The Well of the Saints

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 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 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 pothooks 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 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 turns to grope out. Curtain.

Act III

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 spring day.
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 coming surely.
	She stays perfectly quiet. Martin Doul gropes in on right, blind also.
Martin Doul	Gloomily.⁠—The devil