Georgian Poetry 1913-15 Part 37

Merrick:

You at the barrels too? Out of the road!

[He pushes SOLLERS away and spills his mug.]

Sollers:

Go and kick out of doors, you black donkey.

Merrick:

Let me come at the vessel, will you?

[They wrestle savagely.]

Sollers:

Keep off; I'm the first here. Lap what you've spilt of mine.

Merrick:

You with your chiselling and screw-driving, Your wooden work, you bidding me, the man Who hammers a meaning into red hot iron?

[VINE comes in slowly. He is weeping; the two wrestlers stop and stare at him, as he sits down, and holds his head in his hands, sobbing.]

Vine:

O this is a cruel affair!

Sollers:

Here's Vine crying!

Vine:

I've seen the moon.

Merrick:

The moon? 'Tisn't the moon That's tumbling on us, but yon raging star.

What notion now is clotted in your head?

Vine:

I've seen the moon; it has nigh broke my heart.

Sollers:

Not the moon too jumping out of her ways?

Vine:

No, no;--but going quietly and shining, Pushing away a flimsy gentle cloud That would drift smoky round her, fending it off With steady rounds of blue and yellow light.

It was not much to see. She was no more Than a curved bit of silver rind. But I Never before so noted her--

Sollers:

What he said, The dowser!

Merrick:

Ay, about his yellowhammers.

Sollers:

And there's a kind of stifle in the air Already!

Merrick:

It seems to me, my breathing goes All hot down my windpipe, hot as cider Mulled and steaming travels down my swallow.

Sollers:

And a queer racing through my ears of blood.

Merrick:

I wonder, is the star come closer still?