Six Plays by Lady Florence Henrietta Fisher Darwin Part 70

MAY. 'Tis not very quick as you've been, Harry Moss. Here--give it to I fast. Give!

[HARRY puts the can towards her and she takes it in her hands, which shake feverishly, and she drinks with sharp avidity.

MAY. 'Tis the taste as I have thought on these many a year. Ah, and have gotten into my mouth, too, when I did lay sleeping, that I have.

Water from yonder spout, with the taste of dead leaves sharp in it.

Drink of it, too, Harry.

HARRY. 'Tis no water as I wants, May. Give I summat as'll lie more warm and comfortable to th' inside like. I bain't one for much water, and that's the truth, 'tis. [He empties the water on the ground.

MAY. Then go you out upon your way, Harry Moss, for the dark be gathering on us fast, and there be many a mile afore you to the town, where the lamps do s.h.i.+ne and 'tis bright and warm in the places where they sells the drink.

HARRY. Once I sets off running by myself, I'll get there fast enough, May. But I be going to stop along of you a bit more, for I don't care much about letting you bide lonesome on the road, like.

MAY. Then sit you down aside of me, Harry, and the heat in my body, which is like flames, shall maybe warm yourn, too.

HARRY. [Sitting down by her side.] 'Tis a fine thing to have a home what you can get in and go to, May, with a bit of fire to heat the limbs of you at, and plenty of victuals as you can put inside. How was it as you ever came away from it, like?

MAY. Ah, and that's what I be asking of myself most of the time, Harry! For, 'tis summat like a twelve or eleven year since I shut the door behind me and went out.

[A slight pause.

MAY. Away from them all, upon the road--so 'twas.

HARRY. And never see'd no more of them, nor sent to say how 'twas with you, nor nothing?

MAY. Nor nothing, Harry. Went out and shut the door behind me. And 'twas finished.

[A long pause, during which the darkness has gathered.

HARRY. Whatever worked on you for to do such a thing, May?

MAY. [Bitterly.] Ah now, whatever did!

HARRY. 'Tweren't as though you might have been a young wench, flighty like, all for the town and for they as goes up and about the streets of it. For, look you here, 'tis an old woman as you be now, May, and has been a twenty year or more, I don't doubt.

MAY. An old woman be I, Harry? Well, to the likes of you 'tis so, I count. But a twelve year gone by, O, 'twas a fine enough looking maid as I was then--Only a wild one, Harry, a wild one, all for the free ways of the road and the lights of the fair--And for the sun to rise in one place where I was, and for I to be in t'other when her should set.

HARRY. I'd keep my breath for when 'twas wanted, if 'twas me.

MAY. Come, look I in the face, Harry Moss, and tell I if so be as they'll be likely to know I again up at home?

HARRY. How be I to tell you such a thing, May, seeing that 'tis but a ten days or less as I've been along of you on the road? And seeing that when you was a young wench I never knowed the looks of you neither?

MAY. Say how the face of I do seem to you now, Harry, and then I'll tell you how 'twas in the days gone by?

HARRY. 'Tis all too dark like for to see clear, May. The night be coming upon we wonderful fast.

MAY. The hair, 'twas bright upon my head eleven years gone by, Harry. 'Twas glancing, as might be the wing of a thrush, so 'twas.

HARRY. Well, 'tis as the frost might lie on a dead leaf now, May, that it be.

MAY. And the colour on me was as a rose, and my limbs was straight.

'Twas fleet like a rabbit as I could get about, the days that was then, Harry.

HARRY. 'Tis a poor old bent woman as you be now, May.

MAY. Ah, Death have been tapping on the door of my body this long while, but, please G.o.d, I can hold me with the best of them yet, Harry, and that I can. Victuals to th' inside of I and a bit of clothing to my bones, with summat to quiet this cough as doubles of I up. Why, there, Harry, you won't know as 'tis me when I've been to home a day or two--or may be as 'twill take a week.

HARRY. I count 'twill take a rare lot of victuals afore you be set up as you once was, May.

MAY. Look you in my eyes, Harry. They may not know me up at home by the hair, which is different to what 'twas, or by the form of me, which be got poor and nesh like. But in the eye there don't come never no change. So look you at they, Harry, and tell I how it do appear to you.

HARRY. There be darkness lying atween you and me, May.

MAY. Then come you close to I, Harry, and look well into they.

HARRY. Them be set open wonderful wide and 'tis as though a heat comed out from they. 'Tis not anyone as might care much for to look into the eyes what you've got.

MAY. [With despondence.] Maybe then, as them'll not know as 'tis me, Harry Moss.

HARRY. I count as they'll be hard put to, and that's the truth.

MAY. The note of me be changed, too, with this cold what I have, and the breath of me so short, but 'twon't be long, I count, afore they sees who 'tis. Though all be changed to th' eye like, there'll be summat in me as'll tell they. And 'tis not a thing of shape, nor of colour as'll speak for I--But 'tis summat what do come straight out of the hearts of we and do say better words for we nor what the looks nor tongues of us might tell. You mind me, Harry, there's that which will come out of me as'll bring they to know who 'tis.

HARRY. Ah, I reckon as you'll not let them bide till they does.

MAY. And when they do know, and when they sees who 'tis, I count as they'll be good to me, I count they will. I did used to think as Steve, he was a hard one, and th' old woman what's his mother, hard too--And that it did please him for to keep a rein on me like, but I sees thing different now.

HARRY. Ah, 'tis one thing to see by candle and another by day.

MAY. For 'twas wild as I was in the time gone by. Wild after pleasuring and the noise in the town, and men a-looking at the countenance of I, and a-turning back for to look again. But, hark you here, 'tis powerful changed as I be now.

HARRY. Ah, I count as you be. Be changed from a young woman into an old one.

MAY. I'm finished with the road journeying and standing about in the streets on market days and the talk with men in the drinking places-- Men what don't want to look more nor once on I now, and what used to follow if 'twasn't only a bit of eyelid as I'd lift on them, times that is gone.

HARRY. Ah, 'twould take a lot of looking to see you as you was.

MAY. Yes, I be finished with all of it now, and willing for to bide quiet at the fireside and to stay with the four walls round I and the door shut.

HARRY. I reckon as you be.

MAY. And I'm thinking as they'll be rare pleased for to have I in the house again. 'Twill be another pair of hands to the work like.

And when I was young, 'twas not on work as I was set much.

HARRY. Ah, I did guess as much.

MAY. But when I gets a bit over this here nasty cough, 'tis a strong arm as them'll have working for they; Steve, th' old woman what's his mother, and little Dorry, too.