Juno and the Paycock Quotes

Mary: The full details are in it this mornin’; seven wounds he had - one entherin’ the neck, with an exit wound beneath the left shoulder-blade; another in the left breast penethratin’ the heart, an’ . . .

Johnny: (springing up from the fire) Oh, quit that readin’, for God’s sake! Are yous losin’ all your feelin’s? It’ll soon be that none of you’ll read anythin’ that’s not about butcherin’! (He goes quickly into the room on left.)

Mary: He’s gettin’ very sensitive, all of a sudden!

Mary: What’s the use of belongin’ to a Trades Union if you won’t stand up for your principles? Why did they sack her? It was a clear case of victimization. We couldn’t let her walk the streets, could we?

Mrs Boyle: No, of course yous couldn’t—yous wanted to keep her company. Wan victim wasn’t enough. When the employers sacrifice wan victim, the Trades Unions go wan betther be sacrificin’ a hundred.

Mary: It doesn’t matther what you say, ma—a principle’s a principle.

Mrs Boyle: Yis; an’ when I go into oul’ Murphy’s tomorrow, an’ he gets to know that, instead o’ payin’ all, I’m goin’ to borry more, what’ll he say when I tell him a principle’s a principle? What’ll we do if he refuses to give us any more on tick?

Mrs Boyle: I don’t know what’s goin’ to be done with him. The bullet he got in the hip in Easter Week was bad enough, but the bomb that shatthered his arm in the fight in O ‘Connell Street put the finishin’ touch on him. I knew he was makin’ a fool of himself. God knows I went down on me bended knees to him not to go agen the Free State.

Boyle: (to Joxer, who is still outside) Come on, come on in, Joxer; she’s gone out long ago, man. If there’s nothing else to be got, we’ll furrage out a cup o’ tay, anyway. It’s the only bit I get in comfort when she’s away. ‘Tisn’t Juno should be her pet name at all, but Deirdre of the Sorras, for she’s always grousin’.

Mrs Boyle: Shovel! Ah; then, me boyo, you’d do far more work with a knife an’ fork than ever you’ll do with a shovel! If there was e’er a genuine job goin’ you’d be dh’other way about - not able to lift your arms with the pains in your legs! Your poor wife slavin’ to keep the bit in your mouth, an’ you gallivantin’ about all the day like a paycock!

Boyle: It ud be betther for a man to be dead, betther for a man to be dead.

Boyle: Chiselurs don’t care a damn now about their parents, they’re bringin’ their fathers’ grey hairs down with sorra to the grave, an’ laughin’ at it, laughin’ at it. Ah, I suppose it’s just the same everywhere - the whole worl’s in a state o’ chassis!

Bentham: Juno! What an interesting name! It reminds one of Homer’s glorious story of ancient gods and heroes.

Boyle: Yis, doesn’t it? You see, Juno was born an’ christened in June; I met her in June; we were married in June, an’ Johnny was born in June, so wan day I says to her, ‘You should ha’ been called Juno,’ an’ the name stuck to her ever since.

Boyle: He’ll never blow the froth off a pint o’ mine agen, that’s a sure thing. Johnny. . . Mary. . . you’re to keep yourselves to yourselves for the future. Juno, I’m done with Joxer. . . . I’m a new man from this out . . .

(Clasping Juno’s hand, and singing emotionally)
O, me darlin’ Juno, I will be thrue to thee;
Me own, me darlin’ Juno, you’re all the world to me.

Curtain.

The same, but the furniture is more plentiful, and of a vulgar nature. A glaringly upholstered armchair and lounge; cheap pictures and photos everywhere. Every available spot is ornamented with huge vases filled with artificial flowers. Crossed festoons of coloured paper chains stretch from end to end of ceiling. On the table is an old attaché case. It is about six in the evening, and two days after the First Act. Boyle, in his shirt-sleeves, is voluptuously stretched on the sofa; he is smoking a clay pipe. He is half asleep. A lamp is lighting on the table. After a few moments’ pause the voice of Joxer is heard singing softly outside at the door […]

Boyle: (leaping up, takes a pen in his hand and busies himself with papers) Come along, Joxer, me son, come along.

Mary: I don’t know what you wanted a gramophone for—I know Charlie hates them; he says they’re destructive of real music.

Boyle: Desthructive of music - that fella ud give you a pain in your face. All a gramophone wants is to be properly played; its thrue wondher is only felt when everythin’s quiet—what a gramophone wants is dead silence!

Bentham: It’s hard to explain in a few words: Theosophy’s founded on The Vedas, the religious books of the East. Its central theme is the existence of an all-pervading Spirit—the Life-Breath. Nothing really exists but this one Universal Life-Breath. And whatever even seems to exist separately from this Life-Breath, doesn’t really exist at all. It is all vital force in man, in all animals, and in all vegetation. This Life-Breath is called the Prawna.

Mrs Boyle: The Prawna! What a comical name!

Boyle: Prawna; yis, the Prawna. (Blowing gently through his lips) That’s the Prawna!

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 often 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.

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!

Johnny: (passionately) 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?

Young Man: Boyle, no man can do enough for Ireland!

Joxer: Sure, the house couldn’t hould them lately; an’ he goin’ about like a mastherpiece of the Free State counthry; forgettin’ their friends; forgettin’ God - wouldn’t even lift his hat passin’ a chapel! Sure they were bound to get a dhrop! An’ you really think there’s no money comin’ to him afther all?

Mrs Madigan: So much th’ betther. It’ll be an ayse to me conscience, for I’m takin’ what doesn’t belong to you. You’re not goin’ to be swankin’ it like a paycock with Maisie Madigan’s money - I’ll pull some o’ th’ gorgeous feathers out o’ your tail! (She goes off with the gramophone.)

Boyle: Oh, isn’t this a nice thing to come on top o’ me, an’ the state I’m in! A pretty show I’ll be to Joxer an’ to that oul’ wan, Madigan! Amn’t I afther goin’ through enough without havin’ to go through this!

Mrs Boyle: What you an’ I’ll have to go through’ll be nothin’ to what poor Mary’ll have to go through; for you an’ me is middlin’ old, an’ most of our years is spent; but Mary’ll have maybe forty years to face an’ handle, an’ every wan of them’ll be tainted with a bitther memory.

Boyle: Where is she? Where is she till I tell her off? I’m tellin’ you when I’m done with her she’ll be a sorry girl!

An’ we felt the power that fashion’d
All the lovely things we saw,
That created all the murmur
Of an everlasting law,
Was a hand of force an’ beauty,
With an eagle’s tearin’ claw.

Then we saw our globe of beauty
Was an ugly thing as well,
A hymn divine whose chorus
Was an agonizin’ yell;
Like the story of a demon,
That an angel had to tell;

Like a glowin’ picture by a
Hand unsteady, brought to ruin;
Like her craters, if their deadness
Could give life unto the moon;
Like the agonizing horror
Of a violin out of tune.

Mrs. Boyle: Maybe I didn’t feel sorry enough for Mrs Tancred when her poor son was found as Johnny’s been found now - because he was a Die-hard! Ah, why didn’t I remember that then he wasn’t a Diehard or a Stater, but only a poor dead son! It’s well I remember all that she said - an’ it’s my turn to say it now: What was the pain I suffered, Johnny, bringin’ you into the world to carry you to your cradle, to the pains I’ll suffer carryin’ you out o’ the world to bring you to your grave! Mother o’ God, Mother o’ God, have pity on us all! Blessed Virgin, where were you when me darlin’ son was riddled with bullets […]? Sacred Heart o’ Jesus, take away our hearts o’ stone, and give us hearts o’ flesh! Take away this murdherin’ hate, an’ give us Thine own eternal love!

Boyle: I’m able to go no farther…. Two polis, e y…what were they doin’ here, I wondher? …Up to no good, anyhow… an’ Juno an’ that lovely daughter o’ mine with them. (Taking a sixpence from his pocket and looking at it) Wan single, solithary tanner left out of all I borreyed .... (He lets it fall.) The last o’ the Mohicans…. The blinds is down, Joxer, the blinds is down!