ers._)

DUKE: Yer said it, Darlin'. Yer said it. Red Joe 's castin' his eye on
Betsy. Off a cliff! Tonight! Now! If I gets a chance. Off a cliff!
Come on, Joey!

(_He goes outdoors with Red Joe, singing Betsy's song. The lullaby
fades in the distance. Patch-Eye and Betsy are left together, for the
roast pig again calls Darlin' to the kitchen._)

PATCH: Will yer wait a bit, Betsy--askin' yer pardon--while I talks to
yer?

BETSY: Of course, Patch.

PATCH: I don 't suppose, dearie, I 'm the kind o' pirate as sets yer
thinkin' of fiddles tunin' up, ner parsons. No, yer says. Ner cradles
and leetle devils bitin' at their coral. And I don 't suppose yer has
a kind o' hankerin' and yearnin'. Yer never sets and listens to me
comin'. Course not, yer says. Betsy, if I talk out square you 'll not
blab it all 'round the village, will yer? They would point their
fingers at me, and giggle in their sleeves. I want ter tell yer
somethin' o' a wery tender nater. There 's a leetle word as begins
with _L_. _L_, I mean, not 'ell. I would n't want yer to think, Betsy,
I 'm cussin'. 'Ell is cussin'. That leetle word is what 's ailing me.
It 's love, Betsy. It 's me heart. Smashed all ter bits! Jesus, yer
asks, what done it? It 's a pretty girl, I answers yer, as has smashed
it. Does yer foller, Betsy? A pretty girl about your size, and with
eyes the color o' yourn. What does yer say, Betsy? Yer says nothin'.

BETSY: I never meant to, Patch. I 'm sorry.

PATCH: Course you are. Jest as sorry as the careless feller as nudged
Humpty Dumpty off the wall. But it did n't do no good. There he was,
broke all ter flinders. And all the King's horses and all the King's
men could n't fix him. Humpty Dumpty is me, Betsy. Regularly all split
up, fore and aft, rib and keel. I mopes all day fer you, Betsy. And I
mopes all night. Last night I did n't get ter sleep, jest fidgettin',
till way past 'leven o' clock. And I woke agin at seven, askin'
meself, if I loves you hopeless. Yer is a lump o' sugar, Betsy, as
would sweeten ol' Patch's life. If we was married I 'd jest tag
'round behind yer and hand yer things. And now yer tells me there ain
't no hope at all.

BETSY: No hope at all, Patch.

PATCH: Yesterday I was countin' the potaters in the pot, sayin' ter
meself: She loves me--She don 't love me. But the last potater did n't
love me, Betsy. There was jest one too many potaters in the pot. No,
yer says, yer could n't love me. Cause why? Cause Pa