Juno and the Paycock

Mary: The full details are in it this mornin’; seven wounds he had - one entherin’ the neck, with an exit wound beneath the left shoulder-blade; another in the left breast penethratin’ the heart, an’ . . .

Johnny: (springing up from the fire) Oh, quit that readin’, for God’s sake! Are yous losin’ all your feelin’s? It’ll soon be that none of you’ll read anythin’ that’s not about butcherin’! (He goes quickly into the room on left.)

Mary: He’s gettin’ very sensitive, all of a sudden!

Mary: What’s the use of belongin’ to a Trades Union if you won’t stand up for your principles? Why did they sack her? It was a clear case of victimization. We couldn’t let her walk the streets, could we?

Mrs Boyle: No, of course yous couldn’t—yous wanted to keep her company. Wan victim wasn’t enough. When the employers sacrifice wan victim, the Trades Unions go wan betther be sacrificin’ a hundred.

Mary: It doesn’t matther what you say, ma—a principle’s a principle.

Mrs Boyle: Yis; an’ when I go into oul’ Murphy’s tomorrow, an’ he gets to know that, instead o’ payin’ all, I’m goin’ to borry more, what’ll he say when I tell him a principle’s a principle? What’ll we do if he refuses to give us any more on tick?

Mrs Boyle: I don’t know what’s goin’ to be done with him. The bullet he got in the hip in Easter Week was bad enough, but the bomb that shatthered his arm in the fight in O ‘Connell Street put the finishin’ touch on him. I knew he was makin’ a fool of himself. God knows I went down on me bended knees to him not to go agen the Free State.

Mrs Tancred: Me home is gone now; he was me only child, an’ to think that he was lyin’ for a whole night stretched out on the side of a lonely counthry lane, with his head, his darlin’ head, that I often kissed an’ fondled, half hidden in the wather of a runnin’ brook. An’ I’m told he was the leadher of the ambush where me nex’ door neighbour, Mrs Mannin’, lost her Free State soldier son. An’ now here’s the two of us oul’ women, standin’ one on each side of a scales o’ sorra, balanced be the bodies of our two dead darlin’ sons.

Mrs Madigan: We don’t want you, Mr Nugent, to teach us what we learned at our mother’s knee. You don’t look yourself as if you were dyin’ of grief; if y’ass Maisie Madigan anything, I’d call you a real thrue Die-hard an’ live-soft Republican, attendin’ Republican funerals in the day, an’ stoppin’ up half the night makin’ suits for the Civic Guards!

Johnny: (passionately) I won’t go! Haven’t I done enough for Ireland! I’ve lost me arm, an’ me hip’s desthroyed so that I’ll never be able to walk right agen! Good God, haven’t I done enough for Ireland?

Young Man: Boyle, no man can do enough for Ireland!

An’ we felt the power that fashion’d
All the lovely things we saw,
That created all the murmur
Of an everlasting law,
Was a hand of force an’ beauty,
With an eagle’s tearin’ claw.

Then we saw our globe of beauty
Was an ugly thing as well,
A hymn divine whose chorus
Was an agonizin’ yell;
Like the story of a demon,
That an angel had to tell;

Like a glowin’ picture by a
Hand unsteady, brought to ruin;
Like her craters, if their deadness
Could give life unto the moon;
Like the agonizing horror
Of a violin out of tune.

Mrs. Boyle: Maybe I didn’t feel sorry enough for Mrs Tancred when her poor son was found as Johnny’s been found now - because he was a Die-hard! Ah, why didn’t I remember that then he wasn’t a Diehard or a Stater, but only a poor dead son! It’s well I remember all that she said - an’ it’s my turn to say it now: What was the pain I suffered, Johnny, bringin’ you into the world to carry you to your cradle, to the pains I’ll suffer carryin’ you out o’ the world to bring you to your grave! Mother o’ God, Mother o’ God, have pity on us all! Blessed Virgin, where were you when me darlin’ son was riddled with bullets […]? Sacred Heart o’ Jesus, take away our hearts o’ stone, and give us hearts o’ flesh! Take away this murdherin’ hate, an’ give us Thine own eternal love!