Short Plays

woman. Michael With contempt. It’s the like of that name they do be putting on the horses they have below racing in Arklow. It’s easy pleased you are, Sarah Casey, easy pleased with a big word, or the liar speaks it. Sarah Liar! Michael Liar, surely. Sarah Indignantly. Liar, is it? Didn’t you ever hear tell of the peelers followed me ten miles along the Glen Malure, and they talking love to me in the dark night, or of the children you’ll meet coming from school and they saying one to the other, “It’s this day we seen Sarah Casey, the Beauty of Ballinacree, a great sight surely.” Michael God help the lot of them! Sarah It’s yourself you’ll be calling God to help, in two weeks or three, when you’ll be waking up in the dark night and thinking you see me coming with the sun on me, and I driving a high cart with Jaunting Jim going behind. It’s lonesome and cold you’ll be feeling the ditch where you’ll be lying down that night, I’m telling you, and you hearing the old woman making a great noise in her sleep, and the bats squeaking in the trees. Michael Whisht. I hear someone coming the road. Sarah Looking out right. It’s someone coming forward from the doctor’s door. Michael It’s often his reverence does be in there playing cards, or drinking a sup, or singing songs, until the dawn of day. Sarah It’s a big boast of a man with a long step on him and a trumpeting voice. It’s his reverence, surely; and if you have the ring done, it’s a great bargain we’ll make now and he after drinking his glass. Michael Going to her and giving her the ring. There’s your ring, Sarah Casey; but I’m thinking he’ll walk by and not stop to speak with the like of us at all. Sarah Tidying herself, in great excitement. Let you be sitting here and keeping a great blaze, the way he can look on my face; and let you seem to be working, for it’s great love the like of him have to talk of work. Michael Moodily, sitting down and beginning to work at a tin can. Great love surely. Sarah Eagerly. Make a great blaze now, Michael Byrne. The Priest comes in on right; she comes forward in front of him. Sarah In a very plausible voice. Good evening, your reverence. It’s a grand fine night, by the grace of God. Priest The Lord have mercy on us! What kind of a living woman is it that you are at all? Sarah It’s Sarah Casey I am, your reverence, the Beauty of Ballinacree, and it’s Michael Byrne is below in the ditch. Priest A holy pair, surely! Let you get out of my way. He tries to pass by. Sarah Keeping in front of him. We are wanting a little word with your reverence. Priest I haven’t a halfpenny at all. Leave the road, I’m saying. Sarah It isn’t a halfpenny we’re asking, holy father; but we were thinking maybe we’d have a right to be getting married; and we were thinking it’s yourself would marry us for not a halfpenny at all; for you’re a kind man, your reverence, a kind man with the poor. Priest With astonishment. Is it marry you for nothing at all? Sarah It is, your reverence; and we were thinking maybe you’d give us a little small bit of silver to pay for the ring. Priest Loudly. Let you hold your tongue; let you be quiet, Sarah Casey. I’ve no silver at all for the like of you; and if you want to be married, let you pay your pound. I’d do it for a pound only, and that’s making it a sight cheaper than I’d make it for one of my own pairs is living here in the place. Sarah Where would the like of us get a pound, your reverence? Priest Wouldn’t you easy get it with your selling asses, and making cans, and your stealing east and west in Wicklow and Wexford and the county Meath? He tries to pass her. Let you leave the road, and not be plaguing me more. Sarah Pleadingly, taking money from her pocket. Wouldn’t you have a little mercy on us, your reverence? Holding out money. Wouldn’t you marry us for a half a sovereign, and it a nice shiny one with a view on it of the living king’s mamma? Priest If it’s ten shillings you have, let you get ten more the same way, and I’ll marry you then. Sarah Whining. It’s two years we are getting that bit, your reverence, with our pence and our halfpence and an odd threepenny bit; and if you don’t marry us now, himself and the old woman, who has a great drouth, will be drinking it tomorrow in the fair she puts her apron to her eyes, half sobbing, and then I won’t be married any time, and I’ll be saying till I’m an old woman: “It’s a cruel and a wicked thing to be bred poor.” Priest Turning up towards the fire. Let you not be crying, Sarah Casey. It’s a queer woman you are to be crying at the like of that, and you your whole life walking the roads. Sarah Sobbing. It’s two years we are getting the gold, your reverence, and now you won’t marry us for that bit, and we hardworking poor people do be making cans in the dark night, and blinding our eyes with the black smoke from the bits of twigs we do be burning. An old woman is heard singing tipsily on the left. Priest Looking at the can Michael is making. When will you have that can done, Michael Byrne? Michael In a short space only, your reverence, for I’m putting the last dab of solder on the rim. Priest Let you get a crown along with the ten shillings and the gallon can, Sarah Casey, and I will wed you so. Mary