Source Text: JUNO2.3Boyle: Come on in, Mrs. Madigan; come on in; I was afraid you weren't comin' -- There's some people able to dhress, ay, Joxer?
Joxer: Fair as the blossoms that bloom in the May, an' sweet as the scent of the new-mown hay. -- Ah, well she may wear them.
Mrs. Madigan: I know some as are as sweet as the blossoms that bloom in the May -- oh, no names, no pack dhrill!
Boyle: An' now I'll inthroduce the pair o' yous to Mary's intended: Mr. Bentham, this is Mrs. Madigan, an oul' back-parlour neighbour, that, if she could help it at all, ud never see a body shuk!
Bentham: I'm sure, it's a great pleasure to know you, Mrs. Madigan.
Mrs. Madigan: An' I'm goin' to tell you, Mr. Bentham, you're goin' to get as nice a bit o' skirt in Mary, there, as ever you seen in your puff. Not like some of the dhressed-up dolls that's knockin' about lookin' for men when it's a skelpin' they want. I remember, as well as I remember yestherday, the day she was born -- of a Tuesday, the 25th o' June, in the year 1901, at thirty-three minutes past wan in the day be Foley's clock, the pub at the corner o' the street. A cowld day it was too, for the season o' the year, an' I remember sayin' to Joxer, there, who I met comin' up th' stairs, that the new arrival in Boyle's ud grow up a hardy chiselur if it lived, an' that she'd be somethin' one o' these days that nobody suspected, an' so signs on it, here she is to-day, goin' to be married to a young man lookin' as if he'd be fit to commensurate in any position in life it ud please God to call him!
Boyle: Sit down, Mrs. Madigan, sit down, me oul' sport. This is Joxer Daly, Past Chief Ranger of the Dear Little Shamrock Branch of the Irish National Foresters, an oul' front-top neighbour, that never despaired, even in the darkest days of Ireland's sorra.
Joxer: Nil desperandum, Captain, nil desperandum.
Boyle: Sit down, Joxer, sit down. The two of us was ofen in a tight corner.
Mrs. Boyle: Ay, in Foley's snug!
Joxer: An' we kem out of it flyin', we kem out of it flyin', Captain.
Boyle: An' now for a dhrink -- I know yous won't refuse an oul' friend.
Mrs. Madigan: Is Johnny not well, Mrs...
Mrs. Boyle: S-s-s-sh.
Mrs. Madigan: Oh, the poor darlin'.
Boyle: Well, Mrs. Madigan, is it tea or what?
Mrs. Madigan: Well, speakin' for meself, I jus' had me tea a minute ago, an' I'm afraid to dhrink any more -- I'm never the same when I dhrink too much tay. Thanks, all the same, Mr. Boyle.
Boyle: Well, what about a bottle o' stout or a dhrop o' whisky?
Mrs. Madigan: A bottle o' stout ud be a little too heavy for me stummock afther me tay -- A-a-a-ah, I'll thry the ball o' malt.
Mrs. Madigan: There's nothin' like a ball o' malt occasional like -- too much of it isn't good. Ah, God, Johnny, don't put too much wather on it! I suppose yous'll be lavin' this place.
Boyle: I'm looking for a place near the sea; I'd like the place that you might say was me cradle, to be me grave as well. The sea is always callin' me.
Joxer: She is callin', callin', callin', in the win' an' on the sea.
Boyle: Another dhrop o' whisky, Mrs. Madigan?
Mrs. Madigan: Well, now, it ud be hard to refuse seein' the suspicious times that's in it.
Boyle: Song! -- Juno -- Mary -- Home to Our Mountains!
Mrs. Madigan: Hear, hear!
Joxer: Oh, tha's a darlin' song, a daarlin' song!
Mary: Ah no, da; I'm not in a singin' humour.
Mrs. Madigan: Gawn with you, child, an' you only goin' to be married; I remember as well as I remember yestherday, -- it was on a lovely August evenin', exactly, accordin' to date, fifteen years ago, come the Tuesday folleyin' the nex' that's comin' on, when me own man -- the Lord be good to him -- an' me was sittin' shy together in a doty little nook on a counthry road, adjacent to The Stiles. 'That'll scratch your lovely, little white neck,' says he, ketchin' hould of a danglin' bramble branch, holdin' clusters of the lovliest flowers you ever seen, an' breakin' it off, so that his arm fell, accidental like, roun' me waist, an' as I felt it tightenin', an' tightenin', an' tightenin', I thought me buzzom was every minute goin' to burst out into a roystherin' song about 'The little green leaves that were shakin' on the threes, The gallivantin' buttherflies, an' buzzin' o' the bees! '
Boyle: Ordher for the song!
Juno: Come on, Mary -- we'll do our best.
Boyle: Lull -- me -- to -- rest!
Joxer: Bravo, bravo! Darlin' girulls, darlin' girulls!
Mrs. Madigan: Juno, I never seen you in betther form.
Bentham: Very nicely rendered indeed.
Mrs. Madigan: A noble call, a noble call!
Mrs. Boyle: What about yourself, Mrs. Madigan?
Mrs. Madigan: If I were a blackbird I'd whistle and sing; I'd follow the ship that my thrue love was in; An' on the top riggin', I'd there build me nest, An' at night I would sleep on me Willie's white breast!
Mrs. Madigan: Ah, me voice is too husky now, Juno; though I remember the time when Maisie Madigan could sing like a nightingale at matin' time. I remember as well as I remember yestherday, at a party given to celebrate the comin' of the first chiselur to Annie an' Benny Jimeson -- who was the barber, yous may remember, in Henrietta Street, that, afther Easter Week, hung out a green, white an' orange pole an' then, when the Tans started their Jazz dancin', whipped it in agen, an' stuck out a red, white an' blue wan instead, givin' as an excuse that a barber's pole was strictly non-political -- singin' 'An' You'll Remember Me' with the top notes quiverin' in a dead hush of pethrified attention, folleyed be a clappin' o' han's that shuk the tumblers on the table, an' capped by Jimeson, the barber, sayin' that it was the best rendherin' of 'You'll Remember Me' he ever heard in his natural!
Boyle: Ordher for Joxer's song!
Joxer: Ah no, I couldn't; don't ass me, Captain.
Boyle: Joxer's song, Joxer's song -- give us wan of your shut-eyed wans.
Joxer: She is far from the lan' where her young hero sleeps, An' lovers around her are sighing An' lovers around her are sighin' -- sighin' -- sighin'...
Boyle: And lovers around her are sighing! What's the use of thryin' to sing the song if you don't know it?
Mary: Thry another one, Mr. Daly -- maybe you'd be more fortunate.
Mrs. Madigan: Gawn, Joxer; thry another wan.
Joxer: I have heard the mavis singin' his love song to the morn; I have seen the dew-dhrop clingin' to the rose jus' newly born; but -- but -- To the rose jus' newly born -- newly born -- born.
Johnny: Mother, put on the gramophone, for God's sake, an' stop Joxer's bawlin'.
Boyle: Gramophone! -- I hate to see fellas thryin' to do what they're not able to do.
Mrs. Boyle: Whisht, Jack, don't put it on, don't put it on yet; this must be poor Mrs. Tancred comin' down to go to the hospital -- I forgot all about them bringin' the body to the church to-night. Open the door, Mary, an' give them a bit o' light.