ou 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 thunder is coming, Mary Doul! Do you see me clearly with
your eyes?

MARY DOUL -- [snatches her arm away, and hits him with empty sack across
the face.] -- I see you a sight too clearly, and let you keep off from
me now.

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 road-woman
the like of yourself.

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!

[Martin Doul is standing at back right centre, with his back to the
audience.]

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 two-score years, or
fifty itself, than to be setting fools mad a short while, and then to be
turning a thing would drive off the little children from your feet.

[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