Ay, bitter enough to set my teeth on edge.
Bell:
What are teeth for, if we must live on pap?
The sweetest marrow’s in the hardest bone,
As you’ve found with Ruth, I take it.
Judith:
Ay: and still,
You have been faithful, Bell.
Bell:
A faithful fool,
Against the grain, this fifteen-year: my son
And that dead woman were too strong for me:
They turned me false to my nature; broke me in
Like a flea in harness, that draws a nutshell-coach.
Till then I’d jumped, and bit, at my own sweet will.
Oh! amn’t I the wiseacre, the downy owl,
Fancying myself as knowing as a signpost?
And yet, there’s always some new twist to learn.
Life’s an old thimblerigger; and, it seems,
Can still get on the silly side of me,
Can still bamboozle me with his hanky-panky:
He always kens a trick worth two of mine;
Though he lets me spot the pea beneath the thimble
Just often enough to keep me in good conceit.
And he’s kept you going, too, with Ruth to live for.
Judith:
If it hadn’t been for Ruth ...
Bell: