Short Plays

the rain is falling, but the air is kind and maybe it’ll be a grand morning, by the grace of God. Nora What good is a grand morning when I’m destroyed surely, and I going out to get my death walking the roads? Tramp You’ll not be getting your death with myself, lady of the house, and I knowing all the ways a man can put food in his mouth.⁠ ⁠… We’ll be going now, I’m telling you, and the time you’ll be feeling the cold, and the frost, and the great rain, and the sun again, and the south wind blowing in the glens, you’ll not be sitting up on a wet ditch, the way you’re after sitting in this place, making yourself old with looking on each day, and it passing you by. You’ll be saying one time, “It’s a grand evening, by the grace of God,” and another time, “It’s a wild night, God help us, but it’ll pass surely.” You’ll be saying⁠ ⁠… Dan Goes over to them, crying out impatiently. Go out of that door, I’m telling you, and do your blathering below in the glen. Nora gathers a few things into her shawl. Tramp At the door. Come along with me now, lady of the house, and it’s not my blather you’ll be hearing only, but you’ll be hearing the herons crying out over the black lakes, and you’ll be hearing the grouse and the owls with them, and the larks and the big thrushes when the days are warm, and it’s not from the like of them you’ll be hearing a tale of getting old like Peggy Cavanagh, and losing the hair off you, and the light of your eyes, but it’s fine songs you’ll be hearing when the sun goes up, and there’ll be no old fellow wheezing, the like of a sick sheep, close to your ear. Nora I’m thinking it’s myself will be wheezing that time with lying down under the Heavens when the night is cold; but you’ve a fine bit of talk, stranger, and it’s with yourself I’ll go. She goes towards the door, then turns to Dan. You think it’s a grand thing you’re after doing with your letting on to be dead, but what is it at all? What way would a woman live in a lonesome place the like of this place, and she not making a talk with the men passing? And what way will yourself live from this day, with none to care for you? What is it you’ll have now but a black life, Daniel Burke; and it’s not long, I’m telling you, till you’ll be lying again under that sheet, and you dead surely. She goes out with the Tramp. Micheal is slinking after them, but Dan stops him. Dan Sit down now and take a little taste of the stuff, Micheal Dara. There’s a great drouth on me, and the night is young. Micheal Coming back to the table. And it’s very dry I am, surely, with the fear of death you put on me, and I after driving mountain ewes since the turn of the day. Dan Throwing away his stick. I was thinking to strike you, Micheal Dara, but you’re a quiet man, God help you, and I don’t mind you at all. He pours out two glasses of whisky, and gives one to Micheal. Your good health, Micheal Dara. Micheal God reward you, Daniel Burke, and may you have a long life, and a quiet life, and good health with it. They drink. Curtain.

Riders to the Sea

A Play in One Act

Persons in the Play

• Maurya, an old woman

• Bartley, her son

• Cathleen, her daughter

• Nora, a younger daughter

• Men and women

Scene: An Island off the West of Ireland.

Riders to the Sea

Cottage kitchen, with nets, oilskins, spinning wheel, some new boards standing by the wall, etc. Cathleen, a girl of about twenty, finishes kneading cake, and puts it down in the pot-oven by the fire; then wipes her hands, and begins to spin at the wheel. Nora, a young girl, puts her head in at the door.

Nora	In a low voice. Where is she?
Cathleen	She’s lying down, God help her, and may be sleeping, if she’s able.
	Nora comes in softly, and takes a bundle from under her shawl.
Cathleen	Spinning the wheel rapidly. What is it you have?
Nora	The young priest is after bringing them. It’s a shirt and a plain stocking were got off a drowned man in Donegal.
	Cathleen stops her wheel with a sudden movement, and leans out to listen.
Nora	We’re to find out if it’s Michael’s they are, some time herself will be down looking by the sea.
Cathleen	How would they be Michael’s, Nora? How would he go the length of that way to the far north?
Nora	The young priest says he’s known the like of it. “If it’s Michael’s they are,” says he, “you can tell herself he’s got a clean burial by the grace of God, and if they’re not his, let no one say a word about them, for she’ll be getting her death,” says he, “with crying and lamenting.”
	The door which Nora half closed is blown open by a gust of wind.
Cathleen	Looking out anxiously. Did you ask him would he stop Bartley going this day with the horses to the Galway fair?
Nora	“I won’t stop him,” says he, “but let you not be afraid. Herself does be saying prayers half through the night, and the Almighty God won’t leave her destitute,” says he, “with no son living.”
Cathleen	Is the sea bad by the white rocks, Nora?
Nora	Middling bad, God help us. There’s a great roaring in the west, and it’s worse it’ll be getting when the tide’s turned to the wind. She goes over to the table with the bundle. Shall I open it now?
Cathleen	Maybe she’d wake up on