it's bad enough he is, I'm thinking, without
ourselves making him worse.
SARAH -- putting her down, to the priest,
half laughing. -- Don't mind her at all, your
reverence. She's no shame the time she's a
drop taken; and if it was the Holy Father
from Rome was in it, she'd give him a little
sup out of her mug, and say the same as she'd
say to yourself.
MARY -- to the priest. -- Let you drink it
up, holy father. Let you drink it up, I'm say-
ing, and not be letting on you wouldn't do
the like of it, and you with a stack of pint
bottles above, reaching the sky.
PRIEST -- with resignation. -- Well, here's
to your good health, and God forgive us all.
[He drinks.
MARY. That's right now, your reverence,
and the blessing of God be on you. Isn't it
a grand thing to see you sitting down, with
no pride in you, and drinking a sup with the
like of us, and we the poorest, wretched,
starving creatures you'd see any place on the
earth?
PRIEST. If it's starving you are itself,
I'm thinking it's well for the like of you that
do be drinking when there's drouth on you,
and lying down to sleep when your legs are
stiff. (He sighs gloomily.) What would