till the judgment day.

MARTIN DOUL -- [rousing himself with an effort.] -- What call
have you to talk the like of that with myself?

TIMMY -- [pointing to Molly Byrne.] -- It's well you know what
call I have. It's well you know a decent girl, I'm thinking to
wed, has no right to have her heart scalded with hearing talk --
and queer, bad talk, I'm thinking -- from a raggy-looking fool
the like of you.

MARTIN DOUL -- [raising his voice.] -- It's making game of you
she is, for what seeing girl would marry with yourself? Look on
him, Molly, look on him, I'm saying, for I'm seeing him still,
and let you raise your voice, for the time is come, and bid him
go up into his forge, and be sitting there by himself, sneezing
and sweating, and he beating pot-hooks till the judgment day. [He
seizes her arm again.]

MOLLY BYRNE. Keep him off from me, Timmy!

TIMMY -- [pushing Martin Doul aside.] -- Would you have me strike
you, Martin Doul? Go along now after your wife, who's a fit match
for you, and leave Molly with myself.

MARTIN DOUL -- [despairingly.] -- Won't you raise your voice,
Molly, and lay hell's long curse on his tongue?

MOLLY BYRNE -- [on Timmy's left.] -- I'll be telling him it's
destroyed I am with the sight of you and the sound of your voice.