ile like the old screeching mad-woman is
running round in the glen.

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

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 devil cured you this day, I'm
saying, and drove you crazy with lies.

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 rear a child to me itself.

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 thousand itself, than to be looking on your like.

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

[The Saint is seen in the church door with his head bent in prayer.]

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.

[He is going to strike her, but Timmy catches him by the arm.]

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 one, for the love of the Almighty God,
and I'll be quiet after till I die.

TIMMY -- [shaking him.] -- Will you whisht, I'm saying.

SAINT -- [coming forward, centre.] -