Source Text: JUNO2.4First_Neighbour: It's a sad journey we're goin' on, but God's good, an' the Republicans won't be always down.
Mrs. Tancred: Ah, what good is that to me now? Whether they're up or down -- it won't bring me darlin' boy from the grave.
Mrs. Boyle: Come in an' have a hot cup o' tay, Mrs. Tancred, before you go.
Mrs. Tancred: Ah, I can take nothin' now, Mrs. Boyle -- I won't be long afther him.
First_Neighbour: Still an' all, he died a noble death, an' we'll bury him like a king.
Mrs. Tancred: An' I'll go on livin' like a pauper. Ah, what's the pains I suffered bringin' him into the world to carry him to his cradle, to the pains I'm sufferin' now, carryin' him out o' the world to bring him to his grave!
Mary: It would be better for you not to go at all, Mrs. Tancred, but to stay at home beside the fire with some o' the neighbours.
Mrs. Tancred: I seen the first of him, an' I'll see the last of him.
Mrs. Boyle: You'd want a shawl, Mrs. Tancred; it's a cowld night, an' the win's blowin' sharp.
Mrs. Madigan: I've a shawl above.
Mrs. Tancred: Me home is gone now; he was me only child, an' to think that he was lyin' for a whole night stretched out on the side of a lonely counthry lane, with his head, his darlin' head, that I ofen kissed an' fondled, half hidden in the wather of a runnin' brook. An' I'm told he was the leadher of the ambush where me nex' door neighbour, Mrs. Mannin', lost her Free State soldier son. An' now here's the two of us oul' women, standin' one on each side of a scales o' sorra, balanced be the bodies of our two dead darlin' sons. God bless you, Mrs. Madigan -- Mother o' God, Mother o' God, have pity on the pair of us! -- O Blessed Virgin, where were you when me darlin' son was riddled with bullets, when me darlin' son was riddled with bullets! -- Sacred Heart of the Crucified Jesus, take away our hearts o' stone -- an' give us hearts o' flesh! -- Take away this murdherin' hate -- an' give us Thine own eternal love!
Mrs. Boyle: That was Mrs. Tancred of the two-pair back; her son was found, e'er yestherday, lyin' out beyant Finglas riddled with bullets. A Die-hard he was, be all accounts. He was a nice quiet boy, but lattherly he went to hell, with his Republic first, an' his Republic last an' Republic over all. He often took tea with us here, in the oul' days, an' Johnny, there, an' him used to be always together.
Johnny: Am I always to be havin' to tell you that he was no friend o' mine? I never cared for him, an' he could never stick me. It's not because he was Commandant of the Battalion that I was Quarther-Masther of, that we were friends.
Mrs. Boyle: He's gone now -- the Lord be good to him! God help his poor oul' creature of a mother, for no matther whose friend or enemy he was, he was her poor son.
Bentham: The whole thing is terrible, Mrs. Boyle; but the only way to deal with a mad dog is to destroy him.
Mrs. Boyle: An' to think of me forgettin' about him bein' brought to the church to-night, an' we singin' an' all, but it was well we hadn't the gramophone goin', anyhow.
Boyle: Even if we had aself. We've nothin' to do with these things, one way or t'other. That's the Government's business, an' let them do what we're payin' them for doin'.
Mrs. Boyle: I'd like to know how a body's not to mind these things; look at the way they're afther leavin' the people in this very house. Hasn't the whole house, nearly, been massacreed? There's young Dougherty's husband with his leg off; Mrs. Travers that had her son blew up be a mine in Inchegeela, in Co. Cork; Mrs. Mannin' that lost wan of her sons in an ambush a few weeks ago, an' now, poor Mrs. Tancred's only child gone west with his body made a collandher of. Sure, if it's not our business, I don't know whose business it is.
Boyle: Here, there, that's enough about them things; they don't affect us, an' we needn't give a damn. If they want a wake, well, let them have a wake. When I was a sailor, I was always resigned to meet with a wathery grave; an' if they want to be soldiers, well, there's no use o' them squealin' when they meet a soldier's fate.
Joxer: Let me like a soldier fall -- me breast expandin' to th' ball!
Mrs. Boyle: In wan way, she deserves all she got; for lately, she let th' Die-hards make an open house of th' place; an' for th' last couple of months, either when th' sun was risin' or when th' sun was settin', you had C.I.D. men burstin' into your room, assin' you where were you born, where were you christened, where were you married, an' where would you be buried!
Johnny: For God's sake, let us have no more o' this talk.
Mrs. Madigan: What about Mr. Boyle's song before we start th' gramophone?
Mary: Mother, Charlie and I are goin' out for a little sthroll.
Mrs. Boyle: All right, darlin'.
Bentham: We won't be long away, Mrs. Boyle.
Mrs. Madigan: Gwan, Captain, gwan.
Boyle: E-e-e-e-eh, I'd want to have a few more jars in me, before I'd be in fettle for singin'.
Joxer: Give us that poem you writ t'other day. Aw, it's a darlin' poem, a daarlin' poem.
Mrs. Boyle: God bless us, is he startin' to write poetry!
Boyle: E-e-e-e-eh. Shawn an' I were friends, sir, to me he was all in all. His work was very heavy and his wages were very small. None betther on th' beach as Docker, I'll go bail, 'Tis now I'm feelin' lonely, for to-day he lies in jail. He was not what some call pious -- seldom at church or prayer; For the greatest scoundrels I know, sir, goes every Sunday there. Fond of his pint -- well, rather, but hated the Boss by creed But never refused a copper to comfort a pal in need. E-e-e-e-eh.
Mrs. Madigan: Grand, grand; you should folly that up, you should folly that up.
Joxer: It's a daarlin' poem!
Boyle: E-e-e-e-eh.
Johnny: Are yous goin' to put on th' gramophone to-night, or are yous not?
Mrs. Boyle: Gwan, Jack, put on a record.
Mrs. Madigan: Gwan, Captain, gwan.
Boyle: Well, yous'll want to keep a dead silence.
Nugent: Are yous goin' to have that thing bawlin' an' the funeral of Mrs. Tancred's son passin' the house? Have none of yous any respect for the Irish people's National regard for the dead?
Mrs. Boyle: Maybe, Needle Nugent, it's nearly time we had a little less respect for the dead, an' a little more regard for the livin'.
Mrs. Madigan: We don't want you, Mr. Nugent, to teach us what we learned at our mother's knee. You don't look yourself as if you were dyin' of grief; if y'ass Maisie Madigan anything, I'd call you a real thrue Die-hard an' live-soft Republican, attendin' Republican funerals in the day, an' stoppin' up half the night makin' suits for the Civic Guards!
Crowd: To Jesus' Heart all burning With fervent love for men, My heart with fondest yearning Shall raise its joyful strain. While ages course along, Blest be with loudest song The Sacred Heart of Jesus By every heart and tongue.
Mrs. Boyle: Here's the hearse, here's the hearse!
Boyle: There's t'oul' mother walkin' behin' the coffin.
Mrs. Madigan: You can hardly see the coffin with the wreaths.
Joxer: Oh, it's a darlin' funeral, a daarlin' funeral!
Mrs. Madigan: W'd have a betther view from the street.
Boyle: Yes -- this place ud give you a crick in your neck.
The_Young_Man: Quarther-Masther Boyle.
Johnny: The Mobilizer!
The_Young_Man: You're not at the funeral?
Johnny: I'm not well.
The_Young_Man: I'm glad I've found you; you were stoppin' at your aunt's; I called there but you'd gone. I've to give you an ordher to attend a Battalion Staff meetin' the night afther to-morrow.
Johnny: Where?
The_Young_Man: I don't know; you're to meet me at the Pillar at eight o'clock; then we're to go to a place I'll be told of to-night; there we'll meet a mothor that'll bring us to the meeting. They think you might be able to know somethin' about them that gave the bend where Commandment Tancred was shelterin'.
Johnny: I'm not goin', then. I know nothing about Tancred.
The_Young_Man: You'd betther come for your own sake -- remember your oath.
Johnny: I won't go! Haven't I done enough for Ireland! I've lost me arm, an' me hip's desthroyed so that I'll never be able to walk right agen! Good God, haven't I done enough for Ireland?
The_Young_Man: Boyle, no man can do enough for Ireland!
Crowd: Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with Thee; Blessed art Thou amongst women, and blessed, etc.