Ay: likely enough.... Poor bairn, poor little bairn—
It’s strange, but, as you snuggled to my breast,
I could have fancied, a moment, ’twas Jim I held
In my arms again. I’m growing old and foolish,
To have such fancies.
Judith:
Fancied ’twas Jim, your son—
My bastard brat?
Eliza:
Shame on you, woman, to call
Your own bairn such, poor innocent. It’s not
To blame for being a chance-bairn. Yet ... O Jim!
Judith:
Why do you call on Jim? He’s not come home yet?
But I must go, before your son brings back ...
Give me the bairn ...
Eliza (withholding the baby):
Nay, daughter, not till I learn
The father’s name.
Judith: