Part 13 (2/2)
Sore-punished, I'm not yet knocked out: life's had My head in chancery; but I'll soon be free To spar another round or so with him, Before he sends me spinning to the ropes.
And life would not be life, without the hazards.
JUDITH: Too many hazards for me.
BELL: Ay: so it seems: But you're too honest for the tricky game.
I've a sort of honesty--a liar and thief In little things--I'm honesty itself In the things that matter--few enough, deuce kens: But your heart's open to the day; while mine's A pitchy night, with just a star or so To light me to cover at the keeper's step.
You're honest, to your hurt: your honesty's A knife that cuts through all; and will be cutting-- Hacking and jabbing, and thirsting to draw blood; And turning in the wound it makes--a gulley, To cut your heart out, if you doubted it: And so, you're faithful, even to a fool; While I would just be faithful to myself.
You thrive on misery.
JUDITH: Nay: I've only asked A little happiness of life: I've starved For happiness, G.o.d kens.
BELL: What's happiness?
You've got a sweet-tooth; and don't relish life: You want run-honey, when it's the honeycomb That gives the crunch and flavour. Would you be As happy as a maggot in a medlar, Swelling yourself in sweet deliciousness, Till the blackbird nips you? None escapes his crop.
You'd quarrel with the juiciest plum, because Your teeth grit on the stone, instead of cracking The sh.e.l.l, and savouring the bitter kernel.
Nigh all the jests life cracks have bitter kernels.
JUDITH: Ay, bitter enough to set my teeth on edge.
BELL: What are teeth for, if we must live on pap?
The sweetest marrow's in the hardest bone, As you've found with Ruth, I take it.
JUDITH: Ay: and still, You have been faithful, Bell.
BELL: A faithful fool, Against the grain, this fifteen-year: my son And that dead woman were too strong for me: They turned me false to my nature; broke me in Like a flea in harness, that draws a nutsh.e.l.l-coach.
Till then I'd jumped, and bit, at my own sweet will.
Oh! amn't I the wiseacre, the downy owl, Fancying myself as knowing as a signpost?
And yet, there's always some new twist to learn.
Life's an old thimblerigger; and, it seems, Can still get on the silly side of me, Can still bamboozle me with his hanky-panky: He always kens a trick worth two of mine; Though he lets me spot the pea beneath the thimble Just often enough to keep me in good conceit.
And he's kept you going, too, with Ruth to live for.
JUDITH: If it hadn't been for Ruth ...
BELL: He kens, he kens: As canny as he's cute, for his own ends, He's a wise showman; and doesn't overfeed The living skeleton or let the fat lady starve: And so, we're each kept going, in our own kind, Till we've served our turn. Mine's talking, you'll have gathered!
JUDITH: Ay, you've a tongue.
BELL: It rattles in my head Like crocks in a mugger's cart: but I've had few To talk with here; and too much time for brooding, Turning things over and over in my own mind, These fifteen years.
JUDITH: True: neighbours, hereabouts, Are few, and far to seek.
BELL: The devil a chance I've ever had of a gossip: and, as for news, I've had to fall back on the wormy Bible That props the broken looking-gla.s.s: so, now I've got the chance of a crack, my tongue goes randy; And patters like a cheapjack's, or a bookie's Offering you odds against the favourite, life: Or, wasn't life the dark horse? I have talked My wits out, till I'm like a drunken tipster, Too milled to ken the dark horse from the favourite.
My sharp tongue's minced my very wits to words.
JUDITH: Ay, it's been rattling round.
BELL: A slick tongue spares The owner the f.a.g of thinking: it's the listeners Who get the headache. And yet, I could talk At one time to some purpose--didn't dribble Like a tap that needs a washer: and, by carties, It's talking I've missed most: I've always been Like an urchin with a withy--must be slas.h.i.+ng-- Thistles for choice: and not once, since I came, Have I had a real good s.h.i.+ndy to warm my blood.
JUDITH: I'd have thought Ezra ...
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