Conan: I am not asking a quiet life! But to
come live with your own family you might as well
take your coffin on your back!
Celia: (Sings.)
"We'll look on the stars and we'll list to the river
'Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her."
Conan: That girl is a disgrace sitting on the
floor the way she is! If I had her for a while I'd
put betterment on her. No one that was under
me ever grew slack!
Celia: You would never be satisfied and you
to see me working from dark to dark as hard as a
pismire in the tufts.
Mother: Leave her now, she's a quiet little girl
and comely.
Conan: Comely! I'd sooner her to be like the
ugliest sod of turf that is pockmarked in the bog,
and a handy housekeeper, and her pigeon doing
something for the world if it was but scaring its
comrades on a stick in a barley garden!
Celia: Ah, do you hear him! (Stroking pigeon.)
(Sings.)
"But when your friend is forced to flee