RAVENSBANE Dickon! dear Dickon! is it you?
DICKON Yes, Jacky! it’s dear Dickon, and I really wouldn’t.
RAVENSBANE Wouldn’t what, Dickon?
DICKON Sweep the cobwebs off the sky with thine aspiring broomstick. When a man questions fate, ’tis bad digestion. When a scarecrow does it, ’tis bad taste.
RAVENSBANE At last, you will tell me the truth, Dickon! Am I then—that thing?
DICKON You mustn’t be so sceptical. Of course you’re that thing.
RAVENSBANE Ah me despicable! Rachel, why didst thou ever look upon me?
DICKON I fear, cobby, thou hast never studied woman’s heart and hero-worship. Take thyself now. I remarked to Goody Bess, thy mother, this morning, as I was chucking her thy pate from the hay-loft, that thou wouldst make a Mark Antony or an Alexander before night.
RAVENSBANE Thou, then, didst create me!
DICKON [Bowing.] Appreciate the honour. Your lordship was designed for a corn-field; but I discerned nobler potentialities: the courts of Europe and Justice Merton’s salon. In brief, your lordship’s origins were pastoral, like King David’s.