The Complete Plays of J. M. Barrie - 30 Titles in One Edition. Джеймс Барри
dear. Let us try to think that we shall always be young and handsome.
BAB (aside). I don’t like that answer.
JACK (aside). I flatter myself I got out of that bunker very neatly.
TOM re-enters.
BAB. Now go, while I ask Tom.
JACK (aside). She’s mine! Haw! Haw! (Exit.)
DUET. — BAB and TOM.
BAB. Last night when we were forced to part
I heard a pit-a-pat
Upon the window of my heart —
Tom, tell me what was that?
Oh, tell me true,
For I’m a little maid,
Of all the world afraid.
TOM. ‘Twas my heart which would entrance win,
‘Twas ‘neath the window hiding,
You raised the sash, and said “Come in,”
And there it’s now residing.
BAB. Tom, will your love grow cold to me
When silvered is my hair?
Or do you make believe that we
Shall aye be young and fair?
Oh, tell me true,
For I’m a little maid,
Of all the world afraid.
TOM. Eternal youth’s for no one here,
That secret’s to discover;
But when you’re old and grey, my dear,
I still will be your lover.
BOTH. I’ve/He’s told her/me true
This little maid
No longer is afraid.
Come joy or strife,
Come weal or woe,
Sunshine or stormy weather,
As man and wife
We’ll face the foe,
And face him thus together.
TOM. Oh, Bab — you will be my wife?
BAB. Yes, if you want me very, very much, Tom.
Enter BULLDOGS and PROCTOR softly R. TOM sees them and flies L.
BULLDOGS rush after him and exeunt.
BAB. Oh! (Jumps into PROCTOR’s arms.) Saved!
PROCTOR. Caught, you mean.
BAB. No, saved.
PROCTOR. Eh, what? I don’t understand.
BAB. I was only going with him because he promised to take me to you.
PROCTOR. To me?
BAB. Oh, I feel so safe now that I have reached you — you are so solid and satisfying, like a great plum pudding, you know.
PROCTOR. You mean well, my child, I have no doubt; but you have an unfortunate way of expressing yourself. (He puts arm round her. TOM rushes across stage and exit. He is followed by BULLDOGS. They stop when they see PROCTOR and BAB.)
GREG. Hullo!
SIM. Ahem!
PROCTOR. What do you mean?
SIM. Beg pardon, but your arm you know — eh?
PROCTOR (fiercely). What about my arm?
GREG. It is round — don’t you see?
PROCTOR. I do not.
GREG. Allow me. (Takes PROCTOR’s arm off BAB.)
PROCTOR. Oh, thanks!
BAB. Oh, there is Miss Sims! Save me, Mr. Proctor!
PROCTOR. In here, quick! (Pushes BAB into arbour.) She is a nice girl. (To BULLDOGS.) Remember, you have not seen any girl here, if you are asked.
GREG. Not here! Why, she is in the arbour.
PROCTOR. There is no one in the arbour. What you see is — is an optical illusion. Furthermore, my orders to you are that you see no one in the arbour for the next half- hour, do you hear?
SIM. We — we hear.
PROCTOR (aside). In half an hour I am sure I can convince Bab of the error of her ways. (Aloud.) And stop, if any one inquires for me, I am — I am — gathering flowers by the river’s brim. Do you — do you —
GREG. Twig?
PROCTOR. Yes, twig?
SIM and GREG. We twig.
PROCTOR. Good. (Goes to BAB.)
GREG. Now, Sim, do you give him up?
SIM (after a struggle). No!
Exeunt L., expostulating with each other.
BAB. I knew that you would save me.
PROCTOR. Yes, but you must me a good girl in future. You know it’s best in the long run.
BAB. Oh, how beautifully you talk!
PROCTOR. To be happy you must be good.
BAB. Yes, but to be awfully, dreadfully, excruciatingly happy, you must be naughty. But I am sure I should be good if Miss Sims would talk to me as you have done.
PROCTOR. Really! Do you mind my calling you Baby?
BAB. Not at all. May I call you Little One?
PROCTOR. Certainly. Do you know I feel a strange something creeping over me!
BAB. So do I.
PROCTOR. I like it!
BAB. So do I.
PROCTOR. Yum yum!
BAB. So do I.
DUET. — BAB and PROCTOR.
PROCTOR. I’m a man of erudition,
And a scorner of frivolities,
With loftiest ambition,
And most domineering qualities.
The rowdiest grow meeker
When I fix them with this eye;
But I feel I’m growing weaker,
And I don’t know why —
No I don’t — not I.
I’m growing quite gelatinous, and can’t guess why.
BAB. I’m just a little girlie,
Who still am in my teens, you know.
For love it’s much too early,
And I can’t guess what it means, you know.
But since I saw that simper,
And the twinkle of that eye,
I feel I’m growing limper,
And I can’t guess why —
No I can’t — not I.
I’m growing quite invertebrate, and can’t tell why.
PROCTOR. I’ve a will that’s adamantine,
And my nerve is quite unshakable,
My strength is elephantine,
And my spirit is unbreakable,
I cow the flippant cabby,
I can make the coster cry,
Yet I feel I’m growing flabby,
And I can’t tell why —
No I can’t — not I.
I’m growing quite blanc-mangeical,