e and comfort me for to the grave I'll go
And all for the sake of Aristotle's secret O!"

_Celia_: I wonder you wouldn't ask Timothy
that is older again than what my mother is.

_Conan_: Timothy! He has the hearing lost.

_Celia_: Well there is no harm to try him.

_Conan_: (_Going to door_.) Timothy!... There,
he's as deaf as a beetle.

_Mother_: It might be best for him. The thing
the ear will not hear will not put trouble on the
heart.

_Celia_: (_Who has gone out comes pushing him in_.)
Here he is now for you.

_Conan_: Did ever you hear of Aristotle?

_Timothy_: Aye?

_Conan_: Aristotle!

_Timothy_: Ere a bottle? I might ...

_Conan_: Aristotle.... That had some power?

_Timothy_: I never seen no flower.

_Conan_: Something he hid near this place.

_Timothy_: I never went near no race.

_Conan_: Has the whole world its mind made up
to annoy me!

_Celia_: Raise your voice into his ear.

_Conan_: (_Chanting_.)

"Aristotle in the hour
He left Ireland left a power
In a gift Eolus gave
Could all Ireland change and save!"

_Timothy:_ Would it now?

_Conan:_ You said you had heard of a bottle.

_Timothy:_ A charmed bottle. It is Biddy Early
put a cure in it and bestowed it in her will to her son.

_Conan:_ Aristotle that left one in the same way.

_Timothy:_ It is what I am thinking that my old
generations used to be talking about a bellows.

_Conan:_ A bellows! There's no sense in that!

_Timothy:_ Have it your own way so, and give
me leave to go feeding the little chickens and the
hens, for if I cannot hear what they say and they
cannot understand what I say, they put no reproach
on me after, no more than I would put
it on themselves. (_Goes_.)

_Celia:_ Let you be satisfied now and not torment
yourself, for if you got the world wide you
couldn't discover it. You might as well think to
throw your hat to hit the stars.

_Conan:_ You have me tormented among the
whole of ye. To be without ye would be no harm
at all. (_Sits down and weeps_.) Of all the families
anyone would wish to live away from I am full
sure my family is the worst.

_Mother:_ Ah, dear, you're worn out and contrary
with the want of sleep. Come now into the
room and stretch yourself on the bed. To go
sleeping out in the grass has no right rest in it at
all! (_Takes his arm_.)

_Conan:_ Where's the use of lying on my bed
where it is convenient to the yard, that I'd be
afflicted by the turkeys yelp