PEGEEN. Come on, so. [_She goes forward with the others, and they drop the double hitch over his head._]
SHAWN. _triumphantly, as they pull the rope tight on his arms._—Come on to the peelers, till they stretch you now.
MICHAEL. If we took pity on you, the Lord God would, maybe, bring us ruin from the law to-day, so you’d best come easy, for hanging is an easy and a speedy end.
CHRISTY. I’ll not stir. (_To Pegeen._) And what is it you’ll say to me, and I after doing it this time in the face of all?
PEGEEN. I’ll say, a strange man is a marvel, with his mighty talk; but what’s a squabble in your back-yard, and the blow of a loy, have taught me that there’s a great gap between a gallous story and a dirty deed. (_To men._) Take him on from this, or the lot of us will be likely put on trial for his deed to-day.
CHRISTY. _with horror in his voice._—And it’s yourself will send me off, to have a horny-fingered hangman hitching his bloody slip-knots at the butt of my ear.
MEN. _pulling rope._—Come on, will you? [_He is pulled down on the floor._]
CHRISTY. _twisting his legs round the table._—Cut the rope, Pegeen, and I’ll quit the lot of you, and live from this out, like the madmen of Keel, eating muck and green weeds, on the faces of the cliffs.
PEGEEN. And leave us to hang, is it, for a saucy liar, the like of you? (_To men._) Take him on, out from this.
SHAWN. Pull a twist on his neck, and squeeze him so.
PHILLY. Twist yourself. Sure he cannot hurt you, if you keep your distance from his teeth alone.
SHAWN. I’m afeard of him. (_To Pegeen._) Lift a lighted sod, will you, and scorch his leg.
PEGEEN. _blowing the fire, with a bellows._—Leave go now, young fellow, or I’ll scorch your shins.
CHRISTY. You’re blowing for to torture me (_His voice rising and growing stronger._) That’s your kind, is it? Then let the lot of you be wary, for, if I’ve to face the gallows, I’ll have a gay march down, I tell you, and shed the blood of some of you before I die.
SHAWN. _in terror._—Keep a good hold, Philly. Be wary, for the love of God. For I’m thinking he would liefest wreak his pains on me.
CHRISTY. _almost gaily._—If I do lay my hands on you, it’s the way you’ll be at the fall of night, hanging as a scarecrow for the fowls of hell. Ah, you’ll have a gallous jaunt I’m saying, coaching out through Limbo with my father’s ghost.