from sighs I'd borrow,
And hope to-morrow would end my woes.

But as in wailing there's nought availing,
And Death unfailing will strike the blow,
Then for that reason and for a season,
Let us be merry before we go!"

_Mother_: It is Conan will near lose his wits
with joy when he knows what is come back to me!

_Conan: (Peeping in.)_ Is Celia gone?

_Flannery_: She is, Conan.

_Conan_: It's a queer thing with women. If
you'll turn them from one road it's likely they'll
go into another that is worse again.

_Rock_: That is so indeed. There is Celia's
mother that is running telling lies, and leaving a
heavy word upon a neighbour.

_Mother_: I'll give my promise not to tell it out
in Court if he will give to poor Michael Flannery
what is due to him, and that is the whole of what
he has in his bag!

_Conan: (Laughing scornfully.)_ Sure _she_ has no
memory at all. It fails her to remember that two
and two makes four.

_Mother_: You think that? Well, listen now to
me. Two and two is it? No, nine times two that
is eighteen and nine times three twenty-seven,
nine times four thirty-six, nine times five forty-five,
nine times six fifty-four, nine times seven
sixty-three, nine times eight seventy-two, nine
times nine eighty-one.... Yes, and eleven times,
and any times that you will put before me!

_Conan_: That's enough, that's enough!

_Mother_: Ha, ha! You giving out that I can
keep no knowledge in mind and no learning, when
I should sit on the chapel roof to have enough of
slates for all I can cast up of sums! Multiplication,
Addition, subtraction, and the rule of three!

_Conan_: Whist your tongue!

_Mother_: Is it the verses of Raftery's talk into
the Bush you would wish me to give out, or the
three hundred and sixty-nine verses of the Contention
of the Bards--_(Repeats verse of "The Talk
with the Bush" in Irish.)_

"Cead agus mile roiamh am na h-Airce
Tus agus crothugadh m'aois agus mo dhata
Tha me o shoin im' shuidhe san ait so
Agus is iomdha sgeal a bhfeadain tracht air."

Or I'll English it if that will please you:

"A hundred years and a thousand before the time of the Ark
Was the beginning and creation of my age and my date;
I am from that time sitting in this place,
And it's many a story I am able to give news of."

_Conan: (Putting hands to ears and walking
away.)_ I am thinking your mind got unsettled
with the weight of years.

_Mother: (Following him.)_