The Well of the Saints
[Roadside with big stones, etc., on the right; low loose wall at back with gap near centre;
at left, ruined doorway of church with bushes beside it. Martin Doul and Mary Doul
grope in on left and pass over to stones on right, where they sit.]
MARY DOUL. What place are we now, Martin Doul?
MARTIN DOUL. Passing the gap.
MARY DOUL -- [raising her head.] -- The length of that! Well, the sun's getting warm
this day if it's late autumn itself.
MARTIN DOUL -- [putting out his hands in sun.] -- What way wouldn't it be warm and
it getting high up in the south? You were that length plaiting your yellow hair you have
the morning lost on us, and the people are after passing to the fair of Clash.
MARY DOUL. It isn't going to the fair, the time they do be driving their cattle and they
with a litter of pigs maybe squealing in their carts, they'd give us a thing at all. (She sits
down.) It's well you know that, but you must be talking.
MARTIN DOUL -- [sitting down beside her and beginning to shred rushes she gives
him.] -- If I didn't talk I'd be destroyed in a short while listening to the clack you do be
making, for you've a queer cracked voice, the Lord have mercy on you, if it's fine to look
on you are itself.
MARY DOUL. Who wouldn't have a cracked voice sitting out all the year in the rain
falling? It's a bad life for the voice, Martin Doul, though I've heard tell there isn't
anything like the wet south wind does be blowing upon us for keeping a white beautiful
skin -- the like of my skin -- on your neck and on your brows, and there isn't anything at
all like a fine skin for putting splendour on a woman.
MARTIN DOUL -- [teasingly, but with good humour.] -- I do be thinking odd times we
don't know rightly what way you have your splendour, or asking myself, maybe, if you
have it at all, for the time I was a young lad, and had fine sight, it was the ones with sweet
voices were the best in face.
MARY DOUL. Let you not be making the like of that talk when you've heard Timmy
the smith, and Mat Simon, and Patch Ruadh, and a power besides saying fine things of
my face, and you know rightly it was "the beautiful dark woman" they did call me in
MARTIN DOUL -- [as before.] -- If it was itself I heard Molly Byrne saying at the fall
of night it was little more than a fright you were.