THE symbolic key to Brian Friel's rich drama about the English rewriting of the Irish map lies in a character who is almost mute. While a debate about the nature of language clatters around Friel's fictional Ballybeg in County Donegal, the young Sarah struggles to articulate a single syllable.

Played here by an undemonstrative Veronica Leer, lurking on the sidelines, or convulsing in shy embarrassment, she is a reminder that the most simple of utterances - ''My name is Sarah'' - can be a glowing achievement.

For although Friel's drama is set at a most contentious period of Ireland's troubled history, a time when colonialist invaders took over not only the land, but something of its flavour, its culture, its history, Translations has something more subtle to say.

There's an acting exercise in which drama students have to express themselves using only one phrase, the lesson being that there's more to meaning than plain words. In a more sophisticated way, this is what Friel is exploring. He shows how a romance can develop when the only mutual words are ''fire'' and ''earth''; he debates whether place names really matter when even the locals have forgotten their meanings; and he points out how painful it is when one's own name is mispronounced.

Despite a curiously unresolved ending, the play draws us into a sly philosophical argument about personal, cultural and national identity that is as pertinent to the Scotland of today as to the Ireland of 150 years ago.

Elegantly presented on Geoff Rose's set of rustic browns, lit with natural warmth by Andy Phillips, Mark Lambert's well-acted production has a vibrant ensemble spirit, and a firm feel for Friel's probing questions.