Be silent, Flip; I do not like your wit.
This is The World Field that I till and sow
And woo and threaten, and at last, coerce,
Until it is the wife of my command
To bear me children of my days of toil.
Shall I be cheated of these children, then,
With smiling face and showy courtesy?
I tell you no. For I am grown too strong—
And I am wiser than I used to be—
I could make garbage of his flabby paunch
And beat his brains to swill!
FLIP
(with mock alarm, running to left and calling)
Trade! Trade! you jade—Come here and see your precious lovers fight....
(Enter Trade, disdainfully, glancing first at Capital and then at Labor)
CAPITAL
I claimed the pumpkins all for you, my dear.
LABOR
(with less gallantry)
What is not his no decent man can claim.