"There is a rose in Ireland, I thought it would be mine
But now that it is hid from me I must forever pine.
Till death shall come and comfort me for to the grave I'll go
And all for the sake of Aristotle's secret O!"
Celia: I wonder you wouldn't ask Timothy
that is older again than what my mother is.
Conan: Timothy! He has the hearing lost.
Celia: Well there is no harm to try him.
Conan: (Going to door.) Timothy!... There,
he's as deaf as a beetle.
Mother: It might be best for him. The thing
the ear will not hear will not put trouble on the
heart.
Celia: (Who has gone out comes pushing him in.)
Here he is now for you.