O’CASEY, Se á n

The Plough and the Stars

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A few hundred scrawls o' chaps with a couple o' guns and Rosary beads, again' a hundred thousand trained men with horse, fut an' artillery... an' he wants us to fight fair!

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She dresses herself to keep him with her, but it's no use – after a month or two, th'wonder of a woman wears off.

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One minute with him is all I ask; one minute alone with him, while you're runnin' for th' priest an' th' doctor.

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The Voice of the Man : ‘Our foes are strong, but strong as the are, they cannot undo the miracles of God, who ripens in the heart of young men the seeds sown by the young men of a former generation. They think that they have pacified Ireland. They think they have foreseen everything, think that they have provided against everything; but fools, the fools, the fools! – they have left us our Fenian dead, and while Ireland holds these graves, Ireland, unfree, shall never be at peace!’

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