of some remote time, and near them sits an old priest, FATHER
HART. He may be dressed as a friar. There is food and drink
upon the table. MARY BRUIN stands by the door reading a book. If
she looks up she can see through the door into the wood.

BRIDGET. Because I bid her clean the pots for supper
She took that old book down out of the thatch;
She has been doubled over it ever since.
We should be deafened by her groans and moans
Had she to work as some do, Father Hart;
Get up at dawn like me and mend and scour;
Or ride abroad in the boisterous night like you,
The pyx and blessed bread under your arm.

SHAWN. Mother, you are too cross.

BRIDGET. You've married her,
And fear to vex her and so take her part.

MAURTEEN (to FATHER HART)
It is but right that youth should side with youth
She quarrels with my wife a bit at times,
And is too deep just now in the old book
But do not blame her greatly; she will grow
As quiet as a puff-ball in a tree
When but the moons of marriage dawn and die
For half a score of times.

FATHER HART. Their hearts are wild,
As be the hearts of birds, till children come.