like of that with myself?

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 thinking -- from a raggy-looking fool the like of you.

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
pot-hooks till the judgment day. [He seizes her arm again.]

MOLLY BYRNE. Keep him off from me, Timmy!

TIMMY -- [pushing Martin Doul aside.] -- Would you have me strike you,
Martin Doul? Go along now after your wife, who's a fit match for you,
and leave Molly with myself.

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

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
well-reared, 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 come in his eyes.

[She goes into the forge. Timmy stops in the doorway.]

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 your skull.

[He goes into the forge and pulls the door after him.]

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 the