plays [15]
of my sister, William Brodie. Mair than
that I stop not to inquire. If the siller is spent, and the
honour tint - Lord help us, and the honour tint! - sae be it, I
maun bow the head. Ruin shallna come by me. Na, and I'll say
mair, William; we have a' our weary sins upon our backs, and
maybe I have mair than mony. But, man, if ye could bring HALF
the jointure . . . [POTIUS QUAM PEREAS] . . . for your mither's
son? Na? You couldna bring the half? Weel, weel, it's a sair
heart I have this day, a sair heart and a weary. If I were a
better man mysel' . . . but there, there, it's a sair heart that
I have gotten. And the Lord kens I'll help ye if I can. [POTIUS
QUAM PEREAS.]
SCENE V
BRODIE. Sore hearing, does he say? My hand's wet. But it's
victory. Shall it be go? or stay? [I should show them all I
can, or they may pry closer than they ought.] Shall I have it
out and be done with it? To see Mary at once [to carry bastion
after bastion at the charge] - there were the true safety after
all! Hurry - hurry's the road to silence now. Let them once get
tattling in their parlours, and it's death to me. For I'm in a
cruel corner now. I'm down, and I shall get my kicking soon and
soon enough. I began it in the lust of life, in a hey-day of
mystery and adventure. I felt it great to be a bolder, craftier
rogue than the drowsy citizen that called himself my fellow-man.
[It was meat and drink to know him in the hollow of my hand,
hoarding that I and mine might squander, pinching that we might
wax fat.] It was in the laughter of my heart that I tip-toed
into his greasy privacy. I forced the strong-box at his ear
while he sprawled beside his wife. He was my butt, my ape, my
jumping-jack. And now . . . O fool, fool! [Duped by such knaves
as are a shame to knavery, crime's rabble, hell's
tatterdemalions!] Shorn to the quick! Rooked to my vitals! And
I must thieve for my daily bread like any crawling blackguard in
the gutter. And my sister . . . my kind, innocent sister! She
will come smiling to me with her poor little love-story, and I
must break her heart. Broken hearts, broken lives! . . . I
should have died before.
SCENE VI
BRODIE, MARY
MARY (TAPPING WITHOUT). Can I come in, Will?
BRODIE. O yes, come in, come in! (MARY ENTERS.) I wanted to be
quiet, but it doesn't matter, I see. You women are all the same.
MARY. O no, Will, they're not all so happy, and they're not all
Brodies. But I'll be a woman in one thing. For I've come to
claim your promise, dear; and I'm going to be petted and
comforted and made much of, altho' I don't need it, and . . .
Why, Will, what's wrong with you? You look . . . I don't know
what you look like.
BRODIE. O nothing! A splitting head and an aching heart. Well!
you've come to speak to me. Speak up. What is it? Come, girl!
What is it? Can't you speak?
MARY. Why, Will, what is the matter?
BRODIE. I thought you had come to tell me something. Here I am.
For God's sake out with it, and don't stand beating about the
bush.
MARY. O be kind, be kind to me.
BRODIE. Kind? I am kind. I'm only ill and worried, can't you
see? Whimpering? I knew it! Sit down, you goose! Where do you
women get your tears?
MARY. Why are you so cross with me? Oh, Will, you have forgot
your sister! Remember, dear, that I have nobody but you. It's
your own fault, Will, if you've taught me to come to you for
kindness, for I always found it. And I mean you shall be kind to
me again. I know you will, for this is my great need, and the
day I've missed my mother sorest. Just a nice look, dear, and a
soft tone in your voice, to give me courage, for I can tell you
nothing till I know that you're my own brother once again.
BRODIE. If you'd take a hint, you'd put it off till to-morrow.
But I suppose you won't. On, then, I'm listening. I'm
listening!
MARY. Mr. Leslie has asked me to be his wife.
BRODIE. He has, has he?
MARY. And I have consented.
BRODIE. And
that I stop not to inquire. If the siller is spent, and the
honour tint - Lord help us, and the honour tint! - sae be it, I
maun bow the head. Ruin shallna come by me. Na, and I'll say
mair, William; we have a' our weary sins upon our backs, and
maybe I have mair than mony. But, man, if ye could bring HALF
the jointure . . . [POTIUS QUAM PEREAS] . . . for your mither's
son? Na? You couldna bring the half? Weel, weel, it's a sair
heart I have this day, a sair heart and a weary. If I were a
better man mysel' . . . but there, there, it's a sair heart that
I have gotten. And the Lord kens I'll help ye if I can. [POTIUS
QUAM PEREAS.]
SCENE V
BRODIE. Sore hearing, does he say? My hand's wet. But it's
victory. Shall it be go? or stay? [I should show them all I
can, or they may pry closer than they ought.] Shall I have it
out and be done with it? To see Mary at once [to carry bastion
after bastion at the charge] - there were the true safety after
all! Hurry - hurry's the road to silence now. Let them once get
tattling in their parlours, and it's death to me. For I'm in a
cruel corner now. I'm down, and I shall get my kicking soon and
soon enough. I began it in the lust of life, in a hey-day of
mystery and adventure. I felt it great to be a bolder, craftier
rogue than the drowsy citizen that called himself my fellow-man.
[It was meat and drink to know him in the hollow of my hand,
hoarding that I and mine might squander, pinching that we might
wax fat.] It was in the laughter of my heart that I tip-toed
into his greasy privacy. I forced the strong-box at his ear
while he sprawled beside his wife. He was my butt, my ape, my
jumping-jack. And now . . . O fool, fool! [Duped by such knaves
as are a shame to knavery, crime's rabble, hell's
tatterdemalions!] Shorn to the quick! Rooked to my vitals! And
I must thieve for my daily bread like any crawling blackguard in
the gutter. And my sister . . . my kind, innocent sister! She
will come smiling to me with her poor little love-story, and I
must break her heart. Broken hearts, broken lives! . . . I
should have died before.
SCENE VI
BRODIE, MARY
MARY (TAPPING WITHOUT). Can I come in, Will?
BRODIE. O yes, come in, come in! (MARY ENTERS.) I wanted to be
quiet, but it doesn't matter, I see. You women are all the same.
MARY. O no, Will, they're not all so happy, and they're not all
Brodies. But I'll be a woman in one thing. For I've come to
claim your promise, dear; and I'm going to be petted and
comforted and made much of, altho' I don't need it, and . . .
Why, Will, what's wrong with you? You look . . . I don't know
what you look like.
BRODIE. O nothing! A splitting head and an aching heart. Well!
you've come to speak to me. Speak up. What is it? Come, girl!
What is it? Can't you speak?
MARY. Why, Will, what is the matter?
BRODIE. I thought you had come to tell me something. Here I am.
For God's sake out with it, and don't stand beating about the
bush.
MARY. O be kind, be kind to me.
BRODIE. Kind? I am kind. I'm only ill and worried, can't you
see? Whimpering? I knew it! Sit down, you goose! Where do you
women get your tears?
MARY. Why are you so cross with me? Oh, Will, you have forgot
your sister! Remember, dear, that I have nobody but you. It's
your own fault, Will, if you've taught me to come to you for
kindness, for I always found it. And I mean you shall be kind to
me again. I know you will, for this is my great need, and the
day I've missed my mother sorest. Just a nice look, dear, and a
soft tone in your voice, to give me courage, for I can tell you
nothing till I know that you're my own brother once again.
BRODIE. If you'd take a hint, you'd put it off till to-morrow.
But I suppose you won't. On, then, I'm listening. I'm
listening!
MARY. Mr. Leslie has asked me to be his wife.
BRODIE. He has, has he?
MARY. And I have consented.
BRODIE. And