EZRA:
And I was gay when I was young--as brisk
As a yearling tup with the ewes, till I'd the pains,
Like red-hot iron, clamping back and thighs.
My heart's a younker's still; but even love
Gives in, at last, to rheumatics and lumbago.
Now, I'm no better than an old bell-wether,
A broken-winded, hirpling tattyjack
That can do nothing but baa and baa and baa.
I'd just to whistle for a wench at Jim's age:
And Jim's ...

ELIZA:
His father's son.

EZRA:
He's never had
My spirit. No woman's ever bested me.
For all his bluster, he's a gaumless nowt,
With neither guts nor gall. He just butts blindly--
A woolly-witted ram, bashing his horns,
And spattering its silly brains out on a rock:
No backbone--any trollop could twiddle him
Round her little finger: just the sort a doxy,
Or a drop too much, sets dancing, heels in air:
He's got the gallows' brand. But none of your sons
Has a head for whisky or wenches; and not one
Has half my spunk, my relish. I'd not trust
Their judgment of a ewe, let alone a woman:
But I could size a wench up, at a glance;
And Judith ...

ELIZA:
Ay: but Krindlesyke would be
A muckheap-lie-on, with that cloffy slut
For mistress. But she flitted one fine night.

EZRA:
Rarely the shots of the flock turn lowpy-dyke;
Likelier the tops have the spunk to run ramrace;
And I think no worse ...

ELIZA:
Her father turned her out,
'Twas whispered; and he's never named her, since:
And no one's heard a word. I couldn't thole
The lass. She'd big cow-eyes: there's little good
In that sort. Jim's well shot of her; he'll not
Hear tell of her: that sort can always find
Another man to fool: they don't come back:
Past's past, with them.

EZRA:
I liked ...

ELIZA:
Ay, you're Jim's dad.
But now he's settling down, happen I'll see
Bairn's bairns at Krindlesyke, before I die.
Six sons--and only the youngest of the bunch
Left in the old home to do his parents credit.

EZRA:
Queer, all went wild, your sons, like collies bitten
With a taste for mutton bleeding-hot. Cold lead
Cures dogs of that kidney, peppering them one fine night
From a chink in a stell; but, when they're two-legged curs,
They've a longer run; and, in the end, the gallows
Don't noose them, kicking and squealing like snarled rabbits,
Dead-certain, as 'twould do in the good old days.

ELIZA:
You cr