below! Come on, the lot of you! Great achievements for all Mayo men!
Pegeen
Go on, and leave him for to rest and dry. Go on, I tell you, for he’ll do no more.
She hustles crowd out; Widow Quin following them.
Men
Going. Come on then. Good luck for the while!
Pegeen
Radiantly, wiping his face with her shawl. Well, you’re the lad, and you’ll have great times from this out when you could win that wealth of prizes, and you sweating in the heat of noon!
Christy
Looking at her with delight. I’ll have great times if I win the crowning prize I’m seeking now, and that’s your promise that you’ll wed me in a fortnight, when our banns is called.
Pegeen
Backing away from him. You’ve right daring to go ask me that, when all knows you’ll be starting to some girl in your own townland, when your father’s rotten in four months, or five.
Christy
Indignantly. Starting from you, is it?
He follows her. I will not, then, and when the airs is warming in four months, or five, it’s then yourself and me should be pacing Neifin in the dews of night, the times sweet smells do be rising, and you’d see a little shiny new moon, maybe, sinking on the hills.
Pegeen
Looking at him playfully. And it’s that kind of a poacher’s love you’d make, Christy Mahon, on the sides of Neifin, when the night is down?
Christy
It’s little you’ll think if my love’s a poacher’s, or an earl’s itself, when you’ll feel my two hands stretched around you, and I squeezing kisses on your puckered lips, till I’d feel a kind of pity for the Lord God is all ages sitting lonesome in his golden chair.
Pegeen
That’ll be right fun, Christy Mahon, and any girl would walk her heart out before she’d meet a young man was your like for eloquence, or talk, at all.
Christy
Encouraged. Let you wait, to hear me talking, till we’re astray in Erris, when Good Friday’s by, drinking a sup from a well, and making mighty kisses with our wetted mouths, or gaming in a gap or sunshine, with yourself stretched back unto your necklace, in the flowers of the earth.
Pegeen
In a lower voice, moved by his tone. I’d be nice so, is it?
Christy
With rapture. If the mitred bishops seen you that time, they’d be the like of the holy prophets, I’m thinking, do be straining the bars of Paradise to lay eyes on the Lady Helen of Troy, and she abroad, pacing back and forward, with a nosegay in her golden shawl.
Pegeen
With real tenderness. And what is it I have, Christy Mahon, to make me fitting entertainment for the like of you, that has such poet’s talking, and such bravery of heart?
Christy
In a low voice. Isn’t there the light of seven heavens in your heart alone, the way you’ll be an angel’s lamp to me from this out, and I abroad in the darkness, spearing salmons in the Owen, or the Carrowmore?
Pegeen
If I was your wife, I’d be along with you those nights, Christy Mahon, the way you’d see I was a great hand at coaxing bailiffs, or coining funny nicknames for the stars of night.
Christy
You, is it? Taking your death in the hailstones, or in the fogs of dawn.
Pegeen
Yourself and me would shelter easy in a narrow bush,
With a qualm of dread. but we’re only talking, maybe, for this would be a poor, thatched place to hold a fine lad is the like of you.
Christy
Putting his arm round her. If I wasn’t a good Christian, it’s on my naked knees I’d be saying my prayers and paters to every jackstraw you have roofing your head, and every stony pebble is paving the laneway to your door.
Pegeen
Radiantly. If that’s the truth, I’ll be burning candles from this out to the miracles of God that have brought you from the south today, and I, with my gowns bought ready, the way that I can wed you, and not wait at all.
Christy
It’s miracles, and that’s the truth. Me there toiling a long while, and walking a long while, not knowing at all I was drawing all times nearer to this holy day.
Pegeen
And myself, a girl, was tempted often to go sailing the seas till I’d marry a Jew-man, with ten kegs of gold, and I not knowing at all there was the like of you drawing nearer, like the stars of God.
Christy
And to think I’m long years hearing women talking that talk, to all bloody fools, and this the first time I’ve heard the like of your voice talking sweetly for my own delight.
Pegeen
And to think it’s me is talking sweetly, Christy Mahon, and I the fright of seven townlands for my biting tongue. Well, the heart’s a wonder; and, I’m thinking, there won’t be our like in Mayo, for gallant lovers, from this hour, today.
Drunken singing is heard outside. There’s my father coming from the wake, and when he’s had his sleep we’ll tell him, for he’s peaceful then.
They separate.
Michael
Singing outside.
The jailor and the turnkey
They quickly ran us down,
And brought us back as prisoners
Once more to Cavan town.
He comes in supported by Shawn.
There we lay bewailing
All in a prison bound. …
He sees Christy. Goes and shakes him drunkenly by the hand, while Pegeen and Shawn talk on the left.
Michael
To Christy. The blessing of God and the holy angels on your head, young fellow. I hear tell you’re after winning all in the sports below; and wasn’t it a shame I didn’t bear you along with me to Kate Cassidy’s wake, a fine, stout lad, the like of you, for you’d never see the match of it for flows of drink, the way when we sunk her bones
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