Then you are
Countess
Cathleen: you and yours
Are ever welcome under my poor thatch.
Are ever welcome under my poor thatch.
Yeats
_
Sit on the creepy stool
And call up a whey face and a crying voice,
And let your head be bowed upon your knees.
[_He opens the door of the cabin. _
Come in, your honours: a full score of evenings
This threshold worn away by many a foot
Has been passed only by the snails and birds
And by our own poor hunger-shaken feet.
[_The COUNTESS CATHLEEN, ALEEL, who carries a small
square harp, OONA, and a little group of fantastically
dressed musicians come in. _
CATHLEEN.
Are you so hungry?
TEIG.
[_From beside the fire. _]
Lady, I fell but now,
And lay upon the threshold like a log.
I have not tasted a crust for these four days.
[_The COUNTESS CATHLEEN empties her purse on to the
table. _
CATHLEEN.
Had I more money I would give it you,
But we have passed by many cabins to-day;
And if you come to-morrow to my house
You shall have twice the sum. I am the owner
Of a long empty castle in these woods.
MAIRE.
Then you are Countess Cathleen: you and yours
Are ever welcome under my poor thatch.
Will you sit down and warm you by the sods?
CATHLEEN.
We must find out this castle in the wood
Before the chill o' the night.
[_The musicians begin to tune their instruments. _
Do not blame me,
Good woman, for the tympan and the harp:
I was bid fly the terror of the times
And wrap me round with music and sweet song
Or else pine to my grave. I have lost my way;
Aleel, the poet, who should know these woods,
Because we met him on their border but now
Wandering and singing like the foam of the sea,
Is so wrapped up in dreams of terrors to come
That he can give no help.
MAIRE.
[_Going to the door with her. _]
You're almost there.
There is a trodden way among the hazels
That brings your servants to their marketing.
ALEEL.
When we are gone draw to the door and the bolt,
For, till we lost them half an hour ago,
Two gray horned owls hooted above our heads
Of terrors to come. Tympan and harp awake!
For though the world drift from us like a sigh,
Music is master of all under the moon;
And play 'The Wind that blows by Cummen Strand. '
[_Music.
Sit on the creepy stool
And call up a whey face and a crying voice,
And let your head be bowed upon your knees.
[_He opens the door of the cabin. _
Come in, your honours: a full score of evenings
This threshold worn away by many a foot
Has been passed only by the snails and birds
And by our own poor hunger-shaken feet.
[_The COUNTESS CATHLEEN, ALEEL, who carries a small
square harp, OONA, and a little group of fantastically
dressed musicians come in. _
CATHLEEN.
Are you so hungry?
TEIG.
[_From beside the fire. _]
Lady, I fell but now,
And lay upon the threshold like a log.
I have not tasted a crust for these four days.
[_The COUNTESS CATHLEEN empties her purse on to the
table. _
CATHLEEN.
Had I more money I would give it you,
But we have passed by many cabins to-day;
And if you come to-morrow to my house
You shall have twice the sum. I am the owner
Of a long empty castle in these woods.
MAIRE.
Then you are Countess Cathleen: you and yours
Are ever welcome under my poor thatch.
Will you sit down and warm you by the sods?
CATHLEEN.
We must find out this castle in the wood
Before the chill o' the night.
[_The musicians begin to tune their instruments. _
Do not blame me,
Good woman, for the tympan and the harp:
I was bid fly the terror of the times
And wrap me round with music and sweet song
Or else pine to my grave. I have lost my way;
Aleel, the poet, who should know these woods,
Because we met him on their border but now
Wandering and singing like the foam of the sea,
Is so wrapped up in dreams of terrors to come
That he can give no help.
MAIRE.
[_Going to the door with her. _]
You're almost there.
There is a trodden way among the hazels
That brings your servants to their marketing.
ALEEL.
When we are gone draw to the door and the bolt,
For, till we lost them half an hour ago,
Two gray horned owls hooted above our heads
Of terrors to come. Tympan and harp awake!
For though the world drift from us like a sigh,
Music is master of all under the moon;
And play 'The Wind that blows by Cummen Strand. '
[_Music.
