Hamish.
O don't bother.
If I want spirit, it will be for drinking.
[MORRIS goes out.
Spirit or no, drinking's better than talking.
Who was the sickly fellow to invent
That crazy notion spirit, now, I wonder?
But who'd have thought a burly lout like Morris
Would join the brabble? Sure he'll have in him
A pint more blood than I have; and he's all
For loving girls with words, three yards away!
JEAN comes in.
Jean. Alone, my boy? Who was your handsome friend?
Hamish. Whoever he was he's gone. But I'm still here.
Jean. O yes, you're here; you're always here.
Hamish. Of course, And you know why.
Jean.
Do I? I've forgotten.
Hamish. Jean, how can you say that? O how can you?
Jean. Now don't begin to pity yourself, please.
Hamish.
Ah, I am learning now; it's truth they talk.
You would undo the skill of a spider's web
And take the inches of it in one line,
More easily than know a woman's thought.
I'm ugly on a sudden?