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1

-..i

BY THE SAME WRITER:
PROSE
THE SECRET ROSE
THE CELTIC TWILIGHT
IDEAS OF GOOD AND EVIL

VERSE
POEMS

THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS

THE SHADOWY WATERS

IN THE SEVEN WOODS

PLAYS FOR AN IRISH THEATRE
VOLUME II

THE HOUR-GLASS AND
OTHER PLAYS

THE HOUR-GLASS

AND OTHER PLAYS

BEING VOLUME TWO OF PLAYS FOR
AN IRISH THEATRE

BY : *

W: B. YEATS

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

LONDON: KACMILLAN ft CO^ LTD.
I915

AU rigktt reserved

Copyright, 1904.
By the MACMILLAN COMPANY.

Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1904. Reprinted
December, 1904; April, 1906; September, 1909 ; October, 191X ;
November, X9ia ; February, 19x4 ; March, X9X5.

J. 8. Ctuhlng & Co. — Berwick ft Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

CONTENTS

PAoa
L The Hour-Glass • . • • • 1

II. Cathlbex Ni Hoouhan • . . 47

III. A Pot op Broth 81

"The Hoar-Glass," first performance, Dablin, March,
1903. '* Cathleen Ni Hoolihan/' first performance, Dnblin,
October, 1902. '* A Pot of Broth," first performance, Dnb-
lin, October, 1902. These plays were performed by The
Irish National Theatre Society, which has repeated them in
London, Dublin, and other places.

vli

THE HOUR-GLASS

Dramatis Prrsonje

A WiSB Man Some Pupils

A Fool An Akoel

Thb Wi8b Man^s Wifb and Two Childrsk

THE HOUR-GLASS

A MORALITY

Scbne: a large r<xyin with a door at the
hack and another at the side opening
to an iAfmer room. A desk and a
chair in the middle. An hour-glass
on a bracket near the door. A creepy
stool near it. Some benches. The wise
m^an sitting at his desk.

Wise Man [turning over the pages of

a hook"]. Where is that passage I am

to explain to my pupils to-day ? Here
3

4 THE HOUR-GLASS

it is, and the book says that it was
written by a beggar on the walls of
Babylon : " There are two living coun-
tries, the one visible and the one in-
visible ; and when it is winter with ns
it is summer in that country; and
when the November winds are up
among us it is lambing-time there."
I wish that my pupils had asked me
to explain any other passage, for this
is a hard passage. \^The Fool corner in
and stands at the door^ holdvag out his
hat. He has a pan/r of shears in the
other ho/nd."] It sounds to me like fool-
ishness; and yet that cannot be, for
the writer of this book, where I have
found so much knowledge, would not

THE HOUR-GLASS 5

have set it by itself on this page, and
surrounded it with so many images
and so many deep colours and so much
fine gilding, if it had been foolishness.

Fool. Give me a penny.

Wise Man ^turns to another page\.
Here he has written : " The learned
in old times forgot the visible coun-
try." That I understand, but I have
taught my learners better.

Fool. Won't you give me a penny?

WiSB Man. What do you want?
The words of the wise Saracen will
not teach you much.

Fool. Such a great wise teacher as
you are will not refuse a penny to a
Fool.

6 THE HOUR'-GLASS

WisB Man. What do you know
about wisdom ?

Fool. Oh, I know ! I know what
I have seen.

WiSB Man. What is it you have
seen ?

Fool. When I went by Kilcluan
where the bells used to be ringing
at the break of every day, I could
hear nothing but the people snoring in
their houses. When I went by Tub-
bervanach where the young men used
to be climbing the hill to the blessed
well, they were sitting at the cross-
roads playing cards. When I went
by Carrigoras where the friars used
to be fasting and serving the poor, I

THE HOUR-GLASS 7

saw them drinking wine and obeying
their wives. And when I asked what
misfortune had brought all these
changes, they said it was no misfor-
tune, but it was the wisdom they had
learned from your teaching.

Wise Man. Run round to the
kitchen, and my wife will give you
something to eat.

Fool. That is foolish advice for a
wise man to give.

WiSB Man. Why, Fool?

Fool. What is eaten is gone. I
want pennies for my bag. I must buy
bacon in the shops, and nuts in the
market, and strong drink for the time
when the sun is weak. And I want

8 THE HOUR-QLASS

snares to catch the rabbits and the
squirrels and the hares, and a pot to
cook them in.

WiSB Man. Go away. I have other
things to think of now than giving
you pennies.

Fool. Give me a penny and I will
bring you luck. Bresal the Fisherman
lets me sleep among the nets in his
loft in the winter-time because he says
I bring him luck; and in the summer-
time the wild creatures let me sleep
near their nests and their holes. It
is lucky even to look at me or to
touch me, but it is much more lucky
to give me a penny. [JSolds out his
hcmd.'] If I wasn*t lucky, I'd starve.

THE H0UR-GLA88 9

Wise Man. What have you got the
shears for?

Fool. I won't tell you. If I told
you, you would drive them away.

Wise Man. Whom would I drive
away?

Fool. I won't tell you.

Wise Man. Not if I give you a
penny ?

Fool. No.

Wise Man. Not if I give you two
pennies ?

Fool. You will be very lucky if you
give me two pennies, but I won't tell
you.

Wise Man. Three pennies ?

Fool. Four, and I will tell you!

10 THE H0UB-GLA88

WiSB Man. Very well, four. But I will
not call you Teigue the Fool any longer.

Fool. Let me come close to you
where nobody will hear me. But first
you must promise you will , not drive
them away. [Wise Man nods.'j Every
day men go out dressed in black and
spread great black nets over the hills,
great black nets.

Wise Man. Why do they do that?

Fool. That they may catch the
feet of the angels. But every morning,
just before the dawn, I go out and
cut the nets with my shears, and the
angels fly away.

Wise Man. Ah, now I know that
you are Teigue the Fool. You have

THE HOUR-GLASS 11

told me that I am wise, and I have
never seen an angel.

Fool, I have seen plenty of angels.

WiSB Man. Do you bring luck to
the angels too ?

Fool. Oh, no, no! No one could
do that. But they are always there if
one looks about one; they are like the
blades of grass.

Wise Man. When do you see them ?

Fool. When one gets quiet; then
something wakes up inside one, some-
thing happy and quiet like the stars —
not like the seven that move, but like
the fixed stars. [He jmnts iipwa/rd.']

Wise Man. And what happens
then?

12 THE HOUR'-OLAaS

Fool. Then all in a minute one
smells summer flowers, and tall people
go by, happy and laughing, and their
clothes are the colour of burning sods.

Wise Man. Is it long since you
have seen them, Teigue the Fool ?

Fool. Not long, glory be to God!
I saw one coming behind me just
now. It was not laughing, but it had
clothes the colour of burning sods, and
there was something shining about its
head.

Wise Man. Well, there are your
four pennies. You, a fool, say "Glory
be to God," but before I came the
wise men said it. Run away now. I
must ring the bell for my scholars.

THB HOUB-OLASa 13

Fool. Four pennies! That means a
great deal of luck. Great teacher, I
have brought you plenty of luck! [^He
goes out shaking the hag.'^

Wise Man. Though they call him
Teigue the Fool, he is not more foolish
than everybody used to be, with their
dreams and their preachings and their
three worlds; but I have overthrown
their three worlds with the seven sci-
ences. ^He touches the looks with his
hands.'] With Philosophy that was
made for the lonely star, I have
taught them to forget Theology ; with
Architecture, I have hidden the ram-
parts of their cloudy heaven ; with
Music, the fierce planets' daughter

14 THE HOUB-^LASa

whose hair is always on fire, and with
Grammar that is the moon's daughter,
I have shut their ears to the imagi-
nary harpings and speech of the angels ;
and I have made formations of battle
with Arithmetic that have put the
hosts of heaven to the rout. But,
Rhetoric and Dialectic, that have been
born out of the light star and out of
the amorous star, you have been my
spearman and my catapult! Oh! my
swift horsemen ! Oh ! my keen darting
arguments, it is because of you that I
have overthrown the hosts of foolish-
ness! [An Angel, m a dress the colour
of emherSj omd ca/rrying a blossoming
apple hough m his ha/ad omd with a gilded

THE H0UB-GLA88 IS

halo about his heady stamds v^pon the
threshold.'^ Before I came, men's minds
were stufifed with folly about a heaven
where birds sang the hours, and about
angels that came and stood upon men's
thresholds. But I have locked the
visions into heaven and turned the
key upon them. Well, I must consider
this passage about the two countries.
My mother used to say something of
the kind. She would say that when ■
our bodies sleep our souls awake, and
that whatever withers here ripens yon-
der, and that harvests are snatched
from us that they may feed invisible
people. But the meaning of the book
must be different, for only fools and

16 THE H0UR-QLA88

women have thoughts like that; theh
thoughts were never written upon the
walls of Babylon. [Sie sees the AkgbIi.]
What are you ? Who are you ? I
think I saw some that were like you
in my dreams when I was a child —
that bright thing, that dress that is
the colour of embers ! But I have done
with dreams, I have done with dreams.

Angel. I am the Angel of the
Most High God.

Wise Man. Why have you come to
me?

Angel. I have brought you a . mes-
sage.

Wise Man. What message have you
got for me?

THE HOUR-GLASa IT

Angel. You will die within the hour.
You will die when the last grains have
fallen in this glass. [Se tva^na the hour-
glass.'^

Wise Man. My time to die has not
come. I have my pupils. I have a
young wife and children that I cannot
leave. Why must I die?

Angel. You must die because no
souls have passed over the threshold of
heaven since you came into this coun-
try. The threshold is grassy, and the
gates are rusty, and the angels that
keep watch there are lonely.

Wise Man. Where will death bring
me to?

Angel. The doors of heaven will

18 THE HOUR-QLASa

not open to you, for you have denied the
existence of heaven ; and the doors of
purgatory will not open to you, for you
have denied the existence of purgatory.

WiSB Man. But I have also denied
the existence of hell!

Angel. Hell is the place of those
who deny.

Wise Man [kneels]. I have indeed
denied everything and have taught
others to deny. I have believed in
nothing but what my senses told me.
But, oh! beautiful Angel, forgive me,
forgive me I

Angel. You should have asked for-
giveness long ago.

Wise Man. Had I seen your face

THE HOUB-GLASS 19

as I see it now, oh! beautiful Angel,
I would have believed, I would have
asked forgiveness. Maybe you do not
know how easy it is to doubt. Storm,
death, the grass rotting, many sick-
nesses, those are the messengers that
came to me. Oh! why are you silent?
You carry the pardon of the Most
High; give it to me! I would kiss
your hands if I were not afraid — no,
no, the hem of your dress!

Angel. You let go undying hands
too long ago to take hold of them now.

Wise Man. You cannot understand.
You live in that country people only
see in their dreams. You live in a
country that we can only dream about.

20 THE H0UB-GLA8S

Maybe it is as hard for you to under-
stand why we disbelieve as it is for us
to believe. Oh ! what have I said I
You know everything 1 Give me time
to undo what I have done. Give me
a year — a month — a day — an hour I
Give me to this hour's end, that I may
undo what I have done I

Angel. You cannot undo what you
have done. Yet I have this power
with my message. If you can find
one that believes before the hour's end,
you shall come to heaven after the
years of purgatory. For, from one fiery
seed, watched over by those that sent
me, the harvest can come again to heap
the golden threshing-floor. But now

THE H0UB-GLA8S 21

farewell, for I am weary of the weight
of time.

Wise Man. Blessed be the Father,
blessed be the Son, blessed be the
Spirit, blessed be the Messenger They
have sent I

Angel [at the door cmd poinimg at the
hourglass]. In a little while the upper-
most glass will be empty. [^Goes out.'\

Wise Man. Everything will be well
with me. I will call my pupils; they
only say they doubt. [Pulls the bell.']
They will be here in a moment. I
hear their feet outside on the path.
They want to please me.; they pretend
that they disbelieve. Belief is too old
to be overcome all in a minute. Be-

22 THE HOUB-QLASa

sides, I can prove what I once dis-
proved. \^Another pvU at ike hdl^ They
are coming now. I will go to my
desk. I will speak quietly, as if noth-
ing had happened. \He stcmds at the
desk with a fixed look in his eyes."]
Enter Pupils cmd the Fool.

Fool. Leave me alone. Leave me
alone. Who is that pulling at my bag?
King's son, do not pull at my bag.

A Young Man. Did your friends
the angels give you that bag? Why
don't they fill your bag for you?

Fool. Give me pennies I Give nae
some pennies I

A Young Man. Let go his cloak, it
is coming to pieces. What do you

THE HOUR-QLASS 23

want pennies for, with that great bag
at your waist?

Fool. I want to buy bacon in the
shops, and nuts in the market, and
strong drink for the time when the sun
is weak, and snares to catch rabbits and
the squirrels that steal the nuts, and
hares, and a great pot to cook them in.

A Young Man. Why don't your
friends tell you where buried treasures
are?

Another. Why don't they make
you dream about treasures? If one
dreams three times, there is always
treasure.

Fool ^holdmg out his hat]. Give me
pennies I Give me pennies!

24 THE HOUR-GLASS

They throw permies into his hat. Eh
is atamdvng close to the door^ that he may
hold out his h/it to each newcomer.

A Young Man. Master, will you
have Teigue the Fool for a scholar?

Another Young Man. Teigue, will
you give us your pennies if we teach
you lessons? No, he goes to school
for nothing on the mountains. Tell us
what you learn on the mountains,
Teigue ?

Wise Man. Be silent all. [JST^ hca
heen stcmdvng silent^ looking away.]
Stand still in your places, for there
is something I would have you tell
me.

A momenfs pause. They all stand

THE HOUR-GLASS 26

rotmd in their places. Teigvs sUll stands
at the door.

Wise Man. Is there anyone
amongst you who believes in God?
In heaven ? Or in purgatory ? Or in
hell?

All the Young Men. No one, Mas-
ter I No one I

Wise Man. I knew you would all
say that ; but do not be afraid. I
will not be angry. Tell me the truth.
Dp you not believe ?

A Young Man. We once did, but
you have taught us to know better*

Wise Man. Oh 1 teaching, teaching
does not go very deep ! The heart re-
mains unchanged under it all. You

26 THE HOUB-GLASS

believe just as you always did, and
you are afraid to tell me.

A Young Man. No, no. Master.

Wise Man. If you tell me that
you believe I shall be glad and not
angry.

A Young Man [to his neighbour].
He wants somebody to dispute with.

His Neighbour. I knew that from
the beginning.

A Young Man. That is not the
subject for to-day ; you were going to
talk about the words the beggar wrote
upon the walls of Babylon.

Wise Man. If there is one amongst
you that believes, he will be my best
friend. Surely there is one amongst

THE HOUR-GLASS 27

you. £They a/re all silent."] Surely
what you learned at your mother's
knees has not been so soon forgotten.

A Young Man. Master, till you
came, no teacher in this land was able
to get rid of foolishness and ignorance.
But every one has listened to you,
every one has learned the truth. You
have had your last disputation.

Another. What a fool you made
of that monk in the market-place !
He had not a word to say.

Wise Man [comes from his desk amd
stands a/mong them in the middle of the
room"]. Pupils, dear friends, I have de-
ceived you all this time. It was I
myself who was ignorant. There is a

28 THM HOUB-^LAS8

Go<L There is a heaTen. Tliere ia
fire that passes, and there is fire that
lasts for ever.

Teiffue^ tikrough aU ikig^ is mtUng on
a gtocl hy the door^ reckoning on his fin-
gers what he will hwg with his numey.

A Young Man \to (mother^ He will
not be satisfied till we dispute with
him. [To the Wise Man] Prove it,
Master. Have you seen them ?

Wise Man [m a low, solemn voioe^.
Just now, before you came in, some one
came to the door, and when I looked
up I saw an angel standing there.

A YouNQ Man. You were in a
dream. Anybody can see an angel in
his dreams.

THE H0UR-GLA88 29

Wise Man. Oh, my God ! It was
not a dream. I was awake, waking as
I am now. I tell you I wad awake
as I am now.

A YoxTNQ Man. Some dream when
they are awake, but they are the crazy,
and who would believe what they say?
Foi^give me, Master, but that is what
you taught me to say. That is what
you said to the monk when he spoke
of the visions of the saints and the
martyrs.

Another Young Man. You see how
well we remember your teaching.

Wise Man. Out, out from my
sight I I want some one with belief.
I must find that grain the Angel spoke

30 THE H0UR-GLA88

of before I die. I tell you I must
find it, and you answer me with argu-
ments. Out with you, or I will beat you
with my stick ! [^The yowng men laicgh.~\

A Young Man. How well he plays
at faith 1 He is like the monk when
he had nothing more to say.

Wise Man. Out, out, or I will lay
this stick about your shoulders ! Out
with you, though you are a King's
son 1 l^They begin to hurry out^

A Young Man. Come, come; he
wants us to find some one who will
dispute with him. \AU go out'\

Wise Man. \Alone. He goes to the
door at the side.'] I will call my wife.
She will believe ; women always be-

THE H0UB'-0LA88 81

lieve. [He opens the door a/nd caUs.'^
Bridget ! Bridget I [Bridget comes in
wearinff her aprouj her sleeves turned up
from her fiov/ry (irms.'] Bridget, tell
me the truth ; do not say what you
think will please me. Do you some-
times say your prayers ?

Bridget. Prayers ! No, you taught
me to leave them off long ago. At
first I was sorry, but I am glad now,
for I am sleepy in the evenings.

Wise Man. But do you not believe
in God?

Bridget. Oh, a good wife only be-
lieves what her husband tells her I

Wise Man. But sometimes when
you are alone, when I am in the school

82 THE HOUB'-GLASS

and the children asleep^ do you riot
think about the saints, about the things
you used to believe in? What do you
think of when you are alone?

Bridget [considering']. I think about
nothing. Sometimes I wonder if iht
pig is fattening well, or I go out to
see if the crows are picking up the
chickens' food.

Wise Man. Oh, what can I d6! ft
there nobody who believes? I must
go and find somebody! J^Jffe gm
toward the door hut stops with hi$ «y«*
Jlxed on the hour-ffZass.] I cannot go
out; I cannot leave that!

Bridget. You want somebody to get
up an argument with.

THE H0US-QLA8B 33

WisB Man. Oh, look out of the door
and tell me if there is anybody there in
the street. I cannot leave this glass;
somebody might shake it! Then the
sand would fall more quickly.

Bbidobt. I don't understand what
you are saying. [Looks out.'] There is a
great crowd of people talking to your
pupils.

Wise Man. Oh, run out, Bridget,
and see if they have found somebody
that believes I

Bbidoet [wiping her o/tTOB in her
apron cmd pvUing down her sleeves].
It's a hard thing to be married to a
man of learning that must be always
having arguments. [Croes out and shouts

84 THE HOUR-^tLAaa

through the kitchen door,'] Don't be
meddling with the bread, children,
while Pm out.

Wise Man [kneeh doion]. ^^Salvum
me fac^ Dens — salvwm — saZvtmi. ..." I
have forgotten it all. It is thirty years
since I have said a prayer. I must
pray in the common tongue, like a
clown begging in the market, like
Teigue the Fool! [^He prays.'] Help
me, Father, Son, and Spirit!

Bridget entersy followed hy the Fool,
who is holding out his hat to her.

Fool. Give me something; give me
a penny to buy bacon in the shops, and
nuts in the market, and strong drink
for the time when the sun grows weak.

THE HOUB-GLASa 35

Bbidgbt. I have no pennies. [7b
the Wise Man.] Your pupils cannot
find anybody to argue with you. There
is nobody in the whole country who
had enough belief to fill a pipe with
since you put down the monk. Can't
you be quiet now and not always be
wanting to have arguments? It must
be terrible to have a mind like that.

Wise Man. I am lost! I am lost!

Bridget. Leave me alone now; I
have to make the bread for you and
the children.

Wise Man. Out of this, woman, out
of this, I say! [Bridget goes through
the kitchen doorJ^ Will nobody find a
way to help me! But she spoke of

86 THE H0UB-GLA88

my children. I had forgotten them.
They will believe. It is only those I
who have reason that doubt; the
young are full of faith. Bridget,
Bridget, send my children to me!

Bridget [inside j. Your father wants
you; run to hira now. [The two chU-
dren come in. They stand together a
little way from the threshold of the
kitchen dooTy looking timidly at their
father.'j

Wise Man. Children, what do you
believe? Is there a heaven? Is there
a hell? Is there a purgatory?

FiBST Child. We haven't forgotten,
father.

The Other Child. no, father.

THE HOUB-QLASa 87

j^TTiej/ loth speak together as if i/n school.'^
There is no heaven; there is no hell;
there is nothing we cannot see.

FiBST Child. Foolish people used to
think that there were, but you are very
learned and you have taught us better.

Wise Man. You are just as bad as
the others, just as bad as the others !
Out of the room with you, out of the
room ! \The children begin to cry amd
run OAJoay.'X Go away, go away ! I will
teach you better — no, I will never
teach you again. Go to your mother —
no, she will not be able to teach them.
. . . Help them, O God I [Alone'] The
grains are going very quickly. Thepe
is very little sand in the uppermost

38 THE HOUR-GLASS

glass. Somebody will come for me in
a moment; perhaps he is at the door
now! All creatures that have reason
doubt. O that the grass and the
planets could speak ! Somebody has
said that they would wither if they
doubted. O speak to me, O grass
blades! O fingers of God's certainty,
speak to me. You are millions and
you will not speak. I dare not know
the moment the messenger will come
for me. I will cover the glass. [Se
covers it and brings it to the desky a/nd
the Fool is sitting hy the door fiddling
with some fiowers which he has stuck in
his hat. He has hegun to hlow a damde-
lion head.'] What are you doing?

THE H0UR-GLA88 39

Fool. Wait a moment. [Se hlows.'j
Four, five, six.

Wise Man. What are you doing
that for?

Fool. I am blowing at the dande-
lion to find out what time it is.

Wise Man. You have heard every-
thing! That is why you want to find
out what hour it is ! You are waiting
to see them coming through the door
to carry me away. [Fool goes on blow-
inff.~\ Out through the door with you !
I will have no one here when they
come. [3e seises the Fool hy the shoul-
ders^ and hegins to force him out through
the dooTy then suddenly changes his mind,^
No, I have something to ask you. [ITe

40 THE HOUR'-QLASS

drags him back into the room.'j Is there
a heaven ? Is there a hell ? Is there
a purgatory?

Fool. So you ask me now. I
thought when you were asking your
pupils, I said to myself, if he would
ask Teigue the Fool, Teigue could tell
him all about it, for Teigue has learned
all about it when he has been cutting
the nets.

Wise Man. Tell me; tell me!

Fool. I said, Teigue knows every-
thing. Not even the owls and the
hares that milk the cows have Teigue's
wisdom. But Teigue will not speak;
he says nothing.

WisB Man. Tell me, tell me 1 For

THE HOUB-GLASS 41

under the cover the grains are falling,
and when they are all fallen I shall die ;
and my soul will be lost if I have not
found somebody that believes ! Speak,
speak!

Fool [looking vme]. No, no, I
won^t tell you what is in my mind,
and I won't tell you what is in my
bag. You might steal away my
thoughts. I met a bodach on the road
yesterday, and he said, « Teigue, tell
me how many pennies are in your
bag. I will wager three pennies that
there are not twenty pennies in your
bag; let me put in my hand and count
them.'^ But I pulled the strings
tighter, like this ; and when I go to

42 THE H0UB-QLA88

sleep every night I hide the bag where
no one knows.

Wise Man [goes toward the hoiM^
glass as if to tmcover Wj. No, no, I
have not the courage I [Se kneds.']
Have pity upon me. Fool, and tell
me I

Fool. Ah I Now, that is different.
I am not afraid of you now. But
I must come near you; somebody
in there might hear what the Angel
said.

Wise Man. Oh, what did the Angel
tell you?

Fool. Once I was alone oh the
hills, and an Angel came by and he
said, "Teigue the Fool, do not forget

THE H0UR-0LA88 48

the Three Fires : the Fire that punishes,
the Fire that purifies, and the Fire
wherein the soul rejoices for ever ! "

Wise Man. He believes! I am
saved I Help me. The sand has run
out. I am dying. . . . [Fool helps him
to his chmr.'] I am going from the
country of the seven wandering stars,
and I am going to the country of the
fixed stars! Ring the bell. [Fool
rings the hell.'j Are they coming ? Ah !
now I hear their feet. ... I will
speak to them. I understand it all
now. One sinks in on God; we do
not see the truth; God sees the truth
in us. I cannot speak, I am too weak.
Tell them, Fool, that when the life

44 THE HOUR'-OLASS

and the mind are broken, the truth
comes through them like peas through
a broken peascod. But no, I will pray
— yet I cannot pray. Pray, Fool, that
they may be given a sign and save
their souls alive. Your prayers are
better than mine.

Fool how8 his head. Wise Man's
head amka on . his a/rm on the hooks.
Pupils enter.

A Young Man. Look at the Fool
turned bell-ringer !

Another. What have you called us
in for, Teigue? What are you going
to tell us?

Another. No wonder he has had
.dreams! See, he is fast asleep now.

THE H0UR-0LA88 45

\^Ooes over and touches the Wise Man.]
Oh, he is dead!

Fool. Do not stir! He asked for a
sign that you might be saved. [AU
a/re silent for a moment.'^ Look what
has come from his mouth ... a little
winged thing ... a little shining thing.
It has gone to the door. [^The Angel
appea/rs in the doorway^ stretches out her
hxmds and closes them ogavnT^ The Angel
has taken it in her hands . . . she will
open her hands in the Garden of Para-
dise. \They all kneel.'j

CUBTAIN

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

Persoits

PbTBB GlLLAlTB

MicHABL GiLLANB. ^ffU SOU, goifig to be married

Patrick Gillane. — A lad of twelve, Michabl's broiker

Bbidobt Gillane. — Peter's wife

Delia Cahbl. — Engaged to Michael

The Poob Old Woman

Nbiohboubs

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

Scene: Interior of a cottage close to KiJr
lala, in 1798. Bridget is standing at
a table vmdovng a pa/rcel. Peter is
sitting at one side of the f/re^ Patrick
at the other.

Peter. What is that sound I hear?

Patrick. I don't hear anything. \ne
listens.'] I hear it now. It's like cheer-
ing. [Se goes to the window o/nd looks
out."] I wonder what they are cheering
about. I don't see anybody.

Peter. It might be a hurling match.
^ B 49

60 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

Patrick. There's no hurling to-day. It
must be down in the town the cheering is.

Bbidqet. I suppose the boys must
be having some sport of their own.
Come over here, Peter, and look at
MichaePs wedding clothes.

Peter [shifts his chair to table]. Those
are grand clothes, indeed.

Bridget. You hadn't clothes like
that when you married me, and no coat
to put on of a Sunday more than any
other day.

Peter. That is true, indeed. We
never thought a son of our own would
be wearing a suit of that sort at his
wedding, or have so good a place to
bring a wife to.

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 51

Patrick ^ho is still at the wmdawj.
There is an old woman coming down the
road. I don't know is it here she's coming.

Bridget. It will be a neighbour
coming to hear about Michael's wed-
ding. Can you see who it is?

Patrick. I think it is a stranger,
and she's not coming to the house. She
has not turned up the path. She's
turned into the gap that goes down
where Maurteen and his sons are shear-
ing sheep. [He turns towards them.'] Do
you remember what Winnie of the
Cross Roads was saying the other night
about the strange woman that goes
through the country the time there's
war or trouble coming?

62 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

Bbidobt. Don't be bothering us
about Winnie's talk but go and open
the door for your brother. I hear him
coming up the path.

Peter. I hope he has brought De
lia's fortune with him safe, for fear
her people might go back of the bar-
gain, and I after making it. Trouble
enough I had making it. [Patrick
opens ike door^ cmd Michael comes inJ^

Bridget. What kept you, Michael?
We were looking out for you this long
time.

Michael. I went round by the
priest's house to bid him be ready to
marry us to-morrow.

Bridget. Did he say anything?

CATHLESN NI HOOLIHAN 53

' Michael. He said it was a very
nice match, and that he was never
better pleased to marry any two in his
parish than myself and Delia Gahel.

Peter. Have you got the fortune,
Michael ?

Michael. Here it is. [He puts
hag on the table a/nd goes over a/ad learns
agamst chvmm,ey jamh.'j

Bbidget, who has been all this time
eosamining the clothes^ pulling the seamSy
a/nd trying the lining of the pockets, etc.,
puts the clothes on the dresser.

Peter [getting up and taking the hag
in his hand and ttiming out the money^.
Yes, I made the bargain well for you,
Michael. Old John Cahel would sooner

54 CATHLEEN Nl HOOLIHAN

have kept a share of this a while
longer. "Let me keep the half of it
till the first boy is bom,'* says he.
"You will not," says L "Whether
there is or is not a boy, the whole
hundred pounds must be in Michael's
hands before he brings your daughter
to the house." The wife spoke to him
then, and he gave in at the end.

Bridget. You seem well pleased to
be handling the money, Peter.

Peter. Indeed, I wish I'd had the
luck to get a hundred pounds, or
twenty pounds itself, with the wife I
married.

Bridget. Well, if I didn't bring
much, I didn't get much. What had

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 65

you the day I married you but a flock
of hens and you feeding them, and a
few lambs and you driving them to
the market at Ballina? \She ia vexedy
cmd hcmgs a jug on the dresser."^ If I
brought no fortune I worked it out in
my bones, laying down the baby —
Michael, that is standing there now —
on a stook of straw, while I dug the
potatoes, and never asking big dresses
or anything but to be working.

Petbb. That is true, indeed, [ffi?
pats her a/rm,'\

Bbidget. Leave me alone now till
I ready the house for the woman that
is to come into it.

Petbb. You are the best woman in

56 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

Ireland, but money is good, too. \H6
begins Jtandling the money agai/n cmd sits
dotvn.'j I never thought to see so
much money within my four walls.
We can do great things now we have
it. We can take the ten acres of land
we have a chance of since Jamsie
Dempsey died, and stock it. We will
go to the fair of Ballina to buy the
stock. Did Delia ask any of the
money for her own use, Michael?

Michael. She did not, indeed. She
did not seem to take much notice of
it, or to look at it at all.

Bridget. That's no wonder. Why
would she look at it when she had
yourself to look at — a fine strong

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 57

young man. It is proud she must be
to get you — a good, steady boy, that
will make use of the money, and will
not be running through it, or spending
it on drink, like another.

Pbtbe. It's likely Michael himself
was not thinking much of the fortune
either, but of what sort the girl was
to look at.

Michael ^commg over toward the
tahW]. Well, you would like a nice
comely girl to be beside you, and to
go walking with you. The fortune
only lasts for a while, but the woman
will be there always.

Patrick ^turning rotmd from the
window^. They are cheering again

68 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

down in the town. Maybe they are
landing horses from Enniscrone. They
do be cheering when the horses take
the water well.

Michael. There are no horses in it.
Where would they be going and no
fair at hand? Go down to the town,
Patrick, and see what is going on.

Patrick ^opena the door to go outj
hut stops for a moment on the thresholdX
Will Delia remember, do you think, to
bring the greyhound pup she promised
me when she would be coming to the
house ?

Michael. She will, surely. [Patbick
goes outj leaving the door qpen.l^

Peteb. It will be Patricks turn

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 59

next to be looking for a fortune, but
he won't find it so easy to get it, and
he with no place of his own.

Bbidget. I do be thinking some-
times, now things are going so well
with us, and the Cahels such a good
back to us in the district, and Delia's
own uncle a priest, we might be put
in the way of making Patrick himself
a priest some day, and he so good at
his books.

Pbtbb. Time enough, time enough ;
you have always your head full of plans.

Bbidget. We will be well able to
give him learning, and not to send
him tramping the country like a poor
scholar that lives on charity.

60 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAlT

Michael. They're not done cheering
yet. [-S^ goes over to the door cmd stands
there for a moment, putting up his hcmd
to shade his eyesJ]

Bridget. Do you see anything/

Michael. I see an old woman com-
ing up the path.

Bridget. Who is it, I wonder?

Michael. I don't think it's one of
the neighbours, but she has her cloak
over her face.

Bridget. Maybe it's the same
woman Patrick saw a while ago. It
might be some poor woman heard we
were making ready for the wedding,
and came to look for her share.

Peter. I may as well put the

OATHLBEN NI HOOLIHAN 61

money out of sight. There's no use
leaving it out for every stranger to
look at. ^He goes over to a la/rge box
hy the wall^ opens it wnd puts the hag in^
cmd fwnMes with the lock.']

Michael. There she is, father 1 [An
Old Woman passes the window slowly.
She looks at Michael as she passes.] I'd
sooner a stranger not to come to the
house the night before the wedding.

Bridget. Open the door, Michael;
don't keep the poor woman waiting.
[The Old Woman comes in; Michael
stands aside to make way for her.]

The Poob Old Woman. God save
all here!

Peter. God save you kindly.

62 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAIT

The Poor Old Woman. You have
good shelter here.

Peter. You are welcome to what-
ever shelter we have.

Bridget. Sit down there by the fire
and welcome.

The Poor Old Woman \wa/rming her
hands'^. There's a hard wind outside.

Michael watches her owriously from
the door. Peter comes over to the tcMe.

Peter. Have you travelled far to-
day?

The Poor Old Woman. I have trav-
elled far, very far; there are few have
travelled so far as myself.

Peter. It is a pity, indeed, for any
person to have lio place of ie^^wn.

eel) ^^

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 68

The Poor Old Woman. That is true
for you indeed, and it is long I am on
the road since I first went wandering.
It is seldom I have any rest.

Bbidget. It is a wonder you are not
worn out with so much wandering.

The Poor Old Woman. Sometimes
my feet are tired and my hands are
quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.
When the people see me quiet, they think
old age has come on me, and that all the
stir has gone out of me.

Bridget. What was it put you astray?

The Poor Old Woman. Too many
strangers in the house.

BBtDGET. Indeed you look as if you
had had your share of trouble.

64 CATHLBEN NI HOOLIHAN

The Poor Old Woman. I have had
trouble indeed.

Bbidgbt. What was it put the
trouble on you?

The Poor Old Woman. My land
that was taken from me.

Peter. Was it much land they took
from you?

The Poor Old Woman. My four
beautiful green fields.

Peter [adde to Bridget]. Do you
think could she be the Widow Casey
that was put out of her holding at
Kilglas a while ago?

Bridget. She is not. I saw the
Widow Casey one time at the market
in Ballina, a stout, fresh woman.

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 66

Pbtbb [to Old Woman]. Did you
hear a noise of cheering, and you com-
ing up the hill ?

The Poor Old Woman. I thought I
heard the noise I used to hear when my
friends came to visit me. [She legi/M
9i/ngmg half to h^rsdf^

I will go cry with the woman.
For yellow-haired Donough is dead ;
With a hempen rope for a neckcloth
And a white cloth on his head.

Michael [coming from the door^.
What is that you are singing, ma'am?

The Poor Old Woman. Singing 1
am about a man I knew one time, yel-
low-haired Donough, that was hanged

€6 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

in Galway. [She ffoes on singing much
Zoudery

I am come to cry with you, woman.
My hair is unwound and unbound;
I remember him ploughing his field,
Turning up the red side of the ground.

And building his bam on the hill
With the good mortared stone ;
! we'd have pulled down the gallows
Had it happened in Enniscrone!

Michael. What was it brought him
to his death?

The Poor Old Woman. He died for
loVe of me; many a man has died for
love of me.

Peter [aside to Bridget]. Her trou-
ble has put her wits astray.

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 67

Michael. Is it long since that song
was made? Is it long since he got his
death ?

The Poor Old Woman. Not long,
not long. But there were others that
died for love of me a long time ago.

Michael. Were they neighbours of
your own, ma'am?

The Poor Old Woman. Come here
beside me and I'll tell you about them.
[Michael dts down beside her at the
hewrth."] There was a red man of the
O'Donells from the North, and a man
of the O'Sullivans from the South, and
there was one Brian that lost his life
at Clontarf, by the sea, and there were
a great many in the West, some that

68 CATHLEEN Nl HOOLIHAN

died hundreds of years ago, and there
are some that will die to-morrow.

Michael. Is it in the West that men
will die to-morrow?

The Poor Old Woman. Come nearer,
nearer to me.

Bridget. Is she right, do you think ?
or is she a woman from the North?

Peter. She doesn't know well what
she's talking about, with the want and
the trouble she has gone through.

Bridget. The poor thing, we should
treat her well.

Peter. Give her a drink of milk and
a bit of the oaten cake.

Bridget. Maybe we should give her
something along with that to bring her

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 69

on her way — a few pence, or a shilling
itself, and we with so much money in
the house.

Peteb. Indeed, I'd not begrudge it
to her if we had it to spare ; but if we
go running through what we have, we'll
soon have to break the hundred pounds,
and that would be a pity.

Bridget. Shame on you, Peter, Give
her the shilling and your blessing with
it, or our own luck will go from us.

Peteb goes to the box and takes out a
shilling.

Bridget [to the Old Woman]. Will
you have a drink of milk?

The Poor Old Woman. It is not
food or drink that I want.

70 CATHLEEN NI HOOLTHAN

Peter \offermg the shilling]. Here is
something for you.

The Poor Old Woman, That is
not what I want. It is not silver I
want.

Peter. What is it you would be
asking for?

The Poor Old Woman. If anyone
would give me help he must give me
himself, he must give me all. [Peter
goes over to the tahle^ staring at the shil-
ling in his hand in a bewildered way a/nd
sta/nds whispering to Bridget.]

Michael. Have you no man of your
own, ma'am?

The Poor Old Woman. I have not.
With all the lovers that brought me

CATHLEEN NI HWLIHAN 71

their love, I never set out the . bed for
any.

Michael. Are you lonely going the
roads, ma'am?

The Poor Old Woman. I have my
thoughts and I have my hopes.

Michael. What hopes have you to
hold to?

The Poob Old Woman. The hope
of getting my beautiful fields back
again ; the hope of putting the stran
gers out of my house.

Michael. What way will you do
that, ma'am?

The Poor Old Woman. I have
good friends that will help me. They
are gathering to help me now. I am

72 CATHLBBN NI HOOLIHAN

not afraid. If they are put down to-
day, they will get the upper hand to-
morrow. [48^ gets up."] I must be
going to meet my friends. They are
coming to help me, and I must be there
to welcome them. I must call the
neighbours together to welcome them.

Michael. I will go with you.

Bridget. It is not her friends you
have to go and welcome, Michael; it is
the girl coming into the house you
have to welcome. You have plenty to
do; it is food and drink you have to
bring to the house. The woman that
is coming is not coming with empty
hands; you would not have an empty
house before her. [To the Old

CATEfLJBMN NI HOOLIHAN 78

WOUAK] Maybe you don't know,
ma'am, that my son is going to foe
marrii^ to-morrow.

TfiB Poor Old Woman. It is not
a man going to his marriage that I
look to for help.

Pbtbr \to Bridget], Who is she, do
you think, at all?

Bridget. You did not tell us your
nam<^ yet, ma'am.

The Poor Old Woman. Some call
me the Poor Old Woman, and there
are some that call me Cathleen the
daughter of Hoolihan.

Peter. I think I knew some one of
that name once. Who was it, I won-
der? It must have been some one I

74 CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

knew when I was a boy. No^ no, I
remember I heard it in a song. :

The Poor Old Woman \w7io is standi
ing m the doorway^. They are wonder-
ing that there were songs made for
me; there have been many songs made
for me. I heard one on the wind this
morning. [She sings]

Do not make a great keening
When the graves have been dug to-morrow.
Do not call the white-scarfed riders
To the burying that shall be to-morrow.
Do not spread food to call strangers
To the wakes that shall be to-morrow.
Do not give money for prayers
For the dead that shall die to-morrotr.
They will have no need of prayers, they will
have no need of prayers.

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN 76

Michael. I do not know what that
song means; but tell me something I
can do for you.

Peter. Come over to me, Michael.

Michael. Hush, father; listen to
her.

The Poor Old Woman. It is a
hard service they take that help me.
Many that are red-cheeked now will be
pale-cheeked; many that have been free
to walk the hills and the bogs and
the rushes will be sent to walk hard
streets in far countries; many a good
plan will be broken; many that have
gathered money will not stay to spend
it; many a child will be bom and
there will be no father at its christen-

76 CATBLEEN NI HOOLIHAN

ing to give it a name. They that had
red cheeks will have pale cheeks for
my sake; and for all that they will
think they are well paid. [She goes out.
Her voice is hea/rd oiUdide avnging^

They shall be remembered for ever
They shall be alive for ever
They shall be speaking for ever
The people shall hear them for ever.

Bridget \to Pbtbr]. Look at him,
Peter; he has the look of a man that
has got the touch. \Ra/h8vifig her voic4j
Look here, Michael, at the weddinig
clothes Ijjakinff clothes from dresser'j. You
have a right to fit them on now. It
would be a pity to-morrow if they did

CATHLESy NI HOOLIHAN 77

not fit; the boys would be laughing at
you. Take them, Michael, and go into
the room and fit them on. ^She puts
them an hie a/rm.'^

Michael. What wedding are you
talkmg of? What clothes will I be
wearing to-morrow?

Bridget. These are the clothes you
are going to wear when you marry
Delia Cahel to-morrow.

Michael. I had forgotten that. \ne
looks at the dothes omd tmms toward the
wner Toom^ but stops at the sotmd of
cheering outside.'^

Peter. There is the shouting come
to our own door. What is it has
happened ?

78 CATHLEEN Nl HOOLIHAN

NeighhouvB come crowdmg m, Patbick
cmd Delia vnth them.

Patrick. There are ships in the
bay; the French are landing at
KiUala.

Peter takes his pipe from his mov4Ji
cmd his hat off cmd stamds vp. The
clothes slip from Michael's a/rm.

Delia. Michael I \Re takes no no-
tice,"] Michael ! [He turns towards her."]
Why do you look at me like a stran-
ger? [She drops his cmn. Bridget
goes over toward her."^

Patrick. The boys are all hurrying
down the hillsides to meet the French.

Delia. Michael won't be going to
join the French.

CATHLEEN NI HOOLIHAN Iff'

Bridget [to Pbtbb]. Tell him riot
to go, Peter.

Pbtbb. It's no use. He doesn't
hear a word we're saying.

Bbidgbt. Try, Delia, and coax him
over to the fire.

Dblia. Michael, Michael, you won't
leave me I You won't join the French
and we going to be married to-mor-
row! [She puts Tier arms about him.
He twma to her as if about to yield^

Old Woman's 'ooice outdde —

They shall be remembered for ever
The people shall hear them for ever.

MiCHABL hreaks OMoy from Delia
amd goes out

«0 OATHLXEN m HOOLIHAN

Bbidgbt [laying her hand on Patrick's
arm]. Did you see an old woman
going down the path ?

Pateick. I did not, but I saw a
young girl and she had the walk of a
queen.

A POT OF BROTH

Persons

a &b0oar1ian
JOHV CoirsBLT
SiBBT COBBBLT

A POT OP BROTH

Scene : A cottage kitchen. Fire on the
hea/rth. Table with cabbage^ a plate of
meal^ etc. Half -open door.

Beggab ^enters^ looks ahov£\. What
sort are the people of this house,
I wonder? Was it a good place
for me to come to look for my din-
ner, I wonder? What's in that big
pot ? [Lifts cover.'j Nothing at all !
What's in the little pot ? [Lifts cover.'j
Nothing at all ! What's in that bottle,
I wonder? [Takes it np excitedly and

83

84 A POT OF BBOTH

smeUs.'] Milk 1 milk in a bottle I I
wonder they wouldn't afford a tin can
to milk the cow into I What's in
that chest ? [Wheels and triea to lift
cover.'] Locked! [SmeUs at the key-hole.^
There's a good smell there — there
must be a still not far off. ^JS^eta vp
and sits on cheet.'j

A noise heard otUside, shouts, footstepsy
and a loud frightened cacldmg.

Beqgab. What in the earthly world
is going on outside ? Anyone would
think it was the Fiannta Eireann at
their hunting I

Sibby's Voice. Stop the gap, let
you stop the gap, John! Stop that
old schemer of a hen flying up on

A POT OF BROTH 85

the thatch like as if she was an
eagle!

Johk's Voice. What can I do,
Sibby? I all to had my hand on her
when she flew away !

SiBBY^s Voice. She's out into the
garden ! Follow after her ! She has
the wide world before her nowl

Beggak. "Sibby," he called her. I
wonder is it Sibby Coneely's house I
am in ! If that's so, it's a bad chance
I have of going out heavier than I
came in I I often heard of her, a
regular old slave-driver that would
starve the rats ! An old niggard with
her eyes on kippeens, that would skin
a flea for its hide I It was the bad

86 A POT OF BROTH

luck, of the world brought me here,
and not a house or a village between
this and Tubber. And it isn't much I
have left to bring me on there, [be-
gins emptying out his pockets on the
i:he8t~\ There's my pipe, and not a
grain to fill it with I There's my
handkerchief that I got at the Corona-
tion dinner. There's my knife, and
nothing left of it but the handle.
^Shakes the pocket out.'^ And there's the
crumb of the last dinner I got, and
the last I'm likely to get till to-
morrow. That's all I have in the
world, unless the stone I picked up to
peg at that yelping dog a while ago.
[^Takes stone out of other pocket and

A POT OF BROTH 87

tosses it up and daton.'] , In the time
long ago I usen't to have much' trpuble
to get a dinner, getting over the old
women and getting round the young
ones I I remember the time I met the
old minister on the path and sold him
his own flock of turkeys. My wits
used to fill my stomach then, but I'm
afraid they're going from me now with
all the hardship I went through.

Cackling heard again^ a/nd cries.

Sdbby's Voice. Catch her, she's
round the bush I Put your hand in
the nettles, don't be daunted ! \A
choked cackle and prolonged screech^

Beggab. There's a dinner for some,
body, anyway ! That it may be for

J

68 A POT OF BROTH

myitelf ! How will I come found her,
I wonder? There is no more pity in
her heart than there's a soul in a dog.
If all the isaints were standing there
barefoot, she'd bid them to call another
day. It's myself I have to trust now,
and my share of talk. [Looks at the
Hone.'] I know what I'll do; I know
what a friend of mine did one time
with a stone, and I'm as good a man
as he is, anyway. [^He jumps v{p amd
waves the stone over his head.] Now,
Sibby ! If I don't do it one way, I'll
do it another. My wits against the
world ! [Sinffs]

There's broth in the pot for you, old man,
There's broth in the pot for you, old man,

A POT OF BBOTH 89

There's cabbage for me

And broth for you^

And beef for Jack the journeyman.

I wish you were dead, my gay old man,

I wish you were dead, my gay old man,

I wish you were dead.

And a stone at your head,

And Fd marry poor Jack the journeyman.

Voices outside.

John's Voice. Bring it in, bring it
in, Sibby. You'll be late with the
priest's dinner.

Sibby's Voice. Can't you wait a
minute till I draw it ? [Miter John.]

John. I didn't know there was any-
one in the house.

Bbgqab. It's only this minute I

90 A POT OF BROTH

came in; tired with the length of the
road I am, and fasting since morning.

John [hegins groping among the j>ots
and j>amj, I'll see can I find any-
thing here for you. ... I don't s^e
much. . . . Maybe there's something
in the chest.

ffe takes key from a hiding-place
at the hack of the hearth, opens chest,
takes out hotHe, takes out ham bone cmd
is cutthig a hit from it when Sibb^
enters, carrying hen hy the neck. ...

SiBBY. Hurry, now, John, after all
the time you have wasted. Why.
didn't you steal up on thei old. hen
that time she was scratching , in . the
dust ? . :

A POT OF BROTH 91

John. Sure, I thought one of the
«hicken3 would be the tenderest.

SiBBY. Cock you up with tender-
ness, indeed 1 All the expense I'm put
to ! My grand hen I have been feeding
these five years! Wouldn't that have
been enough to part with? Indeed, I
wouldn't have thought of parting with
her at all, but she had got tired of
laying since Easter.

At sotmd of her voice John has
dropped ham hone on a bench.

John. Well, I thought we ought to
give his reverence something that would
have a little good in it.

SiBBY. What does the age of it
matter?' A hen's a hen when it's on

92 A POT OF BROTH

the table. ^SKtHng down, to pluci
chiekm.'j Why couldn't the Kernans
have given the priest his dinner, the
way they always do? What did it
matter their mother's brother to have
died ? It is an excuse they had made
up to put the expense of the dinner
on me.

John. Well, I hope you have a good
bit of bacon to put in the pot along
with the chicken.

SiBBY. Let me alone, the taste of
meat on the knife is all that high-up
people like the clergy care for, nice gen-
teel people, no way greedy, like potato
diggers or harvest men.

John. Well, I never saw the man

A POT OF BEOTH 93

gentle or simple wouldn't be glad of
his fill of bacon and he hungry.

SiBBY. Let me alone, I'll show the
Kemans what I can do. I have what's
better than bacon, a nice bit of a ham
I am keeping in the chest this good
while, thinking we might want it for
company. [She catches sight of Beggar
and calls out'] Who is there ? A beggar-
man, is it? Then you may quit this
house, if you please; we have noth-
ing for you. [She gets np and opens
door.']

Beggab [comes forwa/rd]. It is a mis-
take you are making, ma'am; it is not
asking anything I am. It is giving
I am more used to. I was never in a

94 A POT OF BItOTH

house yet but there would be a wel-
come for me in it again,

SiBBY. Well, you have the appear-
ance of a beggar, and if it isn't beg-
ging you are, what way do you make
your living?

Beggar. If I was a beggar, ma'am,
it is to common people I would be
going and not to a nice grand woman
like yourself, that is only used to be
talking with high-up noble people.

SiBBY. Well, what is it you are
asking ? If it's a bit to eat you want,
I can't give it to you, for I have com-
pany coming that will clear all before
them.

Beggar. Is it me to ask anything

A POT OF BROTS 95

to eat ? [Holds up stone.'^ I have here
what'ii better than beef and mutton
and currant cakes and sacks of flour.
"SiBBY. What is it all?

Bbggab [mysUriousVy^. Those that
gave it to me wouldn't like me to tell
that.

SiBBY \to John.] Do you think is
he a man that has friends among the
Sidhe?

JoBCN". Your mind is always running
on the Sidhe since the time they made
John MoUoy find buried gold on the
bridge of Limerick. I see nothing in
it but iei stone.

Beggab. What can you see in it,
you that never saw what it can do ?

96 A POT OF BROTH

John. What is it it can do ?

Bbqgab. It can do many things
and what it's going to do now is to
make me a drop of broth for my
dinner.

SiBBY. I'd like to have a stone that
could make broth.

Begqab. No one in the world but
myself has one, ma'am, and no other
stone in the world has the same power,
for it has enchantment on it. All I'll
ask of you now, ma'am, is the loan of
a pot with a drop of boiling water in
it.

SiBBY. You're welcome to that
much. John, fill the small pot with
water. [John JiUs the potJ\ And I'll

A POT OF BBOTH 97

bring out the hen and draw it [She
goes out."]

Beggab [jpuUmg in stone\. There
now, that's all I have to do but to
put it on the fire to boil, and it's a
grand pot of broth will be before me
then.

SiBBY. And is that all you have to
put in it?

Beggab. Nothing at all but that, —
only maybe a bit of herb, for fear the
enchantment might slip away from it.
You wouldn't have a bit of the Slan-
lus in the house, ma'am, that was cut
with a black-handled knife?

SiBBY. No, indeed, I have none of
that in the house.

98 A POT OF BBOTH

Beggab. Or a bit of the Faravan
that was picked when the wind was
from the north ?

SiBBY. No, indeed, I'm sorry there's
none.

Beggab. Or a sprig of the Ahartalav,
the father of herbs?

John; There's plenty of it by the
hedge. I'll go out and get it for
you.

Beggab. Oh, don't mind taking so
much trouble; those leaves beside me
will do well enough. [Se takes a ci/wpU
of good homdfuU of the cablage a/nd
onions cmd puts them m.J

Sibb^. But where did you get the
stone, at all?

A POT OF BROTH 99

Beggab. Well, this is how it hap-
pened. I was out one time, and a
grand greyhound with me, and it fol-
lowed a hare, and I went : after it.
And I came up at last to the edge of
^ gravel pit where there were a few
withered furze bushes, and there was
my fine hound sitting up, and it -shiv-
ering, and a little old man sitting be-
fore him, and he taking off a hare-skin
coat. [Looking rownd at the ho/m honej
Give me the loan of a kippeen to stir
the pot with. . . . [He takes the
ham hone a/nd puts it into the pot^
John. Oh! The ham bonel
Beggab. I didn't say a ham bone,
I said a hare-skin coat. '

100 A POT OF BBOTH

SiBBT. Hold your tongue, John, if
it's deaf you're getting.

Bbqqab [atirrmg the pot anth the 9ame
ham ions]. Well, as I was telling you,
he was sitting up, and one time I
thought he was as small as a nut, and
the next minute I thought his head to
be in the stars. Frightened I was.

SiBBY. No wonder, no wonder at all
in that.

Bbogab. He took the little stone
then — that stone I have with me —
out of the side pocket of his coat, and
he showed it to me. "Call off your
dog," says he, "and I'll give you that
stone, and if ever you want a good
drop of broth, or a bit of stirabout, or

A POT OF BROTH 101

a drop of poteen itself, all you have to
do is to put it down in a pot with a
drop of water and stir it a while, and
you^U have the thing you were want-
ing ready before you."

SiBBY. Poteen I Would it make that ?

Bbgoab. It would, ma^am; and
wine, the same as the Clare Militia
uses.

SiBBY. Let me see what does it
look like now. [7i hendi/ng forwwrdJ^

Bbggab. Don't look at it for your
life, ma'am. It might bring bad luck
on anyone that might look at it, and
it boiling. I must put a cover on the
pot, or I must colour the water some
way. Give me a handful of that meal.

102. A POT OF BROTH

[SiBBY [holds out a plate of msal and he
jf>uts ifk d himdfvl or twoI\

Jqhk, Well, he's a gifted man !

SiBBY. It would be a great comfort to
have a stone like that. \She has Jmished
jpluckmg the hen which lies in her lap.^

Beggab. And there's another thing
it does, ma'am, since it came into
Catholic hands. If you put it into a
pot of a Friday with a bit of the whit-
est meat in Ireland in it, it would turn
it as black as black.

SiBBY. That is no less than a mira-
cle ; I; must tell Father Jones about that.

Beggar. But to put a bit of meat
with it any other day of the week, it
would do it no harm at all, but good.

A POT OF BROTH lOS

Look here, now, ma'am, I'll put that
nice little chicken you have in your
lap in the pot for a minute till you
see. [^Takes it and puts it in/J^

JoBCN" ^sarcastically^. It's a good job
this is not a Friday I

SiBBY. Keep yourself quiet, John,
and don't be interrupting the talk, or
you'll get a knock on the head like the
King of Lochlann's grandmother.

John. Go on, go on, I'll say no more.

Beqgab. If I'm passing this way
some time of a Friday, I'll bring a
nice bit of mutton, qr the breast of a
turkey, and you '11 se^ how it will
be no better in two minutes than a
fistful of bog mould.

104 A POT OF BROTH

SiBBY \geUmg wp]. Let me take the
chicken out now.

Beggar. Stop till I help you,
ma'am; you might scald your hand.
I'll show it to you in a minute as
white as your own skin, where the lily
and the rose are fighting for mastery.
Did you ever hear what the boys in
your own parish were singing after
you being married from them? — such
of them that had any voice at all and
not choked with crying, or senseless
with the drop of drink they took to
comfort them and to keep their wits
from going with the loss of you.

[SiBBY sits down ogam corriplctcenily.'^

SiBBY. Did they do that, indeed?

A POT OF BROTH 105

Beggar. They did, ma'am. This is
what they used to be singing. [Sings]

The spouse of Naoise, Erin's woe,
Helen and Venus long ago,
Their charms would fade, their fame would flee^
Beside mo gradh, mo stor, mo chree,
My Sibby 01

SiBBY takes a fork cmd rises to take
out the hen. Bbggab puts tip his hand
to stop her and goes on.

Her eyes are gray like morning dew,

Her curling hair falls to her shoe.

The swan is blacker than [looks round for a

similef then at his Jiand] my nail,
Beside my queen, my Granuaile,
My Sibby 0!

106 A POT OF BROTH

[SiBBY half rises agavn. Beggabman
puis up his h(md.'\ Wait till you hear
to the end. \8i/ngs'^

The King of France would give his throne
To share her pillow [whxx^s the rhyme at all'].
So would I myself. . • •

SiBBY begins to keep time with forh.

The Spanish fleet is on the sea
To carry away mo gradh, mo chreel
My Sibby 01

SiBBY ^stands up with the fork in her
hand and sings to herself]. " The Spanish
fleet is on the sea," etc. [^To John] I
always knew I was too good for you !
[She goes on humming.']

A POT OF BBOTH 107

John. Well, he has the old woman
bewitched 1

SiBBY [mddenh/ coming to her wita'^.
Did you take the chicken out yet?

Beggab [taking it out omd gimng it a
good sqtceese into the jpof]. I did, ma'am ;
look at it there. [She takes it amd lays
it on table.']

John. How is the broth getting on?

Bbggab [tasting it with a spoon]. It's
grand; it's always grand.

SiBBY. Give me a taste of it.

Beggar [takes the pot off amd sUps the
ham hone behind him]. Give me some
vessel till I give this shy woman a
taste of it.

John gives hi/m am, egg oup, which he

108 A POT OF BBOTH

jUU and fives to Sibby. John gives him
a mtcffy wad he fUs this for himself^ pawf^
ing it hack and forward from it to a
howl that is on the tahle, and drinking
gulps now and agam. Sibby Uows at
hers a/nd smsUs it.

Sibby. There's a good smell on it,
anyway. [^Tasting] It's lovely. Oh,
I'd give the world and all to have the
stone that made that I

Beggar. The riches of the world
wouldn't buy it, ma'am. If I was in-
clined to sell it, the Lord Lieutenant
would have given me Dublin Castle
and all that's in it long ago.

Sibby. Oh 1 couldn't we coax it out
of you any way at all?

A POT OF BROTH 109

Beggab \drmking more soti^']. The
whole world wouldn't coax me out of
it, except maybe for one thing. [Looks
depressed."] Now I think of it, there's
only one reason I might think of part-
ing with it at all.

SiBBY [eagerly]. What reason is
that?

Beggar. It's a misfortune that over-
takes me, ma'am, every time I make
an attempt to keep a pot of my own
to boil it in, and I don't like to be
always under a compliment to the
neighbours asking the loan of one. But
whatever way it is, I never can keep
a pot with me. I had a right to ask
one of the little man that gave me the

110 A POT OF BROTH

stone. The last one I bought got the
bottom burned out of it one night I
was giving a hand to a friend that
keeps a still; and the one before that I
hid under a bush one time I was going
into Ennis for the night, and some
boys of the town dreamed about it
and went looking for treasure in it, and
they found nothing but eggshells, but
they brought it away for all that, and
another one.

SiBBY. Give me the loan of the
stone itself and I'll engage I'll keep a
pot for it. . . . Wait now till I make
some offer to you.

Beggar [aside]. I'd best not be
stopping to bargain; the priest might

A POT OF BROTH 111

be coming on me. . . . \0et8 up."]
Well, ma'am, I'm sorry I can't oblige
you. \^Goe8 to door^ shades his eyes and
looks out^ turns suddenly.'^ I have no
time to lose, ma'am ; I'm off. \^Comes
to table a/nd takes up his hat'\ Well,
ma'am, what offer will you make?

John. You might as well leave it
for a day on trial, first.

Begqab \to John]. I think it likely
I'll not be passing this way again.
\To Sibby] Well, now, ma'am, as you
were so kind as for the sake of the
good treatment you gave me I'll ask
nothing for it at all. Here it is for
you and welcome, that you may live
long to use it! But I'll just take a

112 A POT OF BROTH

little bit in my bag that'll do for sup-
per to-night, for fear I mightn't be in
Tubber before night. \Take8 up the
chicken.'] And you won't begrudge me
the drop of whiskey when you can
make plenty for yourself from this out.
[Takes the bottle.']

John. You deserve it, you deserve
it, indeed. You are a very gifted man.
Don't forget the kippeen! [Beggabman
takes the ham hone also a/nd exit. John
follows him.]

SiBBY [Uokim^ at the stone in her
hand]. Broth of the best — stirabout
— poteen — wine itself, he said! And
the people that will be coming to see
the miracle! I'll be as rich as Biddy

A POT OF BROTH 118

Early before I die! [John enters.'^
Where were you, John?

John. I just went out to shake hun
by the hand. He's a very gifted man*

SiBBY. He is so, indeed.

John. And the priest's at the top
of the boreen coming for his dinner.
Maybe you'd best put the stone in the
pot again.

CUBTAIN

essays; etc

BY WnuAM Butler Yeats

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