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…Angela falls back to sleep. SCENE XI Paris. ANGELA, LORD and LADY GLENSTRAE, SIR PERCY DE PERCIVALE. ANGELA. You will not believe what I tell you ? These friends will tell you what I mean, and if I mean it ! You had your dis- missal this morning. Never dare to address me again !
WHY JESUS WEPT 61 SIR PERCY. O, go ! to the devil for me ! What do I care ? I am tired, I tell you. GLENSTRAE. You see, Molly, I told you true. MOLLY, turns to the Marchioness and kneels by her. O, my lady Marchioness ! You are a great lady. Spare me this shame, your lord’s shame, your own shame... LADY GLENSTRAE. Take her away. Less light ! GLENSTRAE. Ha ! Ha ! SIR PERCY. I cannot see your humour, Glenstrae — forgive me so far ! And to tell the truth of it, I can do nothing and care to do less. GLENSTRAE. Come, Molly ! MOLLY. Must I, must I ? …
…know these calculated, keen, Intense, important kisses, — mine ! Hell’s worm ! MOLLY. Yes, do not leave me. Let us away now ! No, I must tell them, fetch my —
…e wadna say the laddie wad gang yon. CARRUTHERS, smiling. He is ever alone ? GREUMOCH. Oo ay, sir, by his lanes. CARRUTHERS. Go now, and tell me ever of his doings. Exit Greumoch. The hour is nigh, but when that hour may strike
WHY JESUS WEPT 33 SIR PERCY, very pale. Is this your writing ? ANGELA. Oh shame ! shame ! shame ! Tell me you have not read it, Sir Percy ! SIR PERCY. Some I did read — How know you my name ? ANGELA. I read it in my heart. O but I am ashamed to speak to you ! Or would be were not that name as a brand to blot out all feeling from me for evermore. SIR PERCY aside. How she speaks ! It is indeed an angel singing. (Aloud.) Indeed, I read too far. ANGELA. Pity me ! SIR PERCY. Dear lady, the joy to know, and so perfectly to express such love is enough…
…S WEPT 35 SIR PERCY. And you—how old are you ? ANGELA. That is a rude, rude boy ! SIR PERCY. Oh, I am so sorry, I forgot. ANGELA. I will tell you, though. I am all but twenty-two ! SIR PERCY. That is young yet. ANGELA. Ah, in your eyes I see sadness—I breathe ; I hope. Think deeply in yourself, if you love this girl ! I am older than you, to be sure ; but not so much. May be you would find my love a better thing than you think ! Do I perspire now ? Do my cheeks run down nasty wet tears ? Is my love a monotonous harping on one word ? Love, Percy…
WHY JESUS WEPT 51 MOLLY. O my lord ! I am the most unhappy girl in the world. GLENSTRAE. Tell me about it — there, there, don’t cry ! MOLLY. Twas but yestreen s’ennight. GLENSTRAE. A green wound is easiest cured. MOLLY. My lord, yestreen s’ennight I was wooed and won, and ere the moonrise he deserted me. GLENSTRAE. Dear, dear ! That’s bad, bad, bad. There, there, no doubt we shall be able to do something. MOLLY. My father thinks it is worse — oh, far worse ! I am to go away into service — oh ! oh ! GLENSTRAE. And so you shall, my dear, so you s…
…, don’t be angry ! SIR PERCY. Pshaw ! You disgust me. (The footman turns to go.) GLENSTRAE, to footman. Wait ! (To Sir Percy.) would you tell her so ? SIR PERCY. If I deigned speech. GLENSTRAE. Simmons, ask Miss Tyson to step here for a moment. (Exit servant.) After which I shall leave you for an hour, my boy.
… In praise of — what is your medicine called, dear Marchioness ? LADY GLENSTRAE. Who calls me ? What is it ? Leave me alone ! SIR PERCY. Tell me, dear Lady — Maud ! LADY GLENSTRAE. Ah ! you are the boy. SIR PERCY. Your boy, queen ! LADY GLENSTRAE. Oh, yes, my boy. SIR PERCY. What is this medicine called ?
70 WHY JESUS WEPT. MOLLY. Oh, do come, dearie ! THEATRE-GOER. No, I tell you — try Liverpool Street ! Curtain. What follows is strictly by request in the interest of ‘ healthy optimism’. So far my pen has touched with vivid truth The constant story of the eternal struggle Of age and sense with flatulence and youth. Now — see the venal poet start to juggle ! Young ladies, you desire to see a comedy ! The poet’s master pen shall twist the river Of song into a simple to-and-from eddy. And you shall laugh where once you feared to shiver. So listen …
…again ! [She spits at him and goes.) SIR PERCY, half rises and falls back. Oh ! oh ! It is impossible. Lord Marquis, you are a good man. Tell me, it is a hideous dream. GLENSTRAE. No dream, my boy. You are the hundredth she has treated after this fashion. But cheer up now. There ! There ! Women are all the same. Eh, Maud ? LADY GLENSTRAE. Who calls ? What do you want ? Leave me alone ! GLENSTRAE. Ah, nothing ! Nothing, my dear.
…-blooded bat ! Ugh ! Ugh ! The snake Wriggling to death amid his burning brake Is wiser, holier, lordlier. Open, page Of the old Rabbi ! tell me of the mage ; Of him who would ; of him who dared and did ; Of him who feared and failed ; of him who fell ; One peering lightwards through a coffin-lid, One aching heavenwards — and achieving hell ! O let me do and die as they ! The wand, The lamp, the sword, come eager to my hand ; — Or, if I wander now upon the moor, An old red-hatted witch will come, for sure, And teach me how the dragon deeds are …