Poets and Dreamers Part 25

ALL.

After all this, it's not enough From the man of cows--a half-ounce of snuff!

(_One of the girls hands the snuff round; they laugh and sneeze, taking pinches of it._)

OLD FARMER. My soul to the devil, Seagan, do the thing decently. Give out one of those fleeces you have in the cart with you.

MISER. I never saw the like of you for fools since I was born.

Is it mad you are?

ALL. From the man of cows, a half-ounce of snuff!

MISER. Oh, _maisead_, if there must be a present put down, take the fleece, and my share of misfortune on you! (_Three or four of the boys run out._)

OLD FARMER. Aurah, Seagan, what is your opinion of Raftery now?

He has you destroyed worse than the bush! (_The boys come back, a fleece with them._)

BOY. Here is the fleece, and it's very heavy it is. (_They put it down, and there falls a little bag out of it that bursts and scatters the money here and there on the floor._)

MISER. Ub-ub-bu! That is my share of money scattered on me that I got for my calves. (_He stoops down to gather it together. All the people burst out laughing again._)

OLD FARMER. _Maisead_, Seagan, where did you get the money? You told us you didn't sell your share of calves.

BLIND MAN.

He that got good gold For calves he never sold Must put good money down With a laugh, without a frown; Or I'll destroy that man With a bone-breaking rann.

I'll rhyme him by the book To a blue-watery look.

MISER. Oh, Raftery, don't do that. I tasted enough of your ranns just now, and I don't want another taste of them. There's threepence for you. (_He puts three pennies in the plate._)

BLIND MAN.

I'll put a new name upon This strong farmer, of Thrippeny John.

He'll be called, without a doubt, Thrippeny John from this time out.

Put your sovereign on my plate, Or that and worse will be your fate.

MISER. O, in the name of G.o.d, Raftery, stop your mouth and let me go! Here is the sovereign for you; and indeed it's not with my blessing I give it.

(BLIND MAN _plays on the fiddle. They all stand up and dance but_ SEAGAN NA STUCIARE, _who shakes his fist in_ BLIND MAN'S _face, and goes out._

_When they have danced for a minute or two_, BLIND MAN _stops fiddling and stands up._)

BLIND MAN. I was near forgetting: I am the only person here gave nothing to the woman of the house. (_Hands the plate of money to_ MARY.) Take that and my seven hundred blessings along with it, and that you may be as well as I wish you to the end of life and time.

Count the money now, and see what the neighbours did for you.

MARY. That is too much indeed.

MARTIN. You have too much done for us already.

BLIND MAN. Count it, count it; while I go over and try can I hear what sort of blessings Seagan na Stucaire is leaving after him.

(_Neighbours all crowd round counting the money._ BLIND MAN _goes to the door, looks back with a sigh, and goes quietly out._)

OLD FARMER. Well, you have enough to set you up altogether, Martin. You'll be buying us all up within the next six months.

MARTIN. Indeed I don't think I'll be going digging potatoes for other men this year, but to be working for myself at home.

(_The sound of horse's steps are heard. A young man comes into the house._)

YOUNG MAN. What is going on here at all? All the cars in the country gathered at the door, and Seagan na Stucaire going swearing down the road.

OLD FARMER. Oh, this is the great wedding was made by Raftery.--Where is Raftery? Where is he gone?

MARTIN (_going to the door_). He's not here. I don't see him on the road. (_Turns to young farmer._) Did you meet a blind fiddler going out the door--the poet Raftery?

YOUNG MAN. The poet Raftery? I did not; but I stood by his grave at Killeenan three days ago.

MARY. His grave? Oh, Martin, it was a dead man was in it!

MARTIN. Whoever it was, it was a man sent by G.o.d was in it.

THE LOST SAINT

AN OLD MAN.

A TEACHER.

CONALL AND OTHER CHILDREN.

SCENE.--_A large room as it was in the old time. A long table in it. A troop of children, a share of them eating their dinner, another share of them sitting after eating. There is a teacher stooping over a book in the other part of the room._

A CHILD (_standing up_). Come out, Felim, till we see the new hound.

ANOTHER CHILD. We can't. The master told us not to go out till we would learn this poem, the poem he was teaching us to-day.

ANOTHER CHILD. He won't let anyone at all go out till he can say it.

ANOTHER CHILD. _Maisead_, disgust for ever on the same old poem; but there is no fear for myself--I'll get out, never fear; I'll remember it well enough. But I don't think you will get out, Conall. Oh, there is the master ready to begin.

TEACHER (_lifting up his head_). Now, children, have you finished your dinner?

CHILDREN. Not yet. (_A poor-looking, grey old man comes to the door._)