The Playboy of the Western World

by J. M. Synge
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

PREFACE
In writing THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD, as in my other plays, I have used

one or two words only that I have not heard among the country people of
Ireland, or spoken in my own nursery before I could read the newspapers. A

certain number of the phrases I employ I have heard also from herds and
fishermen along the coast from Kerry to Mayo, or from beggar-women and

balladsingers nearer Dublin; and I am glad to acknowledge how much I owe to
the folk imagination of these fine people. Anyone who has lived in real

intimacy with the Irish peasantry will know that the wildest sayings and ideas
in this play are tame indeed, compared with the fancies one may hear in any

little hillside cabin in Geesala, or Carraroe, or Dingle Bay. All art is a
collaboration; and there is little doubt that in the happy ages of literature,

striking and beautiful phrases were as ready to the story-teller's or the
playwright's hand, as the rich cloaks and dresses of his time. It is probable

that when the Elizabethan dramatist took his ink-horn and sat down to his work
he used many phrases that he had just heard, as he sat at dinner, from his

mother or his children. In Ireland, those of us who know the people have the
same privilege. When I was writing "The Shadow of the Glen," some years ago,

I got more aid than any learning could have given me from a chink in the floor
of the old Wicklow house where I was staying, that let me hear what was being

said by the servant girls in the kitchen. This matter, I think, is of
importance, for in countries where the imagination of the people, and the

language they use, is rich and living, it is possible for a writer to be rich
and copious in his words, and at the same time to give the reality, which is

the root of all poetry, in a comprehensive and natural form. In the modern
literature of towns, however, richness is found only in sonnets, or prose

poems, or in one or two elaborate books that are far away from the profound
and common interests of life. One has, on one side, Mallarme and Huysmans

producing this literature; and on the other, Ibsen and Zola dealing with the
reality of life in joyless and pallid words. On the stage one must have

reality, and one must have joy; and that is why the intellectual modern drama
has failed, and people have grown sick of the false joy of the musicalcomedy,

that has been given them in place of the rich joy found only in what is superb
and wild in reality. In a good play every speech should be as fully flavoured

as a nut or apple, and such speeches cannot be written by anyone who works
among people who have shut their lips on poetry. In Ireland, for a few years

more, we have a popular imagination that is fiery and magnificent, and tender;
so that those of us who wish to write start with a chance that is not given to

writers in places where the springtime of the local life has been forgotten,
and the harvest is a memory only, and the straw has been turned into bricks.

J. M. S.
January 21st, 1907.

PERSONS
CHRISTOPHER MAHON.

OLD MAHON, his father, a squatter.
MICHAEL JAMES FLAHERTY (called MICHAEL JAMES), a publican.

MARGARET FLAHERTY (called] PEGEEN MIKE), his daughter.
WIDOW QUIN, a woman of about thirty.

SHAWN KEOUGH, her cousin, a young farmer.
PHILLY CULLEN AND JIMMY FARRELL, small farmers.

SARA TANSEY, SUSAN BRADY, AND HONOR BLAKE, village girls.
A BELLMAN.

SOME PEASANTS.
The action takes place near a village, on a wild coast of Mayo. The first Act

passes on an evening of autumn, the other two Acts on the following day.
THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD

__________
ACT I.

SCENE: [Country public-house or shebeen, very rough and untidy. There is a
sort of counter on the right with shelves, holding many bottles and jugs, just

seen above it. Empty barrels stand near the counter. At back, a little to
left of counter, there is a door into the open air, then, more to the left,

there is a settle with shelves above it, with more jugs, and a table beneath a
window. At the left there is a large open fire-place, with turf fire, and a

small door into inner room. Pegeen, a wild looking but fine girl, of about
twenty, is writing at table. She is dressed in the usual peasant dress.]

PEGEEN -- [slowly as she writes.] -- Six yards of stuff for to make a yellow
gown. A pair of lace boots with lengthy heels on them and brassy eyes. A hat

is suited for a wedding-day. A fine tooth comb. To be sent with three
barrels of porter in Jimmy Farrell's creel cart on the evening of the coming

Fair to Mister Michael James Flaherty. With the best compliments of this
season. Margaret Flaherty.

SHAWN KEOGH -- [a fat and fair young man comes in as she signs, looks round
awkwardly, when he sees she is alone.] -- Where's himself?

PEGEEN -- [without looking at him.] -- He's coming. (She directs the letter.)
To Mister Sheamus Mulroy, Wine and Spirit Dealer, Castlebar.

SHAWN -- [uneasily.] -- I didn't see him on the road.
PEGEEN. How would you see him (licks stamp and puts it on letter) and it dark

night this half hour gone by?
SHAWN -- [turning towards the door again.] -- I stood a while outside

wondering would I have a right to pass on or to walk in and see you, Pegeen
Mike (comes to fire), and I could hear the cows breathing, and sighing in the

stillness of the air, and not a step moving any place from this gate to the
bridge.

PEGEEN -- [putting letter in envelope.] -- It's above at the cross-roads he
is, meeting Philly Cullen; and a couple more are going along with him to Kate

Cassidy's wake.
SHAWN -- [looking at her blankly.] -- And he's going that length in the dark

night?
PEGEEN -- [impatiently.] He is surely, and leaving me lonesome on the scruff

of the hill. (She gets up and puts envelope on dresser, then winds clock.)
Isn't it long the nights are now, Shawn Keogh, to be leaving a poor girl with

her own self counting the hours to the dawn of day?
SHAWN -- [with awkward humour.] -- If it is, when we're wedded in a short

while you'll have no call to complain, for I've little will to be walking off
to wakes or weddings in the darkness of the night.

PEGEEN -- [with rather scornful good humour.] -- You're making mighty certain,
Shaneen, that I'll wed you now.

SHAWN. Aren't we after making a good bargain, the way we're only waiting
these days on Father Reilly's dispensation from the bishops, or the Court of

Rome.
PEGEEN -- [looking at him teasingly, washing up at dresser.] -- It's a wonder,

Shaneen, the Holy Father'd be taking notice of the likes of you; for if I was
him I wouldn't bother with this place where you'll meet none but Red Linahan,

has a squint in his eye, and Patcheen is lame in his heel, or the mad
Mulrannies were driven from California and they lost in their wits. We're a

queer lot these times to go troubling the Holy Father on his sacred seat.
SHAWN -- [scandalized.] If we are, we're as good this place as another,

maybe, and as good these times as we were for ever.
PEGEEN -- [with scorn.] -- As good, is it? Where now will you meet the like of

Daneen Sullivan knocked the eye from a peeler, or Marcus Quin, God rest him,
got six months for maiming ewes, and he a great warrant to tell stories of

holy Ireland till he'd have the old women shedding down tears about their
feet. Where will you find the like of them, I'm saying?

SHAWN -- [timidly.] If you don't it's a good job, maybe; for (with peculiar
emphasis on the words) Father Reilly has small conceit to have that kind

walking around and talking to the girls.
PEGEEN -- [impatiently, throwing water from basin out of the door.] -- Stop

tormenting me with Father Reilly (imitating his voice) when I'm asking only
what way I'll pass these twelve hours of dark, and not take my death with the

fear. [Looking out of door.]
SHAWN -- [timidly.] Would I fetch you the widow Quin, maybe?