Read it through once

PEGEEN. And to think it’s me is talking sweetly, Christy Mahon, and I the fright of seven townlands for my biting tongue. Well, the heart’s a wonder; and, I’m thinking, there won’t be our like in Mayo, for gallant lovers, from this hour, to-day. (_Drunken singing is heard outside._) There’s my father coming from the wake, and when he’s had his sleep we’ll tell him, for he’s peaceful then. [_They separate._]