In the Shadow of the Glen, Synge

• (... Nora Burke is moving about the room ... Some one knocks softly at the door. She takes up a stocking with money from the table and puts it in her pocket. Then she opens the door.)
• NORA. Good evening, kindly stranger, it's a wild night, God help you, to be out in the rain falling.
• TRAMP. On my two feet, lady of the house, and when I saw the light below I thought maybe if you'd a sup of new milk and a quiet decent corner where a man could sleep (he looks in past her and sees the dead man.) The Lord have mercy on us all!
• NORA. It is, stranger. He's after dying on me, God forgive him, and there I am now with a hundred sheep beyond on the hills, and no turf drawn for the winter.
• NORA. (Coming to the bed.) I was afeard, stranger, for he put a black curse on me this morning if I'ld touch his body the time he'ld die sudden, or let any one touch it except his sister only, and it's ten miles away she lives in the big glen over the hill.
• TRAMP. Is it getting the curse on me you'ld be, woman of the house? I wouldn't lay my hand on him for the Lough Nahanagan and it filled it with gold.
• NORA. ... Then he went into his bed and he was saying it was destroyed he was, the time the shadow was going up through the glen, and when the sun set on the bog beyond he made a great lep, and let a great cry out of him, and stiffened himself out the like of a dead sheep.
• TRAMP. The Almighty God reward you, and may it be to your good health. (He drinks.)
• NORA. Didn't you hear kms say it was only after dying on me he was when the sun went down, and how would I go out into the glen and tell the neighbours, and I a lone woman with no house near me?
• NORA. (Slowly.) I'm thinking many would be afeard, but I never knew that way I'd be afeard of beggar or bishop or any man of you at all. (She looks towards the window and lowers her voice.) It's other things than the like of you, stranger, would make a person afeard.
• NORA. You wouldn't find your way, stranger, for there's a small path only, and it running up between two slugs where an ass and cart would be drowned. (She puts a shawl over her head.) Let you be making yourself easy, and saying a prayer for his soul, and it's not long I'll be coming again.
• DAN. (With a hoarse voice.) Don't be afeard, stranger; a man that's dead can do no hurt.
• TRAMP. (Pouring out the whisky.) What will herself say if she smells the stuff on you, for I'm thinking it's not for nothing you're letting on to be dead?
• DAN. It's herself, surely, it's a bad wife she is--a bad wife for an old man, and I'm getting old, God help me, though I've an arm to me still. (He takes the stick in his hand.) Let your air now a short while, and it's a great sight you'll see in this room in two hours or three. (He stops to listen.) Is that somebody above?
• NORA. There was no sign from himself?
• TRAMP. No sign at all, lady of the house.
• NORA. (To Michael in a low voice.) Let you not mind him at all, Michael Dara, he has a drop taken and it's soon he'll be falling asleep.
• MICHAEL. (Looking at her with a queer look.) I heard tell this day, Nora Burke, that it was on the path below Patch Darcy would be passing up and passing down, and I heard them say he'ld never past it night or morning without speaking with yourself.
• MICHAEL. I'm thinking it's a power of men you're after knowing if it's in a lonesome place you live itself.
• NORA. What way would I live and I an old woman if I didn't marry a man with a bit of a farm, and cows on it, and sheep on the back hills?
• MICHAEL. Twenty pounds for the lot, Nora Burke... We'ld do right to wait now till himself will be quiet awhile in the Seven Churches, and then you'll marry me in the chapel of Rathvanna, and I'll bring the sheep up on the bit of a hill you have on the back mountain, and we won't have anything we'ld be afeard to let our minds on when the mist is down.
• NORA. (Pouring him out some whisky.) Why would I marry you, Mike Dara? You'll be getting old and I'll be getting old, and in a little while I'm telling you, you'll be sitting up in your bed--the way himself was sitting--with a shake in your face and your teeth falling, and the white hair sticking out round you like an old bush where sheep do be leaping a gap.
• (Dan Burke sits up noiselessly from under the sheet, with his hand to his face. His white hair is sticking out round his head.)
• (Dan sneezes violently. Michael tries to get to the door, but before he can do so, Dan jumps out of the bed in queer white clothes, with his stick in his hand, and goes over and puts his back against it.)
• DAN. (Holding up his hand at him.) Now you'll not marry her the time I'm rotting below in the Seven Churches, and you'll see the thing I'll give you will follow you on the back mountains when the wind is high.
• DAN. (Turning towards her.) It's little you care if it's dead or living I am, but there'll be an end now of your fine times, and all the talk you have of young men and old men, and of the mist coming up to or going down. (He opens the door.) You'll walk out now from that door, Nora Burke, and it's not to-morrow, or the next day, or any day of your life, that you'll put in your foot through it again.
• TRAMP. (Pointing to Michael.) Maybe himself would take her.
• TRAMP. Give you the half a dry bed, and good food in your mouth.
• TRAMP. (Going over to Nora.) We'll be going now, lady of the house--the rain is falling, but the air is kind and maybe it'll be a grand morning by the grace of God.
• TRAMP. You'll not be getting your death with myself, lady of the house, and I knowing all the ways a man can put food in his mouth... We'll be going now, I'm telling you, and the time you'll be feeling the cold, and the frosty and the great rain, and the sun again, and the south wind blowing in the glens, you'll not be sitting up on a wet ditch, the way you're after sitting in the place, making yourself old with looking on each day, and it passing you by. You'll be saying one time, "It's a grand evening, by the grace of God," and another time, "It's a wild night, God help us, but it'll pass surely," You'll be saying--
• NORA. I'm thinking it's myself will be wheezing that time with lying down under the Heavens when the night is cold; but you've a fine bit of talk, stranger, and it's with yourself I'll go. (She goes towards the door, then turns to Dan.) You think it's a grand thing you're after doing with your letting on to be dead, but what is it at all? What way would a woman live in a lonesome place the like of this place, and she not making a talk with the men passing? And what way will yourself live from this day, with none to care for you? What is it you'll have now but a black life, Daniel Burke, and it's not long I'm telling you, till you'll be lying again under that sheet, and you dead surely.
• DAN. (Throwing away his stick.) I was thinking to strike you, Michael Dara, but you're a quiet man, God help you, and I don't mind you at all.