Delphi Complete Poetry and Plays of W. B. Yeats (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)

by W. B. Yeats

  Paul Ruttledge. I have taken to the roads because there is a wild beast I would overtake, and these people are good snarers of beasts. They can help me.

  Charlie Ward. What kind of a wild beast is it you want?

  Paul Ruttledge. Oh! it’s a very terrible wild beast, with iron teeth and brazen claws that can root up spires and towers.

  Charlie Ward. It’s best not to try and overtake a beast like that, but to cross running water and leave it after you.

  Tommy the Song. I heard one coming after me one night; very big and shadowy it was, and I could hear it breathing. But when it came up with me I lifted a hazel rod was in my hand, and it was gone on the moment.

  Paul Ruttledge. My wild beast is Laughter, the mightiest of the enemies of God. I will outrun it and make it friendly.

  Jerome. That is your old wild talk. Do have some sense and go back to your family.

  Paul Ruttledge. I am never going back to them. I am going to live among these people. I will marry among them.

  Jerome. That is nonsense; you will soon change your mind.

  Paul Ruttledge. Oh! no, I won’t; I am taking my vows as you made yours when you entered religion. I have chosen my wife; I am going to marry before evening.

  Jerome. Thank God, you will have to stop short of that, the Church will never marry you.

  Paul Ruttledge. Oh! I am not going to ask the help of the Church. But I am to be married by what may be as old a ceremony as yours. What is it I am to do, Charlie?

  Charlie Ward. To lep a budget, sir.

  Paul Ruttledge. Yes, that is it, the budget is there by the wall.

  Jerome. I command you, in the name of the Holy Church and of the teaching you have received from the Church, to leave this folly, this degradation, this sin!

  Paul Ruttledge. You forget, Jerome, that I am on the track of the wild beast, and hunters in all ages have been a bad people to preach to. When I have tamed the beast, perhaps I will bring him to your religious house to be baptized.

  Jerome. I will not listen to this profanity. [To Charlie Ward.] It is you who have put this madness on him as you have stolen his clothes!

  Charlie Ward. Stop your chat, ye petticoated preacher.

  Paul Ruttledge. I think, Father Jerome, you had better be getting home. This people never gave in to the preaching of S. Patrick.

  Paddy Cockfight. I’ll send you riding home with your face to the tail of the ass!

  Tommy the Song. No, stop till we show you that we can make as good curses as yourself. That you may never be warm in winter or cold in summer time — —

  Charlie Ward. That’s the chat! Bravo! Let him have it.

  Tinkers. Be off! be off out of this!

  Molly the Scold. Now curse him, Tommy.

  Tommy the Song. A wide hoarseness on you — a high hanging to you on a windy day; that shivering fever may stretch you nine times, and that the curses of the poor may be your best music, and you hiding behind the door. [Jerome goes out.

  Molly the Scold. And you hiding behind the door, and squeezed between the hinges and the wall.

  Other Tinkers. Squeezed between the hinges and the wall. [They follow Jerome.

  Paul Ruttledge. [Crying after them.] Don’t harm that gentleman; he is a friend of mine.

  [He goes to the wall, and stands there silently, looking upward.

  Sabina Silver. It was grand talk, indeed: I didn’t understand a word of it.

  Paul Ruttledge. The crows are beginning to fly home. There is a flock of them high up under that cloud. I wonder where their nests are.

  Charlie Ward. A long way off, among those big trees about Tillyra Castle.

  Paul Ruttledge. Yes, I remember. I have seen them coming home there on a windy evening, tossing and whirling like the sea. They may have seen what I am looking for, they fly so far. A sailor told me once that he saw a crow three hundred miles from land, but maybe he was a liar.

  Charlie Ward. Well, they fly far, anyway.

  Paul Ruttledge. They tell one another what they have seen, too. That is why they make so much noise. Maybe their news goes round the world. [He comes towards the others.] I think they have seen my wild beast, Laughter. They could tell me if he has a face smoky from the eternal fires, and wings of brass and claws of brass — claws of brass. [Holds out his hands and moves them like claws.] Sabina, would you like to see a beast with eyes hard and cold and blue, like sapphires? Would you, Sabina? Well, it’s time now for the wedding. So what shall we get for the wedding party? What would you like, Sabina?

  Sabina Silver. I don’t know.

  Paul Ruttledge. What do you say, Charlie? A wedding cake and champagne. How would you like champagne? [Tinkers begin to return.

  Charlie Ward. It might be middling.

  Paul Ruttledge. What would you say to a — —

  One of the Boys runs in carrying a pig’s cheek. The rest of the Tinkers return with him.

  Boy. I knew I could do it. I told you I’d have my dealing trick out of the priest. I took a hold of this, and Johneen made a snap at the onions.

  Paul Ruttledge. And he didn’t catch you?

  Boy. He’d want to be a lot smarter than he is to do that.

  Paul Ruttledge. You are a smart lad, anyway. What do you say we should have for our wedding party?

  Boy. Are you rich?

  Paul Ruttledge. More or less.

  Boy. I seen a whole truck full of cakes and bullseyes in the village below. Could you buy the whole of them?

  Charlie Ward. Stop talking nonsense. What we want is porter.

  Paul Ruttledge. All right. How many public-houses are there in the village?

  Tommy the Song. Twenty-four.

  Paul Ruttledge. Is there any place we can have barrels brought to?

  Charlie Ward. There’s a shed near seems to be empty. We might go there.

  Paul Ruttledge. Then go and order as many barrels as we can make use of to be brought there.

  Paddy Cockfight. We will; and we’ll stop till we’ve drunk them out.

  Paul Ruttledge. [Taking out money.] I have more money than will pay for that. Sabina, we’ll treat the whole neighbourhood in honour of our wedding. I’ll have all the public-houses thrown open, and free drinks going for a week!

  Tinkers. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

  Charlie Ward. Three cheers more, boys.

  All. Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

  The Boys. Now here’s the budget.

  Paul Ruttledge. [Taking Sabina Silver’s hand.] Now, Sabina, one, two, three!

  Curtain.

  ACT III.

  Scene: A large shed. Some sheepskins hanging up. Irons and pots for branding sheep, some pitchforks, etc. Tinkers playing cards, Paul Ruttledge sitting on an upturned basket.

  Charlie Ward. Stop that melodeon, now will ye, and we’ll have a taste of the cocks. Paul didn’t see them yet what they can do. Where’s Tommy? Where in the earthly world is Tommy the Song?

  Paddy Cockfight. He’s over there in the corner.

  Charlie Ward. What are you doing there, Tommy?

  Tommy the Song. Taking a mouthful of prayers, I am.

  Charlie Ward. Praying! did anyone ever hear the like of that? Pull him out of the corner.

  [Paddy Cockfight pulls Tommy the Song out of the corner.

  Charlie Ward. What is it you were praying for, I would like to know?

  Tommy the Song. I was praying that we might all soon die.

  Paddy Cockfight. Die, is it?

  Charlie Ward. Is it die and all that porter about? Well! you have done enough praying, go over there and look for the basket. Who was it set him praying, I wonder? I am thinking it is the first prayer he ever said in his life.

  Sabina Silver. It’s likely it was Paul. He’s after talking to him through the length of an hour.

  Paul Ruttledge. Maybe it was. Don’t mind him. I said just now that when we were all dead and in heaven it would be a sort of drunkenness, a sort of ecstasy. There is a hymn about it, but it is in Latin. “Et calix meus ineb
rians quam praeclarus est.” How splendid is the cup of my drunkenness!

  Charlie Ward. Well, that is a great sort of a hymn. I never thought there was a hymn like that, I never did.

  Paddy Cockfight. To think, now, there is a hymn like that. I mustn’t let it slip out of my mind. How splendid is the cup of my drunkenness, that’s it.

  Charlie Ward. Have you found that old bird of mine?

  Tommy the Song. [Who has been searching among the baskets.] Here he is, in the basket and a lot of things over it.

  Charlie Ward. Get out that new speckled bird of yours, Paddy, I’ve been wanting to see how could he play for a week past.

  Paul Ruttledge. Where do you get the cocks?

  Paddy Cockfight. It was a man below Mullingar owned this one. The day I first seen him I fastened my two eyes on him, he preyed on my mind, and next night, if I didn’t go back every foot of nine miles to put him in my bag.

  Paul Ruttledge. Do you pay much for a good fighting cock?

  Sabina Silver. [Laughs.] Do you pay much, Paddy?

  Paul Ruttledge. Perhaps you don’t pay anything.

  Sabina Silver. I think Paddy gets them cheap.

  Charlie Ward. He gets them cheaper than another man would, anyhow.

  Paddy Cockfight. He’s the best cock I ever saw before or since. Believe me, I made no mistake when I pitched on him.

  Tommy the Song. I don’t care what you think of him. I’ll back the red; it’s he has the lively eye.

  Molly the Scold. Andy Farrell had an old cock, and it bent double like himself, and all the feathers flittered out of it, but I hold you he’d leather both your red and your speckled cock together. I tell ye, boys, that was the cock!

  [Uproarious shouts and yells heard outside.

  Charlie Ward. Those free drinks of yours, Paul, is playing the devil with them. Do you hear them now and every roar out of them? They’re putting the cocks astray. [He takes out a cock.] Sure they think it’s thunder.

  Molly the Scold. There’s not a man of them outside there now but would be ready to knock down his own brother.

  Tommy the Song. He wouldn’t know him to knock him down. They’re all blind. I never saw the like of it.

  Paul Ruttledge. You in here stood it better than that.

  Charlie Ward. When those common men drink it’s what they fall down. They haven’t the heads. They’re not like us that have to keep heads and heels on us.

  Paddy Cockfight. It’s well we kept them out of this, or they’d be lying on the floor now, and there’d be no place for my poor bird to show himself off. Look at him now! Isn’t he the beauty! [Takes out the cock.

  Charlie Ward. Now boys, settle the place, put over those barrels out of that. [They push barrels into a row at back.] Paul, you sit on the bin the way you’ll get a good view.

  [A loud knock at the door. An authoritative voice outside.

  Voice. Open this door.

  Paddy Cockfight. That’s Green, the Removable; I know his voice well!

  Charlie Ward. Clear away, boys. Back with those cocks. There, throw that sack over the baskets. Quick, will ye!

  Colonel Lawley. [Outside.] Open this door at once.

  Mr. Green. [Outside.] I insist on this door being opened.

  Molly the Scold. What do they want at all? I wish we didn’t come into a place with no back door to it.

  Paul Ruttledge. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Open the door, Charlie. [Charlie Ward opens the door.

  * * *

  Enter Mr. Green, Colonel Lawley, Mr. Dowler, Mr. Joyce, Mr. Algie and Thomas Ruttledge.

  Paddy Cockfight. All J.P.’s; I have looked at every one of them from the dock!

  Mr. Green. Mr. Ruttledge, this is very sad.

  Mr. Joyce. This is a disgraceful business, Paul; the whole countryside is demoralized. There is not a man who has come to sensible years who is not drunk.

  Mr. Dowler. This is a flagrant violation of all propriety. Society is shaken to its roots. My own servants have been led astray by the free drinks that are being given in the village. My butler, who has been with me for seven years, has not been seen for the last two days.

  Paul Ruttledge. I am sure you will echo Mr. Dowler, Algie.

  Mr. Algie. Indeed I do. I endorse his sentiments completely. There has not been a stroke of work done for the last week. The hay is lying in ridges where it has been cut, there is not a man to be found to water the cattle. It is impossible to get as much as a horse shod in the village.

  Paul Ruttledge. I think you have something to say, Colonel Lawley?

  Colonel Lawley. I have undoubtedly. I want to know when law and order are to be re-established. The police have been quite unable to cope with the disorder. Some of them have themselves got drunk. If my advice had been taken the military would have been called in.

  Mr. Green. The military are not indispensable on occasions like the present. There are plenty of police coming now. We have wired to Dublin for them, they will be here by the four o’clock train.

  Paul Ruttledge. [Gets down from his bin.] But you have not told me what you have come here for? Is there anything I can do for you?

  Thomas Ruttledge. Won’t you come home, Paul? The children have been asking for you, and we don’t know what to say.

  Mr. Green. We have come to request you to go to the public-houses, to stop the free drinks, to send the people back to their work. As for those tinkers, the law will deal with them when the police arrive.

  Thomas Ruttledge. Oh, Paul, why have you upset the place like this?

  Paul Ruttledge. Well, I wanted to give a little pleasure to my fellow-creatures.

  Mr. Dowler. This seems rather a low form of pleasure.

  Paul Ruttledge. I daresay it seems to you a little violent. But the poor have very few hours in which to enjoy themselves; they must take their pleasure raw; they haven’t the time to cook it.

  Mr. Algie. But drunkenness!

  Paul Ruttledge. [Putting his hand on the shoulders of two of the magistrates.] Have we not tried sobriety? Do you like it? I found it very dull? [A yell from outside.] There is not one of those people outside but thinks that he is a king, that he is riding the wind. There is not one of them that would not hit the world a slap in the face. Some poet has written that exuberance is beauty, and that the roadway of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. But I forgot — you do not read the poets.

  Mr. Dowler. What we want to know is, are you going to send the people back to their work?

  Paul Ruttledge. Oh, work is such a little thing in comparison with experience. Think what it is to them to have their imagination like a blazing tar-barrel for a whole week. Work could never bring them such blessedness as that.

  Mr. Dowler. Everyone knows there is no more valuable blessing than work.

  Mr. Algie. Idleness is the curse of this country.

  Paul Ruttledge. I am prejudiced, for I have always been an idler. Doubtless, the poor must work. It was, no doubt, of them you were speaking. Yet, doesn’t the Church say, doesn’t it describe heaven as a place where saints and angels only sing and hold branches and wander about hand in hand. That must be changed. We must teach the poor to think work a thing fit for heaven, a blessed thing. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Dowler. Will you subscribe, and you, and you, and we’ll send lecturers about with magic lanterns showing heaven as it should be, the saints with spades and hammers in their hands and everybody working. The poor might learn to think more of work then. Will you join in that scheme, Dowler?

  Mr. Dowler. I think you’d better leave these subjects alone. It is obvious you have cut yourself off from both religion and society.

  Mr. Green. The world could not go on without work.

  Paul Ruttledge. The world could not go on without work! The world could not go on without work! I must think about it. [Gets up on bin.] Why should the world go on? Perhaps the Christian teacher came to bring it to an end. Let us send messengers everywhere to tell the people to stop working, and then the world may come to an e
nd. He spoke of the world, the flesh, and the devil. Perhaps it would be a good thing to end these one by one.

  Colonel Lawley. Come away out of this. He has gone mad.

  Paul Ruttledge. Ah! I thought that would scare them.