Some trapsing tatterwallops,
I’ll warrant. Well, these days, the lads are like
The young cockgrouse, who doesn’t consult his dad
Before he mates. In my—yet, come to think,
I didn’t say overmuch. My dad and mammy
Scarce kenned her name when I sprung my bride on them;
Just loosed on them a gisseypig out of a poke
They’d heard no squeak of. They’d to thole my choice,
Lump it or like it. I’d the upper hand then:
And well they kenned their master. No tawse to chide,
Nor apron-strings to hold young Ezra then:
His turn had come; and he was cock of the midden,
And no braw cockerel’s hustled him from it yet,
For all their crowing. The blind old bird’s still game.
They’ve never had his spirit, the young cheepers,
Not one; and Jim’s the lave of the clutch; and he
Will never lord it at Krindlesyke till I’m straked.
But this what’s-her-name the gaby’s bringing ...
Eliza:
Phœbe.
Ezra:
A posical name; I never heard the like.
She’ll be a flighty faggit, mark my words.
Eliza:
She’s only been here once before; and now
She’ll be here all the time. I’ll find it strange
With another woman in the house. Needs must
Get used to it. Your mother found it strange,
Likely ... It’s my turn now, and long in coming.
Perhaps, that makes it harder. I’ve got set
Like a vane, when the wind’s blown east so long, it’s clogged
With dust, and cannot whisk with the chopping breeze.
’Twill need a wrench to shift my bent; for change
Comes sore and difficult at my time of life.
Ezra:
Ay, you may find your nose put out of joint,
If she’s a spirited wench.
Eliza: