cover THE WELL OF THE SAINTS A Comedy in Three Acts By J. M. Synge Contents THE WELL OF THE SAINTS ACT I ACT II ACT III Scene: Some lonely mountainous district in the east of Ireland one or more centuries ago. THE WELL OF THE SAINTS was first produced in the Abbey Theatre in February, 1905, by the Irish National Theatre Society, under the direction of W. G. Fay, and with the following cast. Martin Doul W. G. FAY Mary Doul EMMA VERNON Timmy GEORGE ROBERTS Molly Byrne SARA ALLGOOD Bride MAIRE NIC SHIUBHLAIGH Mat Simon P. MAC SHIUBHLAIGH The Saint F. J. FAY OTHER GIRLS AND MEN Persons in the Play MARTIN DOUL, weather-beaten, blind beggar MARY DOUL, his wife, weather-beaten, ugly woman, blind also, nearly fifty TIMMY, a middle-aged, almost elderly, but vigorous smith MOLLY BYRNE, fine-looking girl with fair hair BRIDE, another handsome girl MAT SIMON THE SAINT, a wandering friar OTHER GIRLS AND MEN THE WELL OF THE SAINTS ACT I [_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.