Lady Florence Henrietta Fisher Darwin

“ Thomas. Come, come Miles, we be all a bit turned in the head, it seems. But things’ll settle back to their right places if you gives them a chance. Sit you down and take a drink of sommat.
Emily. Don’t be so foolish, Thomas. As if a man what’s been stung by a wasp would care to sit himself down on a hornet’s nest.
Miles. You are perfectly right, madam. This is no place for me. I have been sported with. My good name has been treated as a jest.
Joan. O Mister Hooper, ’twas my doing, all of it, but I did it for the best, I did. ”

“ Vashti. Get you to Steve and let him see you with the candle lit. Her bain’t no match for he, the young weasel! ’Tis you as has the blood of me and my people what was grand folk in times gone by, ’tis you, May, as is the mate for he, above all them white-jowled things what has honey at the mouth of they, but the heart running over with poison—Ah, and what throws you the bone and keeps the meat for their own bellies. What sets the skin afore you and laps the cream theirselves. ”

“ For me there’d be naught but the rose, were it laid once more in my hand. But ’tis not likely to be put there, since ’tis you he favours.
Julia. But I don’t favour him.
Laura. You’ll favour him powerful well when you see him, Julia.
Julia. I’ve given my heart already, but ’tis not to him.
Laura. You’ve given your heart?
Julia. Yes, Chris has all of it, Laura. There is nothing left for anyone else in the world.
Laura. O Julia, think of your position.
Julia. That I will not do. I am going to think of yours.
Laura. [Beginning to cry.] I’m no better in my station than a serving maid, like Susan. ”

“ Harry. [Lifting her up.] The feel of your body be as burning wood, May.
May. [Standing up.] Put me against the stile, Harry, and then let I bide alone.
Harry. Do you let me go over the field along of you, May, just to the door.
May. No, no, Harry, get you off to the town and leave me to bide here a while in the quiet of my thoughts. ’Tis of little Dorry, and of how pleased her’ll be to see her mammy once again, as I be thinking. But you, Harry Moss, as han’t got no home to go to, nor fireside, nor victuals, you set off towards the town. And go you quick. ”

“ Julia. O Chris, who is there to say I must bide in one place when all in me is thirsting to be in t’other!
Chris. I’m sure I don’t know.
Nat. I should move about where I did like, if ’twas me.
Tansie. A fine young lady like you can do as she pleases.
Julia. Well then, it pleases me to bide with you in the free air.
Chris. Our life, ’tis a poor life, and wandering. ’Tis food one day, and may be going without the next. ’Tis the sun upon the faces of us one hour—and then the rain. But ’tis in freedom that us walks, and we be the masters of our own limbs. ”

“ Luke. Don’t say I’m come too late, Miss Clara.
Joan. You are. Mister Hooper was before you. And now, ’tis he and I who are like to be wed.
Luke. I might have known I had no chance.
Joan. [Rising and trying to hide her emotion.] I wouldn’t have had it happen so for the world, Mr. Jenner.
Luke. [Laying his bunch of flowers on the table, his head bent, and his eyes on the ground.] ’Twas none of your doing, Miss Clara. You’ve naught to blame yourself for. ’Tis not your fault as you’re made so—so beautiful, and yet so homely. ”

“ John. Well—if ever there was a poor, tormented animal ’tis the master.
Susan. Ah, mistress should have been born a drover by rights. ’Tis a grand nagging one as her’d have made, and sommat what no beast would ever have got the better of.
John. I wouldn’t stand in Master William’s shoes, not if you was to put me knee deep in gold.
Susan. Nor I.
John. Ah, this courting business, ’tis a rare caddling muddle when ’tis all done and said.
Susan. ’Tis according as some folks do find it, Master John.
John. ’Tis a smartish lot as you’ll get of it come Sunday night, my wench. You wait and see. ”

“ Chris. I count ’twas a smartish long night, that!
Nat. ’Twas enough for to shew me how it do feel when anyone has got to bide sleeping with the walls all around of he.
Julia. And the ceiling above, Nat. And locked door. And other folk lying breathing in the house, hard by. All dark and close.
Chris. And where us may lie, the air do run swift over we. We has the smell of the earth and the leaves on us as we do sleep. There baint no darkness for we, for the stars do blink all night through up yonder. ”

“ Why, Granny, ’tis Dad’s wedding day to-morrow, and ’tis a white frock with lace to it as I’m going to wear, and beads what Miss Sims gived me, and the shoes what was new except for being worn to church three times. Shall I fetch them all and show to you, Granny?
Jane. Yes, run along and get them, Dorry; very likely ’twill give her thoughts a turn, looking at the things, seeing as she be in one of her nasty moods to-day when you can’t get a word what isn’t foolishness out of her. ”

“ I’m got an old woman, and ’tis hard I should be denied in aught that I’ve set my heart upon.
William. Please to set it upon something different, Mother, for I’m not a marrying man, and John he’ll tell you the same thing.
Mrs. Gardner. John! I’m sick of the very name of him. I can’t think how ’tis that you can lower yourself by being so close with a common farm hand, William.
William. Ah, ’twould be a rare hard matter to find the equal to John, Mother. ’Tis of gold all through, and every bit of him, that he is made. You don’t see many like John these days, that’s the truth. ”

“ Vashti. ’Twas grand as a tree in full leaf and the wind a-moving all the green of it as was your mammy, my dear.
Dorry. And did she have fine things to her, nice gowns and things, like Miss Sims, Granny?
Jane. ’Twas the looks of her and the love of finery and pleasuring what was her undoing, as ’twill be the undoing of you, too, Dorry, if you don’t take care. ’Tis she as you favours, and none of your father’s people, more’s the pity, and ’tis more thoughtful and serious as you’ll have to grow if you don’t want to come to harm. You take and go right up, and off with that frock, do you hear me? ”

“ Laura. How is it then with you?
Julia. [Pointing.] There—see that blue thing yonder flying from one blossom to another. That’s how ’tis with me. Shut me up close in one place, I perish. Let me go free, and I can fly and live.
Laura. You do talk a powerful lot of foolishness that no one could understand.
Julia. O, do not let us talk at all. Let us bide still, and get ourselves refreshed by the sweetness and the wildness of the forest.
Julia turns away and gives herself up to the enjoyment of the wood around her.
Laura arranges her ribbons and smoothes out her gown. ”

“ See here, old master. I would fain strike a bargain with you. And ’tis with a handful of golden pieces that I will pay your service.
Old Man. Anything to oblige you, my young lord.
Giles. [To George.] Take out a handful from the bag of gold. And you, John, give him some of the silver.
[George and John untie their bags and take out gold and silver. They twist it up in a handkerchief which they give to the old man.]
Old Man. May all the blessings of heaven rest on you, my lord, for ’tis plain to see that you be one of the greatest and finest gentlemen ever born to the land. ”

“ Lubin. They’ll know the both of us. Love isn’t never quite so dead but what a sound in the speech or a movement of the hand will bring some breath to it again.
Isabel. You’re right there, master—sommat’ll stir in the hearts of them when they sees we—and ’tis from the door as us’ll be chased for masking on them like this. ”

“ Thank you kindly, master.
William. And now, John, when the nosegay’s all gathered and the flowers bunched, what else should I do?
John. Well, then you gives it her when you gets to the door. And very like she’ll ask you into the parlour, seeing as you be a particular fine looking gentleman.
William. I could not stand that, John. I’ve no tongue to me within a strange house.
John. Well then, maybe as you and she will sit aside of one another in an arbour in the garden, or sommat of the sort.
William. Yes, John. And what next?
John. I’m blessed if I do know, master. You go along and commence. ”

“ Harry. Well, Missis, you can tell May ’tis a brave New Year as I do wish she.
Vashti. [Listening to bells which are heard suddenly ringing.] There, there they be! Harken to them! ’Tis with bells as they be coming out. Bells what’s ringing. I count ’tis fine as May do look now in her marriage gown. Harken, ’tis the bells a-shaking of the window pane. I be an old woman, but the hearing of me bain’t spoiled.
Harry. I warrant it bain’t, Missis. Why, they’re ringing wonderful smart. ’Tis enough, upon my word, for to fetch down every stone of the old place. ”

“ I be a poor old wretch what journeys upon the roads, master, and maybe I picks a crust here and gets a drink of water there, and the shelter of the pig-stye wall to rest the bones of me at night time.
Giles. What matters it if you be old and poor, master, so that the heart of you be whole and unbroken?
Old Man. Us poor old wretches don’t carry no hearts to th’ insides of we. The pains of us do come from the having of no victuals and from the winter’s cold when snow do lie on the ground and the wind do moan over the fields, and when the fox do bark. ”

“ Elizabeth stands tying her bonnet strings before a small mirror on the wall. Daniel is mopping his face with a big, bright handkerchief. Annet, dressed for church, is by the table. She sadly takes up the nosegay of flowers which Andrew brought for Millie, and moves her hand caressingly over it.
Elizabeth. If you think that your neckerchief is put on right ’tis time you should know different, Father.
Daniel. What’s wrong with it then, I’d like to know?
Elizabeth. ’Tis altogether wrong. ’Tis like the two ears of a heifer sticking out more than anything else that I can think on. ”

“ 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. ”

“ John. I’ve always been used to Saturday myself, but with a gentleman ’tis different like.
William. Well, John, there’s nothing in this day or that as far as I can see. A bad job is a bad job, no matter what, and the day of it does make but very little difference.
John. You’re right there, master. But if I may be so bold, where is it as you be going off courting this afternoon?
William. Ah—now you and me will have a straight talk one with another—for ’tis to you I look, John, for to pull me out of this fix where the mistress has gone and put me. ”

“ Laura. The farm! What’s wrong with that, I should like to know?
Julia. Everything. ’Tis more like a prison than a home to me. Within the house there’s always work crying out to be done—and outside I believe ’tis worse—work—nothing else speaking to me.
Laura. You’re a sad ungrateful girl. Why, there’s many would give their eyes to change with you.
Julia. But out here ’tis all peace, and freedom. There’s naught calling out to be done. The flowers grow as they like, and the breezes move them this way, and that. ”

“ Laura. The roots that lie warm in the earth do seem more homely like to me.
Julia. Well—each one has their own way in love—and mine lies through the dark woods, and yours is in the vegetable garden. And ’tis your road that we will take this afternoon—so come along quickly with me, Laura, for the sun has already begun to change its light. ”

“ Vashti. ’Tis the lies of they be growed big as wheat stalks and the hardness of their hearts be worse nor death. But ’tis to judgment as they shall be led, now you be comed home, May, and the hand of God shall catch they when they do crawl like adders upon the earth. “Ah, and do you mind how ’twas you served old Vashti, what never did harm to no one all the life of her,” I shall call out to th’ old woman in that hour when her shall be burning in the lake. ”

“ A man may give all his love to the gilly flower, but ’tis the scarlet rose as takes his fancy come to-morrow.
Isabel. And has your heart recovered from its sickness, mistress?
Mary. [Slowly.] After many years.
Lubin. And could you wed you to another?
Mary. [Still more slowly.] Give the grass that has been trampled underfoot a bit of time, ’twill rise again. There’s healing all around of us for every ill, did we but know it.
Lubin. I’d give sommat to know where ’tis then.
Mary. There isn’t a herb nor a leaf but what carries its message to them that are in pain. ”

“ Depend upon it ’tis two wicked thieves we have got among us, flying from justice.
Millie. No, no—did not you hear them say, their master is Giles.
George. And a better master never trod the earth.
John. And a finer or a richer gentleman I never want to see.
Elizabeth. Do you hear that, Father? O you shocking liars—’tis stolen goods that you’ve been and brought to our innocent house this day. But, Father, do you up and fetch in the constable, do you hear?
May. O I’ll run. I shall love to see them going off to gaol.
Millie. Be quiet, May. Can’t you all see how ’tis. ”