about it right away?

ELIZA:
I wasn't minding money: I'd lost a son.

EZRA:
A son--a thief! I'll have the law of him:
I'll sprag his wheel: for all his pretty pace,
He'll come a cropper yet, the scrunty wastrel.
This comes of marrying into a coper's family:
I might have kenned: thieving runs in their blood.

ELIZA:
I've seen the day that lie'd have roused ... But now,
It's not worth while ... worth while. I've never felt
Such heat: it smothers me: it's like a nightmare,
When you wake with your head in the blankets, all asweat:
Only, I cannot wake ... It snowed the night
That Peter went ...

EZRA:
Blabbering of heat and snow:
And all that money gone--my hard-earned savings!
We're beggared, woman--beggared by your son:
And then, to sit and yammer like a yieldewe:
Come, stir your stumps; and clap your bonnet on:
Up and away!

ELIZA:
And where should I away to?

EZRA:
I'll have the law of him: I'll have him gaoled,
And you must fetch the peeler.

ELIZA:
Policemen throng
Round Krindlesyke, as bees about a thistle!
And I'm to set the peelers on my son?
If he'd gone with Peter, they'd have tracked his hobnails ...
It snowed that night ... The snowflakes buzz like bees
About the prickling thistles in my head--
Big bumblebees ... I never felt such heat.

EZRA:
And I must sit, tied to a chair, and hearken
To an old wife, havering of bumblebees,
While my hard-earned sovereigns lie snug and warm
In the breeches' pocket of a rascal thief--
Fifty gold sovereigns!

ELIZA:
Fifty golden bees--
Golden Italian queens ... My father spent
A sight of money on Italian queens:
For he'd a way with bees. He'd handle them
With naked hands. They swarmed on his beard, and hung,
Buzzing like fury: but he never blinked--
Just wagged his head, swaying them, till they dropped,
All of a bunch, into an upturned skep....
My head's a hive of buzzing bees--bees buzzing
In the hot, crowded darkness, dripping honey ...

EZRA:
You're wandering, woman--maffling like a madpash.
Jim's stolen your senses, when he took my gold.

ELIZA:
Don't talk of money now: I want to think.
Six sons, I had. My sons, you say. You're right:
For menfolk have no children: only women
Carry them: only women are brought to bed:
And only women labour: and, when they go,
Only the mothers lose them: and all for nothing,
The coil and cumber! If I could have left one son,