Timothy:  It is yourself brought the misfortune on me, calling your Druid spells into the house.

Conan:  It is not upon you I ever turned it.

Timothy:  You have a great wrong done to me!

Mother:  It is glad you should be and happy.

Timothy; Happy, is it?  Give me a hareskin cap for to put over my ears, having wool in it very thick!
    (Sings.)

  “Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water,
  Break not ye breezes your chain of repose,
  While murmuring mournfully Lir’s lonely daughter
  Tells to the night-star her tale of woes.

  “When shall the swan, her death-note singing,
  Sleep with wings in darkness furl’d? 
  When will heaven its sweet bells ringing
  Call my spirit from this stormy world?”

Mother:  Come with me now and I’ll be chatting to you.

Timothy:  Why would I be listening to your blather when I have the voices of the four winds to be listening to?  The night wind, the east wind, the black wind and the wind from the south!

Conan:  Such a thing I never saw before in all my natural life.

Timothy:  To be hearing, without understanding it, the language of the tribes of the birds! (Puts hands over ears again.) There’s too many sounds in the world!  The sounds of the earth are terrible!  The roots squeezing and jostling one another through the clefts, and the crashing of the acorn from the oak.  The cry of the little birdeen in under the silence of the hawk!

Conan: (To Mother.) As it you let it loose upon him, let you bring him away to some hole or cave of the earth.

Timothy:  It is my desire to go cast myself in the ocean where there’ll be but one sound of its waves, the fishes in its meadows being dumb! (Goes to corner and hides his head in a sack.)

Mother:  Even so there might likely be a mermaid playing reels on her silver comb, and yourself craving after the world you left.
    (Sings:  Air, “Spailpin Fanach.”)

  “You think to go from every woe to peace in the
    wide ocean,
  But you will find your foolish mind repent its
    foolish notion. 
  When dog-fish dash and mermaids splash their
    finny tails to find you,
  I’ll make a bet that you’ll regret the world you
    left behind you!”

Celia: (Clattering in with broom, etc.) What are ye doing, coming in this room again after I having it settled so nice?  I’ll allow no one in the place again, only carriage company that will have no speck of dust upon the sole of their shoe!

Mother:  Oh, Celia, there has strange things happened!

Celia:  What I see strange is that some person has meddled with that hill of ashes on the hearth and set it flying athrough the air.  Is it hens ye are wishful to be, that would be searching and scratching in the dust for grains?  And this thrown down in the midst! (Holds up bellows.)