Pegeen And to think it’s me is talking sweetly, Christy Mahon, and I the fright of seven townlands for my biting tongue. Well, the heart’s a wonder; and, I’m thinking, there won’t be our like in Mayo, for gallant lovers, from this hour, to-day. (Drunken singing is heard outside.) There’s my father coming from the wake, and when he’s had his sleep we’ll tell him, for he’s peaceful then. They separate.

Michael (singing outside):

The jailer and the turnkey They quickly ran us down, And brought us back as prisoners Once more to Cavan town.

He comes in supported by Shawn.

There we lay bewailing All in a prison bound. …

He sees Christy. Goes and shakes him drunkenly by the hand, while Pegeen and Shawn talk on the left.

Michael (to Christy). The blessing of God and the holy angels on your head, young fellow. I hear tell you’re after winning all in the sports below; and wasn’t it a shame I didn’t bear you along with me to Kate Cassidy’s wake, a fine, stout lad, the like of you, for you’d never see the match of it for flows of drink, the way when we sunk her bones at noonday in her narrow grave, there were five men, aye, and six men, stretched out retching speechless on the holy stones.

Christy (uneasily, watching Pegeen). Is that the truth?

Michael It is then, and aren’t you a louty schemer to go burying your poor father unbeknownst when you’d a right to throw him on the crupper of a Kerry mule and drive him westwards, like holy Joseph in the days gone by, the way we could have given him a decent burial, and not have him rotting beyond, and not a Christian drinking a smart drop to the glory of his soul?

Christy (gruffly). It’s well enough he’s lying, for the likes of him.

Michael (slapping him on the back). Well, aren’t you a hardened slayer? It’ll be a poor thing for the household man where you go sniffing for a female wife; and (pointing to Shawn) look beyond at that shy and decent Christian I have chosen for my daughter’s hand, and I after getting the gilded dispensation this day for to wed them now.

Christy And you’ll be wedding them this day, is it?

Michael (drawing himself up). Aye. Are you thinking, if I’m drunk itself, I’d leave my daughter living single with a little frisky rascal is the like of you?

Pegeen (breaking away from Shawn). Is it the truth the dispensation’s come?

Michael (triumphantly). Father Reilly’s after reading it in gallous Latin, and “It’s come in the nick of time,” says he; “so I’ll wed them in a hurry, dreading that young gaffer who’d capsize the stars.”

Pegeen (fiercely). He’s missed his nick of time, for it’s that lad, Christy Mahon, that I’m wedding now.

Michael (loudly with horror). You’d be making him a son to me, and he wet and crusted with his father’s blood?

Pegeen Aye. Wouldn’t it be a bitter thing for a girl to go marrying the like of Shaneen, and he a middling kind of a scarecrow, with no savagery or fine words in him at all?