)
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.
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