JIM: I’m damned! Nay, lass, I bid you bide: I’d see you straked, before I’d let you go ... Do you hear, I bid ... The blasted wench, she’s gone-- Gone! I’ve a mind ... If I don’t hang for her ... Just let me get my fingers ... But, I’m betwattled Like a stoorded tup! And this is my wedding-day! (_He stands speechless; but at length turns to JUDITH, who is gazing after PHŒBE with an unrealizing stare._) JIM: Well ... anyway, you’ll not desert me, Judith. Old friends are best: and I--I always liked you. The other lass was a lamb to woo, but wed, A termagant: and I’m well shot of her. I’d have wrung the pullet’s neck for her one day, If she’d--and the devil to pay! So it’s good riddance ... Yet, she’d a way with her, she had, the filly! And I’d have relished breaking her in. But you Were always easy-going, and fond of me-- Ay, fond and faithful. Look, how you stood up To her, the tawpy tauntril, for my sake! We’ll let bygones be bygones, won’t we, Judith? My chickens have come home to roost, it seems. And so, this is my baby? Who’d have dreamt ... I little looked to harvest my wild oats. (_JUDITH starts, shrinking from JIM: and then, clutching her baby to her bosom, she goes quickly out of the door._) JUDITH: I’m coming, Phœbe, coming home with you! (_JIM stands on the doorstone, staring after her, dumbfounded, till she is out of sight; then he turns, and clashes the door to._) ELIZA: Ay, but it’s time to bar the stable door. JIM: I’ve done with women: they’re a faithless lot. EZRA: I can’t make head or tail of all the wrangling-- Such a gillaber and gilravishing, As I never heard in all my born days, never. Weddings were merrymakings in my time: The reckoning seldom came till the morrow’s morn. But, Jim, my boy, though you’re a baa-waa body, And gan about like a goose with a nicked head, You’ve, aiblains, found out now that petticoats Are kittle-cattle, the whole rabblement. The reesty nags will neither heck nor gee: And they’re all clingclang like the Yetholm tinkers. Ay: though you’re just a splurging jackalally, You’ve spoken truth for once, Jim: womenfolk, Wenches and wives, are all just weathercocks. I’ve ever found them faithless, first and last. But, where’s your daughter, Jim? I want to hold The bairn. JIM: They’ve taken even her from me. (_ELIZA, who has been filling the teapot, takes EZRA by the hand, and leads him to his seat at the table._) ELIZA: Come, husband: sup your tea, before it’s cold: And you, too, son. Ay, we’re a faithless lot. * * * * * BOOK II BELL HAGGARD * * * * * PART I