Diggory. Wouldst thou marry me, Betsey, if I should lose my pretty locks?
Betsey. I would not marry you with them, that's flat.
Diggory. Shall I shave my head or only clip it close?
Betsey. Cut it off, Diggory, cut it off.
Diggory. Kiss me but once, Betsey, and I'll cut my head [top] off; 'tis of little use to me now, and if thou dost marry me—well, thy head shall rest upon my shoulder, like this, and one head is enough for any pair of shoulders.
Betsey. In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do, etc.
[Exeunt.
[Scene III.]
Roger. To kill were easy; aye, but—to stretch his life
As on a rack—were that not better still?
Dead, I'd bury with him my revenge;
But while he lives the old account will stand
At daily usury.
I'll tent his agony, prolong it here,
Even here where I may feed upon it;
Not send him hence beyond my reach. Aye!
I'll fight with death to keep him for mine own.
But, now—
O, I must calm myself or miss my aim!
For, like a hunter when first he sees the buck,
My nerves are all unstrung. This weakling trick
Of overearnestness betrays the fool
In me; and yet we know it, though we profit not,
The eager hand doth ever spill the cup
That lifted carefully would quench our thirst.
I must assume a wise placidity;
As he puts on—Ah! damnéd hypocrite!—
The air of purity. (Approaches Dimsdell.)
I'll drink dissimulation at the source;
[top] I'll study him.—Thus might an angel look
When, wearied with the music of the spheres,
He laid him down upon a roseate bank
To dream of holiness!—He hath not stirred.—
'Twas well I did not speak to Bellingham,
For we have not been noted. Good, so far.
All eyes are busy with their own affairs;
I'll wake him now and foil discovery.