NORA. (_Pouring him out some whisky._) Why would I marry you, Mike Dara? You’ll be getting old and I’ll be getting old, and in a little while I’m telling you, you’ll be sitting up in your bed—the way himself was sitting—with a shake in your face, and your teeth falling, and the white hair sticking out round you like an old bush where sheep do be leaping a gap. (_Dan Burke sits up noiselessly from under the sheet, with his hand to his face. His white hair is sticking out round his head._) NORA. (_Goes on slowly without hearing him._) It’s a pitiful thing to be getting old, but it’s a queer thing surely. It’s a queer thing to see an old man sitting up there in his bed with no teeth in him, and a rough word in his mouth, and his chin the way it would take the bark from the edge of an oak board you’ld have building a door.... God forgive me, Micheal Dara, we’ll all be getting old, but it’s a queer thing surely. MICHEAL. It’s too lonesome you are from living a long time with an old man, Nora, and you’re talking again like a herd that would be coming down from the thick mist (_he puts his arm round her_), but it’s a fine life you’ll have now with a young man, a fine life surely.... (_Dan sneezes violently. Micheal tries to get to the door, but before he can do so, Dan jumps out of the bed in queer white clothes, with his stick in his hand, and goes over and puts his back against it._) MICHEAL. Son of God deliver us. (_Crosses himself, and goes backward across the room._) DAN. (_Holding up his hand at him._) Now you’ll not marry her the time I’m rotting below in the Seven Churches, and you’ll see the thing I’ll give you will follow you on the back mountains when the wind is high. MICHEAL. (_To Nora._) Get me out of it, Nora, for the love of God. He always did what you bid him, and I’m thinking he would do it now. NORA. (_Looking at the Tramp._) Is it dead he is or living? DAN. (_Turning towards her._) It’s little you care if it’s dead or living I am, but there’ll be an end now of your fine times, and all the talk you have of young men and old men, and of the mist coming up or going down. (_He opens the door._) You’ll walk out now from that door, Nora Burke, and it’s not to-morrow, or the next day, or any day of your life, that you’ll put in your foot through it again. TRAMP. (_Standing up._) It’s a hard thing you’re saying for an old man, master of the house, and what would the like of her do if you put her out on the roads? DAN. Let her walk round the like of Peggy Cavanagh below, and be begging money at the cross-road, or selling songs to the men. (_To Nora._) Walk out now, Nora Burke, and it’s soon you’ll be getting old with that life, I’m telling you; it’s soon your teeth’ll be falling and your head’ll be the like of a bush where sheep do be leaping a gap. (_He pauses: she looks round at Micheal._) MICHEAL. (_Timidly._) There’s a fine Union below in Rathdrum.