment with his hand to his eyes.] And that's the last thing I'm to set my

sight on in the life of the world the villainy of a woman and the bloody strength of a man. Oh, God, pity a

poor, blind fellow, the way I am this day with no strength in me to do hurt to them at all. (He begins groping

about for a moment, then stops.) Yet if I've no strength in me I've a voice left for my prayers, and may God

blight them this day, and my own soul the same hour with them, the way I'll see them after, Molly Byrne and

Timmy the smith, the two of them on a high bed, and they screeching in hell. . . . It'll be a grand thing that

time to look on the two of them; and they twisting and roaring out, and twisting and roaring again, one day

and the next day, and each day always and ever. It's not blind I'll be that time, and it won't be hell to me, I'm

thinking, but the like of heaven itself; and it's fine care I'll be taking the Lord Almighty doesn't know. [He

[The same Scene as in first Act, but gap in centre has been filled with briars, or branches of some sort. Mary

Doul, blind again, gropes her way in on left, and sits as before. She has a few rushes with her. It is an early

MARY DOUL [mournfully.] Ah, God help me . . . God help me; the blackness wasn't so black at all

the other time as it is this time, and it's destroyed I'll be now, and hard set to get my living working alone,

when it's few are passing and the winds are cold. (She begins shredding rushes.) I'm thinking short days will

be long days to me from this time, and I sitting here, not seeing a blink, or hearing a word, and no thought in

my mind but long prayers that Martin Doul'll get his reward in a short while for the villainy of his heart. It's

great jokes the people'll be making now, I'm thinking, and they pass me by, pointing their fingers maybe, and

asking what place is himself, the way it's no quiet or decency I'll have from this day till I'm an old woman

with long white hair and it twisting from my brow. (She fumbles with her hair, and then seems to hear

something. Listens for a moment.) There's a queer, slouching step coming on the road. . . . God help me, he's

MARTIN DOUL [gloomily.] The devil mend Mary Doul for putting lies on me, and letting on she

was grand. The devil mend the old Saint for letting me see it was lies. (He sits down near her.) The devil

mend Timmy the smith for killing me with hard work, and keeping me with an empty, windy stomach in me,

in the day and in the night. Ten thousand devils mend the soul of Molly Byrne (Mary Doul nods her head

with approval.) and the bad, wicked souls is hidden in all the women of the world. (He rocks himself, with

his hand over his face.) It's lonesome I'll be from this day, and if living people is a bad lot, yet Mary Doul,

herself, and she a dirty, wrinkledlooking hag, was better maybe to be sitting along with than no one at all.

I'll be getting my death now, I'm thinking, sitting alone in the cold air, hearing the night coming, and the

blackbirds flying round in the briars crying to themselves, the time you'll hear one cart getting off a long way

in the east, and another cart getting off a long way in the west, and a dog barking maybe, and a little wind

turning the sticks. (He listens and sighs heavily.) I'll be destroyed sitting alone and losing my senses this time

the way I'm after losing my sight, for it'd make any person afeard to be sitting up hearing the sound of his

breath (he moves his feet on the stones) and the noise of his feet, when it's a power of queer things do

be stirring, little sticks breaking, and the grass moving (Mary Doul half sighs, and he turns on her in

horror) till you'd take your dying oath on sun and moon a thing was breathing on the stones. (He listens

towards her for a moment, then starts up nervously, and gropes about for his stick.) I'll be going now, I'm

thinking, but I'm not sure what place my stick's in, and I'm destroyed with terror and dread. (He touches her

face as he is groping about and cries out.) There's a thing with a cold, living face on it sitting up at my side.

(He turns to run away, but misses his path and stumbles in against the wall.) My road is lost on me now! Oh,

merciful God, set my foot on the path this day, and I'll be saying prayers morning and night, and not straining

MARTIN DOUL. Mary Doul, is it? (Recovering himself with immense relief.) Is it Mary Doul, I'm saying?

MARY DOUL. There's a sweet tone in your voice I've not heard for a space. You're taking me for Molly

MARTIN DOUL [coming towards her, wiping sweat from his face.] Well, sight's a queer thing for

upsetting a man. It's a queer thing to think I'd live to this day to be fearing the like of you; but if it's shaken I

MARTIN DOUL [sitting down shyly, some way off.] You've no call to be talking, for I've heard tell

MARY DOUL. If I am I'm bearing in mind I'm married to a little dark stump of a fellow looks the fool of the

world, and I'll be bearing in mind from this day the great hullabuloo he's after making from hearing a poor

MARTIN DOUL. And you'll be bearing in mind, I'm thinking, what you seen a while back when you looked

down into a well, or a clear pool, maybe, when there was no wind stirring and a good light in the sky.

MARY DOUL. I'm minding that surely, for if I'm not the way the liars were saying below I seen a thing in

them pools put joy and blessing in my heart. [She puts her hand to her hair again.]

MARTIN DOUL [laughing ironically.] Well, they were saying below I was losing my senses, but I

never went any day the length of that. . . . God help you, Mary Doul, if you're not a wonder for looks, you're

MARY DOUL [scornfully.] You were saying all times you'd a great ear for hearing the lies of the world.

MARTIN DOUL. If it's not lies you're telling would you have me think you're not a wrinkled poor woman is

MARY DOUL. I would not, Martin. (She leans forward earnestly.) For when I seen myself in them pools, I

seen my hair would be gray or white, maybe, in a short while, and I seen with it that I'd a face would be a

great wonder when it'll have soft white hair falling around it, the way when I'm an old woman there won't be

MARTIN DOUL [with real admiration.] You're a cute thinking woman, Mary Doul, and it's no lie.

MARY DOUL [triumphantly.] I am, surely, and I'm telling you a beautiful whitehaired woman is a

grand thing to see, for I'm told when Kitty Bawn was selling poteen below, the young men itself would never

MARTIN DOUL [taking off his hat and feeling his head, speaking with hesitation.] Did you think to

MARY DOUL [with extreme contempt.] On you, God help you! . . . In a short while you'll have a

head on you as bald as an old turnip you'd see rolling round in the muck. You need never talk again of your

MARTIN DOUL. That's a hard word to be saying, for I was thinking if I'd a bit of comfort, the like of

yourself, it's not far off we'd be from the good days went before, and that'd be a wonder surely. But I'll never

MARY DOUL. I can't help your looks, Martin Doul. It wasn't myself made you with your rat's eyes, and

MARTIN DOUL [rubs his chin ruefully, then beams with delight.] There's one thing you've forgot, if

MARY DOUL. Your slouching feet, is it? Or your hooky neck, or your two knees is black with knocking

MARTIN DOUL [with delighted scorn.] There's talking for a cute woman. There's talking, surely!

MARY DOUL [puzzled at joy of his voice.] If you'd anything but lies to say you'd be talking to

MARTIN DOUL [bursting with excitement.] I've this to say, Mary Doul. I'll be letting my beard grow

in a short while, a beautiful, long, white, silken, streamy beard, you wouldn't see the like of in the eastern

world. . . . Ah, a white beard's a grand thing on an old man, a grand thing for making the quality stop and be

stretching out their hands with good silver or gold, and a beard's a thing you'll never have, so you may be

MARY DOUL [laughing cheerfully.] Well, we're a great pair, surely, and it's great times we'll have

MARTIN DOUL. Great times from this day, with the help of the Almighty God, for a priest itself would

believe the lies of an old man would have a fine white beard growing on his chin.

MARY DOUL. There's the sound of one of them twittering yellow birds do be coming in the springtime

from beyond the sea, and there'll be a fine warmth now in the sun, and a sweetness in the air, the way it'll be a

grand thing to be sitting here quiet and easy smelling the things growing up, and budding from the earth.

MARTIN DOUL. I'm smelling the furze a while back sprouting on the hill, and if you'd hold your tongue

you'd hear the lambs of Grianan, though it's near drowned their crying is with the full river making noises in

MARY DOUL [listens.] The lambs is bleating, surely, and there's cocks and laying hens making a

MARTIN DOUL. What's that is sounding in the west? [A faint sound of a bell is heard.]

MARY DOUL. The Lord protect us from the saints of God! (They listen.) He's coming this road, surely.

MARTIN DOUL. There's the little path going up through the sloughs. . . . If we reached the bank above,

where the elders do be growing, no person would see a sight of us, if it was a hundred yeomen were passing

itself; but I'm afeard after the time we were with our sight we'll not find our way to it at all.

MARY DOUL [standing up.] You'd find the way, surely. You're a grand man the world knows at

finding your way winter or summer, if there was deep snow in it itself, or thick grass and leaves, maybe,

MARTIN DOUL [taking her hand.] Come a bit this way; it's here it begins. (They grope about gap.)

There's a tree pulled into the gap, or a strange thing happened, since I was passing it before.

MARTIN DOUL. It's hard set I am to know what would be right. And isn't it a poor thing to be blind when

MARY DOUL [nearly in tears.] It's a poor thing, God help us, and what good'll our gray hairs be

itself, if we have our sight, the way we'll see them falling each day, and turning dirty in the rain?

MARTIN DOUL [in despair.] He's coming now, and we won't get off from him at all.

MARY DOUL. Could we hide in the bit of a briar is growing at the west butt of the church?

MARTIN DOUL. We'll try that, surely. (He listens a moment.) Let you make haste; I hear them trampling in

MARY DOUL. It's the words of the young girls making a great stir in the trees. (They find the bush.) Here's

the briar on my left, Martin; I'll go in first, I'm the big one, and I'm easy to see.

MARTIN DOUL [turning his head anxiously.] It's easy heard you are; and will you be holding your

MARY DOUL [partly behind bush.] Come in now beside of me. (They kneel down, still clearly

MARTIN DOUL. I'm thinking they can't, but I'm hard set to know; for the lot of them young girls, the devil

save them, have sharp, terrible eyes, would pick out a poor man, I'm thinking, and he lying below hid in his

MARY DOUL. Let you not be whispering sin, Martin Doul, or maybe it's the finger of God they'd see

MARTIN DOUL. It's yourself is speaking madness, Mary Doul; haven't you heard the Saint say it's the

MARY DOUL. If it is you'd have a right to speak a big, terrible word would make the water not cure us at

MARTIN DOUL. What way would I find a big, terrible word, and I shook with the fear; and if I did itself,

who'd know rightly if it's good words or bad would save us this day from himself?

[The Saint comes in on right, with Timmy and Molly Byrne in holiday clothes, the others as before.]

TIMMY. I've heard tell Martin Doul and Mary Doul were seen this day about on the road, holy father, and

SAINT. I would, maybe, but where are they at all? I have little time left when I have the two of you wed in

MAT SIMON [at their seat.] There are the rushes they do have lying round on the stones. It's not far

MOLLY BYRNE [pointing with astonishment.] Look beyond, Timmy. [They all look over and see

TIMMY. Well, Martin's a lazy fellow to be lying in there at the height of the day. (He goes over shouting.)

Let you get up out of that. You were near losing a great chance by your sleepiness this day, Martin Doul. . . .

MARTIN DOUL [scrambling up with Mary Doul.] What is it you want, Timmy, that you can't leave

TIMMY. The Saint's come to marry the two of us, and I'm after speaking a word for yourselves, the way he'll

be curing you now; for if you're a foolish man itself, I do be pitying you, for I've a kind heart, when I think of

you sitting dark again, and you after seeing a while and working for your bread. [Martin Doul takes Mary

Doul's hand and tries to grope his way off right; he has lost his hat, and they are both covered with dust and

[They push him over in front of the Saint, near centre. Martin Doul and Mary Doul stand with piteous

SAINT. It's many a time those that are cured with the well of the four beauties of God lose their sight when a

time is gone, but those I cure a second time go on seeing till the hour of death. (He takes the cover from his

can.) I've a few drops only left of the water, but, with the help of God, It'll be enough for the two of you, and

let you kneel down now upon the road. [Martin Doul wheels round with Mary Doul and tries to get away.]

SAINT. You can kneel down here, I'm saying, we'll not trouble this time going to the church.

TIMMY [turning Martin Doul round, angrily.] Are you going mad in your head, Martin Doul? It's

here you're to kneel. Did you not hear his reverence, and he speaking to you now?

MARTIN DOUL [with distress.] Let you go on your own way, holy father. We're not calling you at

SAINT. I'm not saying a word of pen ance, or fasting itself, for I'm thinking the Lord has brought you great

teaching in the blindness of your eyes; so you've no call now to be fearing me, but let you kneel down till I

MARTIN DOUL [more troubled.] We're not asking our sight, holy father, and let you walk on your

own way, and be fasting, or praying, or doing anything that you will, but leave us here in our peace, at the

crossing of the roads, for it's best we are this way, and we're not asking to see.

SAINT [to the People.] Is his mind gone that he's no wish to be cured this day, or to be living or

MARTIN DOUL. It's wonders enough I seen in a short space for the life of one man only.

SAINT [severely.] I never heard tell of any person wouldn't have great joy to be looking on the earth,

MARTIN DOUL [raising his voice.] Them is great sights, holy father. . . . What was it I seen when I

first opened my eyes but your own bleeding feet, and they cut with the stones? That was a great sight, maybe,

of the image of God. . . . And what was it I seen my last day but the villainy of hell looking out from the eyes

of the girl you're coming to marry the Lord forgive you with Timmy the smith. That was a great sight,

maybe. And wasn't it great sights I seen on the roads when the north winds would be driving, and the skies

would be harsh, till you'd see the horses and the asses, and the dogs itself, maybe, with their heads hanging,

SAINT. And did you never hear tell of the summer, and the fine spring, and the places where the holy men of

Ireland have built up churches to the Lord? No man isn't a madman, I'm thinking, would be talking the like of

that, and wishing to be closed up and seeing no sight of the grand glittering seas, and the furze that is opening

above, and will soon have the hills shining as if it was fine creels of gold they were, rising to the sky.

MARTIN DOUL. Is it talking now you are of Knock and Ballavore? Ah, it's ourselves had finer sights than

the like of them, I'm telling you, when we were sitting a while back hearing the birds and bees humming in

every weed of the ditch, or when we'd be smelling the sweet, beautiful smell does be rising in the warm

nights, when you do hear the swift flying things racing in the air, till we'd be looking up in our own minds

into a grand sky, and seeing lakes, and big rivers, and fine hills for taking the plough.

MOLLY BYRNE. It's lazy he is, holy father, and not wanting to work; for a while before you had him cured

MARTIN DOUL [turning on her.] I was longing, surely for sight; but I seen my fill in a short while

with the look of my wife, and the look of yourself, Molly Byrne, when you'd the queer wicked grin in your

MOLLY BYRNE. Let you not mind him, holy father; for it's bad things he was saying to me a while back

bad things for a married man, your reverence and you'd do right surely to leave him in darkness, if it's

TIMMY [to Saint.] Would you cure Mary Doul, your reverence, who is a quiet poor woman, never

did hurt to any, or said a hard word, saving only when she'd be vexed with himself, or with young girls would

SAINT [to Mary Doul.] If you have any sense, Mary, kneel down at my feet, and I'll bring the sight

MARTIN DOUL [more defiantly.] You will not, holy father. Would you have her looking on me, and

SAINT [severely.] If she's wanting her sight I wouldn't have the like of you stop her at all. (To Mary

MARY DOUL [doubtfully.] Let us be as we are, holy father, and then we'll be known again in a short

while as the people is happy and blind, and be having an easy time, with no trouble to live, and we getting

MOLLY BYRNE. Let you not be a raving fool, Mary Doul. Kneel down now, and let him give you your

sight, and himself can be sitting here if he likes it best, and taking halfpence on the road.

TIMMY. That's the truth, Mary; and if it's choosing a wilful blindness you are, I'm thinking there isn't

anyone in this place will ever be giving you a hand's turn or a hap'orth of meal, or be doing the little things

MAT SIMON. If you had your sight, Mary, you could be walking up for him and down with him, and be

stitching his clothes, and keeping a watch on him day and night the way no other woman would come near

SAINT. Kneel down now, I'm saying, for it's in haste I am to be going on with the marriage and be walking

MARY DOUL [looking uneasily towards Martin Doul.] Maybe it's right they are, and I will if you

[She kneels down. The Saint takes off his hat and gives it to some one near him. All the men take off their

MARTIN DOUL [pushes him away roughly, and stands with his left hand on Mary Doul's shoulder.]

Keep off yourself, holy father, and let you not be taking my rest from me in the darkness of my wife. . . .

What call has the like of you to be coming between married people that you're not understanding at all

and be making a great mess with the holy water you have, and the length of your prayers? Go on now, I'm

SAINT. If it was a seeing man I heard talking to me the like of that I'd put a black curse on him would weigh

down his soul till it'd be falling to hell; but you're a poor blind sinner, God forgive you, and I don't mind you

at all. (He raises his can.) Go aside now till I give the blessing to your wife, and if you won't go with your

SAINT [imperiously, to the People.] Let you take that man and drive him down upon the road. [Some

MARTIN DOUL [struggling and shouting.] Make them leave me go, holy father! Make them leave

SAINT [to People.] Let him be. . . . . Let him be if his sense is come to him at all.

MARTIN DOUL [shakes himself loose, feels for Mary Doul, sinking his voice to a plausible whine.]

You may cure herself, surely, holy father; I wouldn't stop you at all and it's great joy she'll have looking

on your face but let you cure myself along with her, the way I'll see when it's lies she's telling, and be

SAINT [speaking half to the People.] Men who are dark a long while and thinking over queer

thoughts in their heads, aren't the like of simple men, who do be working every day, and praying, and living

like ourselves; so if he has found a right mind at the last minute itself, I'll cure him, if the Lord will, and not

SAINT [with can in his hand, close to Martin Doul.] With the power of the water from the grave of

the four beauties of God, with the power of this water, I'm saying, that I put upon your eyes . [He raises

MARTIN DOUL [with a sudden movement strikes the can from the Saint's hand and sends it rocketing

across stage. He stands up; People murmur loudly.] If I'm a poor dark sinner I've sharp ears, God help

me, and have left you with a big head on you and it's well I heard the little splash of the water you had there

in the can. Go on now, holy father, for if you're a fine Saint itself, it's more sense is in a blind man, and more

power maybe than you're thinking at all. Let you walk on now with your worn feet, and your welted knees,

and your fasting, holy ways a thin pitiful arm. (The Saint looks at him for a moment severely, then turns

away and picks up his can. He pulls Mary Doul up.) For if it's a right some of you have to be working and

sweating the like of Timmy the smith, and a right some of you have to be fasting and praying and talking

holy talk the like of yourself, I'm thinking it's a good right ourselves have to be sitting blind, hearing a soft

wind turning round the little leaves of the spring and feeling the sun, and we not tormenting our souls with

the sight of the gray days, and the holy men, and the dirty feet is trampling the world.

MAT SIMON. It'd be an unlucky fearful thing, I'm thinking, to have the like of that man living near us at all

in the townland of Grianan. Wouldn't he bring down a curse upon us, holy father, from the heavens of God?

SAINT [tying his girdle.] God has great mercy, but great wrath for them that sin.

THE PEOPLE. Go on now, Martin Doul. Go on from this place. Let you not be bringing great storms or

droughts on us maybe from the power of the Lord. [Some of them throw things at him.]

MARTIN DOUL [turning round defiantly and picking up a stone.] Keep off now, the yelping lot of

you, or it's more than one maybe will get a bloody head on him with the pitch of my stone. Keep off now, and

let you not be afeard; for we're going on the two of us to the towns of the south, where the people will have

kind voices maybe, and we won't know their bad looks or their villainy at all. (He takes Mary Doul's hand

again.) Come along now and we'll be walking to the south, for we've seen too much of everyone in this place,

and it's small joy we'd have living near them, or hearing the lies they do be telling from the gray of dawn till

MARY DOUL [despondingly.] That's the truth, surely; and we'd have a right to be gone, if it's a long

way itself, as I've heard them say, where you do have to be walking with a slough of wet on the one side and

a slough of wet on the other, and you going a stony path with a north wind blowing behind. [They go out.]

TIMMY. There's a power of deep rivers with floods in them where you do have to be lepping the stones and

you going to the south, so I'm thinking the two of them will be drowned together in a short while, surely.

SAINT. They have chosen their lot, and the Lord have mercy on their souls. (He rings his bell.) And let the

two of you come up now into the church, Molly Byrne and Timmy the smith, till I make your marriage and

[He turns to the church; procession forms, and the curtain comes down, as they go slowly into the church.]