Wappin' Wharf Part 11

But I says ter you, and it 's perfectly true, They stuffs theirselves too much; And a mutton stew, when yer gets it through, Is better than peac.o.c.ks and such.

(_More tinware in the kitchen. And now Darlin' again!_)

I 've cooked in a brig to a dancin' jig Which the sea kicks up in a blast.

And me stove 's slid 'round until I 've found A rope ter make it fast.

But I braces me legs and the Duke, he begs Fer puddin' with sweets on the side.

Me Darlin', it 's rough, and I likes yer duff.

I 'll marry yer, Darlin', me bride.

(_In her reckless joy at this dim possibility she overturns the dishpan. During the song the Duke's legs have appeared on the ladder.

He descends, fetching with him a comb and mirror._

_He brushes his hair. This is unusual and he finds a knot that is harder than any Gordian knot whatsoever. He smoothes and strokes his whiskers. He goes so far as to slap himself for dust. He puts a sprig of flowers--amazing!--in the front of his cloak. He practices a smile and gesture. He seems to speak. He claps his hand upon his heart. Ah, my dear sir, we have guessed your secret. The wind, as yet, blows from the south, but a pirate waits not upon the spring. His lover's oath pops out before the daffodil. I pray you, master carpenter, hang me up a moon._

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I pray you, master carpenter, hang me up a moon"]

_And now the Duke stands before us the King of smiles. His is the wooer's posture. He speaks, but not with his usual voice of command.

Oberon, as it were, calls t.i.tania to the woodland when stars are torch and candle to the sleeping world._)

DUKE: Betsy! Betsy!

(_She appears. The Duke wears a silly smile. But did not Bottom in an a.s.s's head win the fairy princess? A moon, sweet sir! And now--suddenly!--the magic night dissolves into coa.r.s.est day._)

DUKE: Would yer like ter be the d.u.c.h.ess?

(_This is abrupt and unusual, but nice customs curtsy to Dukes as well as Kings._)

DUKE: I 'm askin' yer, Betsy. Yer ol' Duke is askin' yer. I 'm lovin'

yer. Yer ol' Duke is lovin' yer. I 'll do the right thing by yer. I 'll marry yer. There! I 've said it. When yer married yer can jest set on a cushion without nothin' ter do--(_reflectively_) nothin' 'cept cookin' and washin' and darnin'. Does yer jump at me, Betsy?

(_I confess, myself, a mere man, unable to a.n.a.lyze Betsy's emotions.

She stands staring at the Duke, as you or I might stare at a hippopotamus in the front hall. I have bitten my pencil to a pulp--the maker's name is quite gone--but I can think of no lines that are adequate. Her first surprise, however, turns to amus.e.m.e.nt._)

DUKE: Ain 't yer a kind o' hankerin' fer me? Come ter me arms, sweetie, and confess yer blushin' love. I 'm askin' yer. I 'm askin'

yer ter be the d.u.c.h.ess.

BETSY: But I do not love you, Duke.

(_In jest, however, the little rascal perches on his knee._)

DUKE: Make yerself comfertable. Yer husband 's willin'. When I cramps, I shifts yer. Kiss me, when yer wants.

BETSY: You are an old goose.

DUKE: Did I hear yer? Does yer hold off fer me ter nag yer? The ol'

Duke 's waitin' ter fold yer in his lovin' arms.

BETSY: I do not love you, Duke.

(_The Captain and Patch-Eye have thrust their heads through the opening above the ladder, and they listen with amus.e.m.e.nt._)

DUKE: I 'm blowed. I 'm a better man than Patch. I 'm tellin' yer. Is it me stump, Betsy? I has n't a hook hand like the Captain. Yer has got ter be linked all 'round. There 's no fun, I says, in bein' hugged by a one-armed man. Yer would be lop-sided in a week.

BETSY: It 's just that I do not love you, Duke.

DUKE: Yer wounds me feelin's. Does n't I ask yer pretty? Should I have waited fer a moon and took yer walkin'? And perched with yer on the rocks, with the ol' moon winkin' at yer, shovin' yer on? The Duke 's never been refused before. A number o' wery perticerler ladies, arter breakfast even, has jest come scamperin'. 'T ain 't Patch, is it Betsy? A pretty leetle girl would n't love a feller as has one eye. It ain 't the Captain. He ain 't no hand with the ladies. Yer not goin'

ter tell me it 's Petey? I would n't want yer ter fall in love with a blinkin' light.

BETSY: You have lovely whiskers, Duke.

DUKE: Yer can pull one fer the locket that yer wears. Are yer makin'

fun o' me?

BETSY: I would n't dare.

DUKE: Does yer mean it, Betsy? Are yer relentin'? Are yer goin' ter say the 'appy word as splices us from keel to topsail? Yer ain 't jest a cruel syren are yer, wavin' me on, hopin' I 'll smash meself? Are yer winkin' at me like ol' Flint's lantern--me thinkin' it 's love I see, shinin' in yer laughin' eyes?

BETSY: Why don 't you marry Darlin'?

DUKE: Her with one tooth? Yer silly. I boohs at yer. Ol' ladies with one hoof inside a coffin does n't make good brides. Yer wants someone kinder gay and spry, as yer can pin flowers to.

BETSY: She loves you, Duke.

DUKE: Course she does. So does the ol' lady as keeps the tap at the Harbor Light, and one-eyed Pol as mops up the liquor that is spilt.

And youngsters, too. A pretty leetle dear--jest a cozy armful--was winkin' at me yesterday--kinder givin' me the snuggle-up. I pities 'em. It 's their nater, G.o.d 'elp 'em, ter love me; but the ol' Duke is perticerler. Yer has lovely eyes, Betsy--blessed leetle mirrors where I sees Cupid playin'. They shines like the lights o' a friendly harbor.

BETSY: Darlin' cooks roast pig that crackles.

DUKE: I sets me heart on top me stomich. Ain 't yer comfertable, settin' on me knee? Shall I shift yer to me stump? Betsy, I calls arter we are married, fetch me down me slipper and lay it on the hearth ter warm. Yer husband 's home. And I tosses yer me boot, all mud fer cleanin'. And then yer pa.s.ses the grog. And arter about the second cup I limbers up and kisses yer. And then yer sets upon me knee. It will be snug on winter evenin's when the blast is blowin'.

And when we 're married yer can kiss me pretty near as often as yer please. And I won 't deny as I won 't like it. The ol' Duke ain 't slingin' the permission 'round general. Darlin' nags me. What yer laughin' at?

BETSY: You silly old man!

DUKE: Yer riles me. Once and fer all, will yer marry me? I 'll not waste the night argyin' with yer. I 'm not goin' ter tease yer. I 've only one knee and it ain 't no bench fer gigglin' girls as pokes fun at their betters. I 'll jolt yer till yer teeth rattles. Is it someone else? Has yer a priory 'tachment? Red Joe? Is it Red Joe, Betsy? Is he snoopin' 'round?

(_Betsy rises with sobered mood, and walks away._)

DUKE: There 's somethin' about that young feller I does n't like. He 's a snooper. Betsy, does yer get what I 'm talkin' about? I have offered ter make yer the d.u.c.h.ess. I 'll buy--I 'll steal yer a set o'

red beads. I 'll give yer a sixpence--without no naggin'--every time yer goes ter town, jest ter spend reckless. I 'll marry yer. I 'll take yer ter Minehead and get the piousest parson in the town. Would yer like Darlin' fer a bridesmaid--and grog and angel-cake? Me jest settin' ready ter kiss yer every time yer pa.s.ses it. I 'm blowed! You are wickeder than ol' Flint's lantern. It must be Red Joe. Him with the smirk! There 's a young feller 'round here, Betsy, as wants ter look out fer his wizen.

(_But Betsy has run in panic to the kitchen._)

DUKE: I does n't understand 'em. I 'm thinkin' the girl 's a fool. A ninny I calls her. It 's Red Joe. Off a cliff! Yer said it, Darlin'.

Off a cliff!

(_He removes the sprig of flowers and tosses it into the fire._

_Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date:--_