EZRA: What’s wrong? What’s wrong? I’m an old man, now; and must do as I’m bid like a bairn-- I, who was master, and did all the bidding. And you, Jim, I’d have broken your back like a rabbit’s, At one time, if you’d talked to me like that. But now I’m old and sightless; and any tit May chivvy a blind kestrel. Ay, I’m old And weak--so waffly in arms and shanks, that now I couldn’t even hold down a hog to be clipped: So, boys can threaten me, and go unskelped: So you can bray; and I must hold my peace: Yet, mark my words, the hemp’s ripe for the rope That’ll throttle you one day, you gallows-bird. But, something’s happening that a blind man’s sense Cannot take hold of; so, I’d best be quiet-- Ay, just sit still all day, and nod and nod, Until I nod myself into my coffin: That’s all that’s left me. JUDITH (_to PHŒBE_): You’d weigh an old man’s gossip Against my word? O woman, pay no heed To idle tongues, if you’d keep happiness. PHŒBE: While the tongue lies, the eyes speak out the truth. JUDITH: The eyes? Then you’ll not take my word for it, But let a dotard’s clatterjaw destroy you? You ken my worth: yet, if you care for Jim, You’ll trust his oath. If he denies the bairn, Then, you’ll believe? You’d surely never doubt Your husband’s word, and on your wedding-day? Small wonder you’d be duberous of mine. But Jim’s not my sort; he’s an honest lad; And he’ll speak truly. If he denies the bairn ... PHŒBE: I’ve not been used to doubting people’s word. My father’s daughter couldn’t but be trustful Of what men said; for he was truth itself. If only he’d lived, I mightn’t ... JUDITH: If Jim denies ... PHŒBE: If Jim can look me in the eyes, and swear ... JUDITH: Come, set her mind at ease. Don’t spare me, Jim; But look her in the eyes, and tell her all; For she’s your wife; and has a right to ken The bairn’s no bairn of yours. Come, lad, speak out; And don’t stand gaping. You ken as well as I The bairn ... Speak! Speak! Have you no tongue at all? (_She pauses; but JIM hesitates to speak._) Don’t think of me. You’ve naught to fear from me. Tell all you ken of me right out: no word Of yours can hurt me now: I’m shameless, now: I’m in the ditch, and spattered to the neck. Come, don’t mince matters: your tongue’s not so modest It fears to make your cheeks burn--I ken that; And when the question is a woman’s virtue, It rattles like a reaper round a wheatfield, And as little cares if it’s cutting grain or poppies. So, it’s too late to blush and stammer now, And let your teeth trip up your tongue. Speak out! (_JIM still hesitates._) Your wife is waiting; if you don’t tell her true, And quick about it, it’s your own look-out. I wouldn’t be in your shoes, anyway. See, how she’s badgered me; and all because ... Come: be a man: and speak. JIM: The brat’s no brat Of mine, Phœbe, I swear ...