The action of Juno and the Paycock takes place between September and. November In that year there were no fewer than four governments in. Title. Juno and the paycock / Sean O’Casey. Author. O’Casey, Sean, Availability. Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons. The most famous play by this remarkable Irish dramatist. Juno and the Paycock has been produced throughout the world and offers a compelling look at the.

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Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet. A few days elapse between Acts I. Period of the play, Left, a door leading jnuo another part of the house; left of door a window looking into the street; at back a dresser; farther to right at back, a window looking into the back of the house.

Between the window and.

Farther to the right is a small bed partly concealed by cretonne hangings strung on a twine. To the right is the fireplace; near the fireplace is a door leading to the other room.

Beside the fireplace is a box con- taining coal. On the mantelshelf is an alarm clock lying on its face. In a corner near the window looking into the back is a galvanized bath. A table and some chairs.

On the table are breakfast things for one. There are a few books on the dresser and one on the table. Leaning against the dresser is a long-handled shovel — the kind invariably used by labourers when turning concrete or mixing mortar. MARY with her jumper off- it is lying on the back of a chair — is arranging her hair before a tiny mirror perched on the table. Beside the mirror is stretched out the morning paper which she looks at when she isn’t gazing into the mirror.

She is a well- made and good-looking girl of twenty-two. Two forces are working in her mind — one, through the circumstances of her life, pulling her back; the other, through the influence of books she has read, pushing her forward.

The opposing forces are apparent in her speech and her manners, both of which are degraded by her environment, and improved by her acquaintance — slight though it be — with literature. The time is early forenoon. MARY looking at the paper. On a little bye- road, out beyant Finglas, he was found. She is forty-five years of age, and twenty years ago she must have been a pretty woman; but her face has now assumed that look which ultimately settles down upon the faces of the women of the working- class; a look of listless monotony and harassed anxiety, blending with an expression of mechanical resistance.

Were circumstances favourable, she would probably be a handsome, active and clever woman. Isn’t he come in yet? Oh, he’ll come in when he likes; struttin’ about the town like a paycock with Joxer, I suppose. I hear all about Mrs.

Tancred’s son is in this mornin’s paper. Oh, quit that readin’, for God’s sakel Are yous losin’ all your feelins? It’ll soon be that none of yous’ll read anythin’ that’s not about butcherin’l He goes quickly into the room on left?


He’s gettin’ very sensitive, all of a sudden 1 MRS. I’ll read it myself, Mary, by an’ by, when I come home. Everybody’s sayin’ that he was a Die-hard — thanks be to God that Johnny had nothin’ to do with him this long time.

Can’t you let him get it himself when ecript comes in? Yes, an’ let him bring in Joxer Daly along with him? But I’ll stop here till he comes in, if I have to wait till to-morrow mornin’. Bring us in a dhrink o’ wather. Isn’t he big an’ able enough to come out an’ get it himself? If you weren’t well yourself you’d like somebody to bring you in a dhrink o’ wather. She brings in drink and returns? Isn’t it terrible to have to be waitin’ this wayl You’d think he was bringin’ twenty pouns a week into the house the way he’s going on.

He wore out the Health Insurance long ago, he’s afther wearin’ out the unemployment dole, an’, now, he’s thryin’ to wear out me! An’ constantly singin’, junk less, when he ought always to be on his knees offerin’ up a Novena for a job!

Juno and the paycock / Sean O’Casey

MARY tying a ribbon, fillet wise around her head]. I don’t like this ribbon, ma; I think I’ll wear the green — it looks betther than the blue. Ah, wear whatever ribbon scriph like, girl, only don’t be botherin’ me. I don’t know what a girl on strike wants to be wearin’ a ribbon round her head for or silk stockins on her legs either; its wearin’ them things that make the employers think they’re givin’ yous too much money.

The hour is past now when we’ll ask the employers’ permission to wear what we like. I don’t know why you wanted to walk out for Jennie Claffey; up to this you never had a good word for her.

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? 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 scriptt betther be sacrificin’ a hundred. MARY, It doesn’t matther what you say, ma — a principle’s a principle.

[OTA] Juno and the paycock / Sean O’Casey

Yis; an’ when I go into ouT Murphy’s to-morrow, 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 tje give us any more on tick?

He daren’t refuse — if he does, can’t you tell him he’s paid? He has evidently gone through a rough time. His face is pale and drawn; there is a tremulous look of indefinite fear in his eyes. The left sleeve of his coat is empty, and he walks oaycock a slight halt. I was lyin’ down; I thought yous were gone. OnT Simon Mackay is thrampin’ about like a horse over me head, an’ I can’t sleep with him — they’re like thunder-claps in me brain!


The curse o’ — God forgive me for goin’ to curse! There, now; go back an’ lie down agen, an I’ll bring you in teh nice cup o’ tay. You’re always thinkin’ o’ tay. If a man was dyin’, you’d thry to make him swally a cup o’ tay! He hhe back MRS. 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.

Is Scripg goin’ to stay here? No, I’m not goin’ to stay here; you can’t expect me to be always at your beck an’ call, can you? Amn’t I nicely handicapped with the whole o’ yous! I don’t know what any o’ yous ud do without your ma. I hate assin’ him for anythin’. He hates to be assed to stir. Is the light lightin’ before the picture o’ the Virgin? The wan inside to St. Anthony isn’t enough, but he must have another wan to the Virgin here! He is about twenty-five, well set, active and earnest.

He is a type, becoming very common now in the Labour Movement, of a mind knowing enough to make the mass of his associates, who know less, a power, and too little to broaden that power for the benefit of all. Where’s the Captain, Mrs. Boyle, where’s the Captain? You may well ass a body that: Father Farrell is just afther stoppin’ to tell me to run up an’ get him to go to the new job iuno goin’ on in Rathmines; his cousin is foreman o’ the job, an’ Father Farrell was speakin’ to him about poor Johnny an’ his father bein’ idle so long, an’ the foreman told Father Farrell to send the Captain up an’ he’d give him a start — I wondher where I’d find him?

You’ll find he’s ayther in Ryan’s or Foley’s. I’ll run round to Ryan’s — I know it’s a great house o’ Joxer’s. He rushes out J MRS. There now, he’ll miss that job, or I know for whatl If he gets win’ o’ the word, he’ll not come back till evenin’, so that it’ll an too late.

There’ll never be any good got out o’ him so long as he goes with that shouldher – shruggin’ Joxer. I killin’ meself workin’, an’ he sthruttin’ about from mornin’ till night like a paycock! Sweet Spirit, hear me prayer! Ah, that’s a darlin’ song, a daaarlin’ songl MRS.

Sweet spirit hear his prayer! Ah, then, I’ll take me solemn affey- davey, it’s not for a job he’s prayin’l She sits down on the bed so that the cretonne hangings hide her from the ‘view of those entering? He is jumo man of about sixty; stout, grey- haired and stocky.

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