BRIDGET. I'll warm your chilly feet.
MAURTEEN. You have come indeed
A long, long way—for I have never seen
Your pretty face—and must be tired and hungry,
Here is some bread and wine.
THE CHILD. The wine is bitter.
Old mother, have you no sweet food for me?
BRIDGET. I have some honey.
(She goes into the next room.)
MAURTEEN. You have coaxing ways,
The mother was quite cross before you came.
(BRIDGET returns with the honey and fills
Porringer with milk.)
BRIDGET. She is the child of gentle people; look
At her white hands and at her pretty dress.
I've brought you some new milk, but wait a while
And I will put it to the fire to warm,
For things well fitted for poor folk like us
Would never please a high-born child like you.
THE CHILD. From dawn, when you must blow the fire ablaze,
You work your fingers to the bone, old mother.
The young may lie in bed and dream and hope,
But you must work your fingers to the bone
Because your heart is old.
BRIDGET. The young are idle.