-- When will you have that can done,
Michael Byrne?
MICHAEL. In a short space only, your
22
reverence, for I'm putting the last dab of
solder on the rim.
PRIEST. Let you get a crown along with
the ten shillings and the gallon can, Sarah
Casey, and I will wed you so.
MARY --
suddenly shouting behind, tip-
sily. -- Larry was a fine lad, I'm saying; Larry
was a fine lad, Sarah Casey --
MICHAEL. Whist, now, the two of you.
There's my mother coming, and she'd have us
destroyed if she heard the like of that talk
the time she's been drinking her fill.
MARY --
comes in singing* --
And when we asked him what way he'd die,
And he hanging unrepented,
"Begob," says Larry, "that's all in my eye,
By the clergy first invented."
SARAH. Give me the jug now, or you'll
have it spilt in the ditch.
MARY --
holding the jug with both her
hands, in a stilted voice. -- Let you leave me
easy, Sarah Casey. I won't spill it, I'm saying.
God help you; are you thinking it's frothing
full to the brim it is at this hour of the night,
and I after carrying it in my two hands a long
step from Jemmy Neill's?
MICHAEL --
anxiously. -- Is there a sup
left at all?
23
SARAH --
looking into the jug. -- A little
small sup only I'm thinking.
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