holy father, and let you walk on your own way, and be fasting, or
praying, or doing anything that you will, but leave us here in
our peace, at the crossing of the roads, for it's best we are
this way, and we're not asking to see.

SAINT -- [to the People.] -- Is his mind gone that he's no wish
to be cured this day, or to be living or working, or looking on
the wonders of the world?

MARTIN DOUL. It's wonders enough I seen in a short space for the
life of one man only.

SAINT -- [severely.] -- I never heard tell of any person wouldn't
have great joy to be looking on the earth, and the image of the
Lord thrown upon men.

MARTIN DOUL -- [raising his voice.] -- Them is great sights, holy
father. . . . What was it I seen when I first opened my eyes but
your own bleeding feet, and they cut with the stones? That was a
great sight, maybe, of the image of God. . . . And what was it I
seen my last day but the villainy of hell looking out from the
eyes of the girl you're coming to marry -- the Lord forgive you
-- with Timmy the smith. That was a great sight, maybe. And
wasn't it great sights I seen on the roads when the north winds
would be driving, and the skies would be harsh, till you'd see
the horses and the asses, and the dogs itself, maybe, with their
heads hanging, and they closing their eyes --.

SAINT. And did you never hear tell of the summer, and the fine
spring, and the places where the holy men of Ireland have built