FATHER HART. The Cross will keep all evil from the house While it hangs there. MAURTEEN. Come, sit beside me, colleen, And put away your dreams of discontent, For I would have you light up my last days, Like the good glow of the turf; and when I die You'll be the wealthiest hereabout, for, colleen, I have a stocking full of yellow guineas Hidden away where nobody can find it. BRIDGET. You are the fool of every pretty face, And I must spare and pinch that my son's wife May have all kinds of ribbons for her head. MAURTEEN. Do not be cross; she is a right good girl! The butter is by your elbow, Father Hart. My colleen, have not Fate and Time and Change Done well for me and for old Bridget there? We have a hundred acres of good land, And sit beside each other at the fire. I have this reverend Father for my friend, I look upon your face and my son's face-- We've put his plate by yours--and here he comes, And brings with him the only thing we have lacked, Abundance of good wine. (SHAWN comes in.) Stir Up the fire, And put new turf upon it till it blaze; To watch the turf-smoke coiling from the fire, And feel content and wisdom in your heart, This is the best of life; when we are young We long to tread a way none trod before, But find the excellent old way through love, And through the care of children, to the hour For bidding Fate and Time and Change goodbye. (MARY takes a sod of turf from the fire and goes out through the door. SHAWN follows her and meets her coming in.) SHAWN. What is it draws you to the chill o' the wood? There is a light among the stems of the trees That makes one shiver. MARY. A little queer old man Made me a sign to show he wanted fire To light his pipe. BRIDGET. You've given milk and fire Upon the unluckiest night of the year and brought, For all you know, evil upon the house. Before you married you were idle and fine And went about with ribbons on your head; And now--no, Father, I will speak my mind She is not a fitting wife for any man-- SHAWN. Be quiet, Mother! MAURTEEN. You are much too cross. MARY. What do I care if I have given this house, Where I must hear all day a bitter tongue, Into the power of faeries BRIDGET. You know well How calling the good people by that name, Or talking of them over much at all, May bring all kinds of evil on the house. MARY. Come, faeries, take me out of this dull house! Let me have all the freedom I have lost; Work when I will and idle when I will! Faeries, come take me out of this dull world, For I would ride with you upon the wind, Run on the top of the dishevelled tide, And dance upon the mountains like a flame. FATHER HART. You cannot know the meaning of your words. MARY. Father, I am right weary of four tongues: A tongue that is too crafty and too wise, A tongue that is too godly and too grave, A tongue that is more bitter than the tide, And a kind tongue too full of drowsy love, Of drowsy love and my captivity.