The Well of the Saints

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 her sleep. Molly Byrne Interested, off her guard. Wouldn’t any married man you’d have be doing the like of that? 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 lamp would drag in the ships out of the sea. Molly Byrne Shrinking away from him. Keep off from me, Martin Doul. 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 hear from a man would be losing his mind. 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 smells in the air. Molly Byrne Laying down the can; trying to free herself. Leave me go, Martin Doul! Leave me go, I’m saying! Martin Doul Let you not be fooling. Come along now the little path through the trees. Molly Byrne Crying out towards forge. Timmy⁠—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 day from where he’s good sleeping, and feeding, and wages for his work. 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 along by his heels. Martin Doul recoils towards centre, with his hand to his eyes; Mary Doul is seen on left coming forward softly. Timmy With blank amazement. Oh, the blind is wicked people, and it’s no lie. But he’ll walk off this day and not be troubling us more. Turns back left and picks up Martin Doul’s coat and stick; some things fall out of coat pocket, which he gathers up again. 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 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