SHEAMUS.  Wait, I have a good idea now; say there is a coach upset at the bottom of the hill, and that they are asking for a hay-rope to mend it with.  He can’t see as far as that from the door, and he won’t know it’s not true it is.

MAURYA.  That’s the story, Sheela.  Now, Sheamus, go among the people and tell them the secret.  Tell them what they have to say, that no one at all in this country ever saw a hay-rope, and put a good skin on the lie yourself. (SHEAMUS goes from person to person whispering to them, and some of them begin laughing. The piper has begun playing.  Three or four couples rise up.)

HANRAHAN (after looking at them for a couple of minutes).  Whisht!  Let ye sit down!  Do ye call that dragging, dancing?  You are tramping the floor like so many cattle.  You are as heavy as bullocks, as awkward as asses.  May my throat be choked if I would not sooner be looking at as many lame ducks hopping on one leg through the house.  Leave the floor to Oona ni Regaun and to me.

ONE OF THE MEN GOING TO DANCE.  And for what would we leave the floor to you?

HANRAHAN.  The swan of the brink of the waves, the royal phoenix, the pearl of the white breast, the Venus amongst the women, Oona ni Regaun, is standing up with me, and any place she rises up, the sun and the moon bow to her, and so shall ye yet.  She is too handsome, too sky-like for any other woman to be near her.  But wait a while!  Before I’ll show you how the Connacht boy can dance, I will give you the poem I made on the star of the province of Munster, on Oona ni Regaun.  Get up, O sun among women, and we will sing the song together, verse about, and then we’ll show them what right dancing is! (OONA rises.)

HANRAHAN.

    She is white Oona of the yellow hair,
    The Coolin that was destroying my heart inside me;
    She is my secret love and my lasting affection;
    I care not for ever for any woman but her.

OONA.

    O bard of the black eye, it is you
    Who have found victory in the world and fame;
    I call on yourself and I praise your mouth;
    You have set my heart in my breast astray.

HANRAHAN.

    O fair Oona of the golden hair,
    My desire, my affection, my love and my store,
    Herself will go with her bard afar;
    She has hurt his heart in his breast greatly.

OONA.

    I would not think the night long nor the day,
    Listening to your fine discourse;
    More melodious is your mouth than the singing of the birds;
    From my heart in my breast you have found love.

HANRAHAN.

    I walked myself the entire world,
    England, Ireland, France, and Spain;
    I never saw at home or afar
    Any girl under the sun like fair Oona.

OONA.

    I have heard the melodious harp
    On the streets of Cork playing to us;
    More melodious by far I thought your voice,
    More melodious by far your mouth than that.