BELL: Ay: but my fingers have itched Sorely to fire the peatstack in a west wind, That flames might swarm walls and rooftree, and Krindlesyke, Perishing in a crackle and golden flare-up, Tumble a smoking ruin of blackened stone. JUDITH: Yet, you’ve kept house ... BELL: Ay, true enough; I’ve been Cook, slut, and butler here this fifteen-year, As thrang as Throp’s wife when she hanged herself With her own dishclout. Needs must, the fire will burn, Barred in the grate: burn--nay, I’ve only smouldered Like sodden peat. Ay, true, I’ve drudged; and yet, What could I do against that old dead witch, Lying in wait for me the day I came? Her very patience was a kind of cunning That challenged me, hinting I’d not have grit To stand her life, even for a dozen years. What could I do, but prove I could stick it out? If I’d turned tail, she’d have bared her toothless gums To grin at me: and how could I go through life, Haunted by her dead smile? But now the spell Is snapt: I’ve proved her wrong: she cannot hold me. I’ve served my sentence: the cell-door opens: and yet, You would have done that fifteen-years-hard willingly? Some folk can only thrive in gaol--no nerve To face the risks outside; and never happy Till lagged for life: meals punctual and no cares: And the king for landlord. While I’ve eaten my head off, You’ve been a galled jade, fretting for the stable. Tastes differ: but it’s just that you’re not my sort Puzzles me why you gave yourself to Jim. JUDITH: There are no whys and wherefores, when you love. BELL: I gave myself to Peter, with a difference. You’d have wed Jim: I just let Peter travel With me, to keep the others from pestering; And scooted him when Michael could manage the sheep. JUDITH: You never loved him. I loved Jim ... BELL: A deal Of difference that’s made! JUDITH: More than you can guess. BELL: Peter stuck longer, tangled in the brambles. JUDITH: I loved Jim; so, I trusted him. BELL: But when You found him out? JUDITH: If you had loved, you’d ken That finding out makes little difference. There are things in this life you don’t understand, For all your ready tongue. BELL: Ay: men and women I’ve given up--just senseless marionettes, Jigging and bobbing to the twitching strings: Though I like to fancy I pick my steps, and choose The tunes I dance to; happen, that’s my pride; But, choose or not, we’ve got to pay the piper. JUDITH: Ay: in your pride, you think you’ve the best of life. You’re missing more than you reckon, the best of all.