Jim:
But what matter
Whether you ken or not? You’ve done for me
Already, dang you, with your hettle-tongue:
You’ve put the notion in my head, the curs
Are on my scent: and now, I cannot rest.
Happen, they’re slinking now up Bloodysyke,
Like adders through the bent ... Nay, they don’t yelp,
The hounds that sleuth me: it’s only in my head
I hear the yapping: they’re too cunning to yelp.
The sleichers slither after me on their bellies,
As dumb and slick as adders ... But I’m doitered,
And doting like a dobby. I want to sleep ...
A good night’s rest would pull my wits together.
I swore I’d sleep ... but I couldn’t close an eye, now
Since ...
Judith:
Jim, what ails you? Tell me what you’ve done.
I’m sorry, Jim ...
Jim:
I swear I never set out
To do it, Judith; and the thing was done,
Before I came to my senses: that’s God’s truth:
And may hell blast ... You’re sorry? Nay, but Jim’s
Too old a bird to be caught with chaff. You’re fly:
But, Jim’s fly, too. No: mum’s the word.
Judith:
O Jim,
You, surely, never think I’d ...
Jim:
I don’t know.
A man in my case can’t tell who to trust,
When every mongrel’s yowling for his carcase.
Mum’s my best friend, the only one ... though, whiles,
It’s seemed even he had blabbered out my secrets,
And hollered them to rouse the countryside,
And draw all eyes on me. But, I must mizzle.