Michael:
You surely never mean to say ...
Bell:
I do.
More than a little for you young know-alls to learn,
When you meet Judith Ellershaw: for havers
As it sounds to your young lugs, the world went round,
And one or two things happened, before you were born.
Yet, none of us kens what life’s got up his sleeve:
He’s played so long: and had a deal of practice,
Since he sat down with Adam: he’s always got
A trump tucked out of sight, that takes the trick.
But, son, you’ve lived with me for all these years;
And yet ken me so little? Grannie’s mutch-frills!
I’d as lief rig myself in widow’s weeds
For my fancy man, who may have departed this life,
For all I ken or care.
Michael:
Come, hold your tongue:
Enough of shameless talk. I’m master, now:
And I’ll not have Ruth hear this radgy slack.
If you’ve no shame yourself, I’ll find a way
To bridle your loose tongue: so mind yourself:
I’ll have no tinker’s tattle.
Bell:
The tinker’s brat
Rides the high-horse now, mounted on prime mutton.
Ruth, lass, you’re safe, you’re safe—if safety’s all:
He’ll never guess your heart, unless you blab.
I’ve never told him mine: I’ve kept him easy,
Till he’d found someone else to victual him,
And make his bed, and darn his hose; and you
Seem born to take the job out of my hands.
Ruth:
But I’d not come between you ...