The Playboy of the Western World

Pegeen

Slowly as she writes. Six yards of stuff for to make a yellow gown. A pair of lace boots with lengthy heels on them and brassy eyes. A hat is suited for a wedding-day. A fine tooth comb. To be sent with three barrels of porter in Jimmy Farrell’s creel cart on the evening of the coming Fair to Mister Michael James Flaherty. With the best compliments of this season. Margaret Flaherty.

Shawn

A fat and fair young man comes in as she signs, looks round awkwardly, when he sees she is alone. Where’s himself?

Pegeen

Without looking at him. He’s coming. She directs the letter. To Mister Sheamus Mulroy, Wine and Spirit Dealer, Castlebar.

Shawn

Uneasily. I didn’t see him on the road.

Pegeen

How would you see him Licks stamp and puts it on letter. and it dark night this half hour gone by?

Shawn

Turning towards the door again. I stood a while outside wondering would I have a right to pass on or to walk in and see you, Pegeen Mike, Comes to fire. and I could hear the cows breathing, and sighing in the stillness of the air, and not a step moving any place from this gate to the bridge.

Pegeen

Putting letter in envelope. It’s above at the crossroads he is, meeting Philly Cullen; and a couple more are going along with him to Kate Cassidy’s wake.

Shawn

Looking at her blankly. And he’s going that length in the dark night?

Pegeen

Impatiently. He is surely, and leaving me lonesome on the scruff of the hill. She gets up and puts envelope on dresser, then winds the clock.

Christy

I never left my own parish till Tuesday was a week.

Pegeen

Coming from counter. He’s done nothing, so. To Christy. If you didn’t commit murder or a bad, nasty thing, or false coining, or robbery, or butchery, or the like of them, there isn’t anything that would be worth your troubling for to run from now. You did nothing at all.

Christy

His feelings hurt. That’s an unkindly thing to be saying to a poor orphaned traveller, has a prison behind him, and hanging before, and hell’s gap gaping below.

Pegeen

With a sign to the men to be quiet. You’re only saying it. You did nothing at all. A soft lad the like of you wouldn’t slit the windpipe of a screeching sow.

Christy

Offended. You’re not speaking the truth.

Pegeen

In mock rage. Not speaking the truth, is it? Would you have me knock the head of you with the butt of the broom?

Christy

Twisting round on her with a sharp cry of horror. Don’t strike me. I killed my poor father, Tuesday was a week, for doing the like of that.

Pegeen

With blank amazement. Is it killed your father?

Christy

Subsiding. With the help of God I did surely, and that the Holy Immaculate Mother may intercede for his soul.

Philly

Retreating with Jimmy. There’s a daring fellow.

Jimmy

Oh, glory be to God!

Michael

With great respect. That was a hanging crime, mister honey. You should have had good reason for doing the like of that.

I did, God help me, and there I’d be as happy as the sunshine of St. Martin’s Day, watching the light passing the north or the patches of fog, till I’d hear a rabbit starting to screech and I’d go running in the furze. Then when I’d my full share I’d come walking down where you’d see the ducks and geese stretched sleeping on the highway of the road, and before I’d pass the dunghill, I’d hear himself snoring out, a loud lonesome snore he’d be making all times, the while he was sleeping, and he a man ’d be raging all times, the while he was waking, like a gaudy officer you’d hear cursing and damning and swearing oaths.

Pegeen

Providence and Mercy, spare us all!

Christy

It’s that you’d say surely if you seen him and he after drinking for weeks, rising up in the red dawn, or before it maybe, and going out into the yard as naked as an ash tree in the moon of May, and shying clods against the visage of the stars till he’d put the fear of death into the banbhs and the screeching sows.

Pegeen

There’s your bed now. I’ve put a quilt upon you I’m after quilting a while since with my own two hands, and you’d best stretch out now for your sleep, and may God give you a good rest till I call you in the morning when the cocks will crow.

Christy

As she goes to inner room. May God and Mary and St. Patrick bless you and reward you, for your kindly talk. She shuts the door behind her. He settles his bed slowly, feeling the quilt with immense satisfaction. Well, it’s a clean bed and soft with it, and it’s great luck and company I’ve won me in the end of time⁠—two fine women fighting for the likes of me⁠—till I’m thinking this night wasn’t I a foolish fellow not to kill my father in the years gone by.

Curtain.

From this out I’ll have no want of company when all sorts is bringing me their food and clothing, He swaggers to the door, tightening his belt. the way they’d set their eyes upon a gallant orphan cleft his father with one blow to the breeches belt. He opens door, then staggers back. Saints of glory! Holy angels from the throne of light!

Widow Quin

Going over. What ails you?

Christy

It’s the walking spirit of my murdered da!

Widow Quin

Looking out. Is it that tramper?

Christy

Wildly. Where’ll I hide my poor body from that ghost of hell?

The door is pushed open, and old Mahon appears on threshold. Christy darts in behind door.

Widow Quin

In great amazement. God save you, my poor man.

Mahon

Gruffly. Did you see a young lad passing this way in the early morning or the fall of night?

Widow Quin