Читать книгу Poems - Yeats William Butler, William Butler Yeats - Страница 9

Thanks to that lie I told about her ships

And that about the herdsman lying sick,

We shall be too much thronged with souls to-morrow.

What has she in her coffers now but mice?

When the night fell and I had shaped myself

Into the image of the man-headed owl,

I hurried to the cliffs of Donegal,

And saw with all their canvas full of wind

And rushing through the parti-coloured sea

Those ships that bring the woman grain and meal.

They're but three days from us.

When the dew rose

I hurried in like feathers to the east,

And saw nine hundred oxen driven through Meath

With goads of iron. They're but three days from us.

Three days for traffic.

Come in, come in, you are welcome.

That is my wife. She mocked at my great masters,

And would not deal with them. Now there she is;

She does not even know she was a fool,

So great a fool she was.

She would not eat

One crumb of bread bought with our master's money,

But lived on nettles, dock, and dandelion.

There's nobody could put into her head

That Death is the worst thing can happen us.

Though that sounds simple, for her tongue grew rank

With all the lies that she had heard in chapel.

Draw to the curtain. (TEIG draws it.) You'll not play the fool

While these good gentlemen are there to save you.

Since the drought came they drift about in a throng,

Like autumn leaves blown by the dreary winds.

Come, deal – come, deal.

Who will come deal with us?

They are out of spirit, sir, with lack of food,

Save four or five. Here, sir, is one of these;

The others will gain courage in good time.

I come to deal – if you give honest price.

"John Maher, a man of substance, with dull mind,

And quiet senses and unventurous heart.

The angels think him safe." Two hundred crowns,

All for a soul, a little breath of wind.

I ask three hundred crowns. You have read there

That no mere lapse of days can make me yours.

There is something more writ here – "Often at night

He is wakeful from a dread of growing poor,

And thereon wonders if there's any man

That he could rob in safety."

Who'd have thought it?

And I was once alone with him at midnight.

I will not trust my mother after this.

There is this crack in you – two hundred crowns.

That's plenty for a rogue.

I'd give him nothing.

You'll get no more – so take what's offered you.

Has no one got a better soul than that?

If only for the credit of your parishes,

Traffic with us.

What will you give for mine?

"Soft, handsome, and still young" – not much, I think.

"It's certain that the man she's married to

Knows nothing of what's hidden in the jar

Between the hour-glass and the pepper-pot."

The scandalous book.

"Nor how when he's away

At the horse fair the hand that wrote what's hid

Will tap three times upon the window-pane."

And if there is a letter, that is no reason

Why I should have less money than the others.

You're almost safe, I give you fifty crowns.

A hundred, then.

Woman, have sense – come, come.

Is this a time to haggle at the price?

There, take it up. There, there. That's right.

Come, deal, deal, deal. It is but for charity

We buy such souls at all; a thousand sins

Made them our Master's long before we came.

Here, take my soul, for I am tired of it.

I do not ask a price.

Not ask a price?

How can you sell your soul without a price?

I would not listen to his broken wits;

His love for Countess Cathleen has so crazed him

He hardly understands what he is saying.

The trouble that has come on Countess Cathleen,

The sorrow that is in her wasted face,

The burden in her eyes, have broke my wits,

And yet I know I'd have you take my soul.

We cannot take your soul, for it is hers.

No, but you must. Seeing it cannot help her

I have grown tired of it.

Begone from me,

I may not touch it.

Is your power so small?

And must I bear it with me all my days?

May you be scorned and mocked!

Drag him away.

He troubles me.

His gaze has filled me, brother,

With shaking and a dreadful fear.

Lean forward

And kiss the circlet where my Master's lips

Were pressed upon it when he sent us hither;

You shall have peace once more.

I, too, grow weary,

But there is something moving in my heart

Whereby I know that what we seek the most

Is drawing near – our labour will soon end.

Come, deal, deal, deal, deal, deal; are you all dumb?

What, will you keep me from our ancient home,

And from the eternal revelry?

Deal, deal.

They say you beat the woman down too low.

I offer this great price: a thousand crowns

For an old woman who was always ugly.

There is but little set down here against her.

"She has stolen eggs and fowl when times were bad,

But when the times grew better has confessed it;

She never missed her chapel of a Sunday

And when she could, paid dues." Take up your money.

God bless you, sir. (She screams.) Oh, sir, a pain went through me!

That name is like a fire to all damned souls.

How she screamed out!

And maybe we shall scream so.

I tell you there is no such place as hell.

Can such a trifle turn you from your profit?

Come, deal; come, deal.

Master, I am afraid.

I bought your soul, and there's no sense in fear

Now the soul's gone.

Give me my soul again.

And take this money too, and give me mine.

Bear bastards, drink or follow some wild fancy;

For sighs and cries are the soul's work,

And you have none.

Come, let's away.

Yes, yes.

Come quickly; if that woman had not screamed

I would have lost my soul.

Come, come away.