Tramp. ’E’s clever, that there bloke. And as for me, P’raps I am screwed; but if I am, ’oo cares? That ain’t the only reason why I see Everythink double, everythink in pairs.
Them little birds up there ... I see yer plain! Tweet-weety-weet ... Lord! ’ow they bill and coo, As yer might say. Them butterflies again, What sport they ’ave—’ow prettily they woo!
Love’s what they want. Some day they’ll get it, p’raps: Everythink does—or mostways everythink ... (S’pose you’d a girl who loved all kinds of chaps— Wouldn’t you damn yerself, and take to drink?)
Well, ’ere’s the world, and though I’m down and out, It’s worth while learnin’ what it’s all about.
ACT I
THE BUTTERFLIES
A hill. Many flowers and bright-coloured cushions. In the C. a small table or bar, with high seats and coloured glasses containing cold drinks and straws.
Tramp. I say—I say! It’s a bit of all right. What price the ’Eath now? Paradise—that’s what it is,—Paradise! And don’t it smell nice! Odi Colone, not ’alf.
Clytie runs in laughing, followed by Otto.