SARAH. You'd do that?
PRIEST. I would, surely.
SARAH. If you do, you'll be getting all
the tinkers from Wicklow and Wexford, and
the County Meath, to put up block tin in the
place of glass to shield your windows where
you do be looking out and blinking at the girls.
It's hard set you'll be that time, I'm telling
you, to fill the depth of your belly the long
days of Lent; for we wouldn't leave a laying
pullet in your yard at all.
48
PRIEST --
losing his temper finally. -- Go
on, now, or I'll send the Lords of Justice a
dated story of your villainies -- burning,
stealing, robbing, raping to this mortal day.
Go on now, I'm saying, if you'd run from
Kilmainham or the rope itself.
MICHAEL --
taking off his coat. -- Is it
run from the like of you, holy father? Go up
to your own shanty, or I'll beat you with the
ass's reins till the world would hear you roar-
ing from this place to the coast of Clare.
PRIEST. Is it lift your hand upon myself
when the Lord would blight your members
if you'd touch me now? Go on from this.
[
He gives him a shove. MICHAEL. Blight me is it? Take it
then, your reverence, and God help you so.
[
He runs at him with the reins. PRIEST --
runs up to ditch crying out. --
There are the peelers passing by the grace of
God -- hey, below!
MARY --
clapping her hand over his
mouth.
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