If I want spirit, it will be for drinking.
[MORRIS _goes out_.
Spirit or no, drinking's better than talking.
Who was the sickly fellow to invent
That crazy notion spirit, now, I wonder?
But who'd have thought a burly lout like Morris
Would join the brabble? Sure he'll have in him
A pint more blood than I have; and he's all
For loving girls with words, three yards away!
JEAN _comes in_.
_Jean_.
Alone, my boy? Who was your handsome friend?
_Hamish_.
Whoever he was he's gone. But I'm still here.
_Jean_.
O yes, you're here; you're always here.
_Hamish_.
Of course,
And you know why.
_Jean_.
Do I? I've forgotten.
_Hamish_.
Jean, how can you say that? O how can you?
_Jean_.
Now don't begin to pity yourself, please.
_Hamish_.
Ah, I am learning now; it's truth they talk.
You would undo the skill of a spider's web
And take the inches of it in one line,
More easily than know a woman's thought.
I'm ugly on a sudden?
_Jean_.
The queer thing
About you men is that you will have women
Love in the way you do. But now learn this;
We don't love fellows for their skins; we want
Something to wonder at in the way they love.
A chap may be as rough as brick, if you like,
Yes, or a mannikin and grow a tail,--
If he's the spunk in him to love a girl
Mainly and heartily, he's the man for her.
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