Deirdre of the Sorrows by J. M. (John Millington) Synge
page 40 of 86 (46%)
page 40 of 86 (46%)
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three weeks I am losing my manners beside
the Saxon bull-frogs at the head of the bog. Three weeks is a long space, and yet you're seven years spancelled with Naisi and the pair. DEIRDRE -- beginning to fold up her silks and jewels. -- Three weeks of your days might be long, surely, yet seven years are a short space for the like of Naisi and myself. 51 OWEN -- derisively. -- If they're a short space there aren't many the like of you. Wasn't there a queen in Tara had to walk out every morning till she'd meet a stranger and see the flame of courtship leaping up within his eye? Tell me now, (leaning towards her) are you well pleased that length with the same man snorting next you at the dawn of day? DEIRDRE -- very quietly. -- Am I well pleased seven years seeing the same sun throw- ing light across the branches at the dawn of day? It's a heartbreak to the wise that it's for a short space we have the same things only. (With contempt.) Yet the earth itself is a silly place, maybe, when a man's a fool and talker. OWEN -- sharply. -- Well, go, take your choice. Stay here and rot with Naisi or go to |
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