Kit. You think me drunk; well, so I am, and whose fault is it but yours? It was I that drank; but you take your share of it, Captain Gaunt: you it was that filled the can.
Gaunt. Christopher French, I spoke but for your good, your good and hers. “Woe unto him”—these are the dreadful words—“by whom offences shall come: it were better——” Christopher, I can but pray for both of us.
Kit. Prayers? Now I tell you freely, Captain Gaunt, I don’t value your prayers. Deeds are what I ask; kind deeds and words—that’s the true-blue piety: to hope the best and do the best, and speak the kindest. As for you, you insult me to my face; and then you’ll pray for me? What’s that? Insult behind my back is what I call it! No, sir; you’re out of the courses; you’re no good man to my view, be you who you may.
Mrs. Drake. O Christopher! To Captain Gaunt?
Arethusa. Father, father, come away!
Kit. Ah, you see? She suffers too; we all suffer. You spoke just now of a devil; well, I’ll tell you the devil you have: the devil of judging others. And as for me, I’ll get as drunk as Bacchus.
Gaunt. Come! (Exit, with Arethusa.)
SCENE V
Pew, Mrs. Drake, Kit