The Deserter
1ST WOMAN . Why, it 's bright morning!
1 ST MAN . And a fresh air 'tis!
2 ND WOMAN . Like coming out of a tunnel — such a noon
The night has been.
1 ST WOMAN . And such a stifle of folk!
My head 's bewilder'd.
1 ST MAN . Wash you in the dew,
The same as when you were a young thing.
1 ST WOMAN . Nay!
I've all my age just now, and a deal more:
As likely to be skittish as if I'd seen
My own time dated in the almanac,
As settled as the assizes.
2 ND MAN [ a very old man ]. Well, what a mood
For a fine morning! — You keep too soft a heart,
A heart like dough, no sad affair can touch
Without it pinches. You should have a heart
Like mine, crisp as a quartern loaf new-baked
With the warmth lively in it — to feel the morn
Kindle your senses again after you've seen
Another fellow's candle-light snufft out.
1 ST WOMAN . Well, I'm just daunted, when I've seen death busy.
2 ND MAN . And we left still alive to smell the air! —
Never a death now, but I feel as if
It took a parcel of years from off my back:
I'll have a spine like a sapling soon. — My word,
This garden favours pinks! Better than mine!
Look what a flourish of pinks!
2 ND WOMAN . When I'm to die,
I'll not have windows closed and a blinded room;
I'll have the morning blow right in on me,
And have some gleam of green things in my eyes.
You mind, all of you: else I'll die so loud,
Peter's noise would be a buzzing to it.
1 ST WOMAN . And I'll not have my dying day a show
For all the swarming neighbours.
2 ND MAN [ the old one ]. I'll be there:
I'll give you a send-off.
1 ST WOMAN . You old jackal!
You'll have your proper gait by then; you'll be
Going about four-footed.
1 ST MAN . You won't take,
We'll hope, missis, such a wild way of dying
As Peter took; there'll be no call for us
To come and manage you.
3 RD MAN . I thought, one while,
He'ld fight us down.
1 ST MAN . He gave my neck a wrench
Will keep me minding him all day, poor man; —
Specially as 'tis hoeing turnips for me.
2 ND WOMAN . I had my mind made up and my skirts gathered
To clear the stairs in a jump, and chance my legs,
When he seemed freeing himself: I never saw
Such vengeance in a man's eyes.
1 ST MAN . Ay, you mean
The fit he had of taking Turpin's face
For the Kayser looking in on him? Indeed,
He bounded under the clothes same as a salmon
Leaping a waterfall.
1 ST WOMAN . Anyone would suppose
His glare was on some great marauding face,
The picture of foreign wickedness and murder,
He did take Turpin's looks to heart so bad.
Yet it 's a homely make of face; you'ld say,
Surely, if there 's plain English anywhere,
It 's Turpin's face.
3 RD MAN [ Turpin ]. Never you mind my looks.
1 ST MAN . Peter minded them, worse than a slug mind salt:
A glance of you made him a foaming man.
" I'll give you Belgium," says he: and I'm sure
He'ld have had Turpin's face ript from his head
If I'd been slack a jiffy.
2 ND WOMAN . Then 'twas hell:
Hell was under the bedstead, burning for him.
1 ST WOMAN . You could nigh see the flames come growing up,
He dodged them so.
2 ND MAN [ the old one ]. But what is hell for him now,
Is thinking of us alive with the sun in our eyes,
And air and the taste of morning in our mouths;
And me noting the larkspurs and the lupins,
And how I beat him there, for all his pinks
Do wonders — thinking of this and knowing himself
A dead thing from now on: — that 's hell, I'm sure!
1 ST MAN . He ought not to have gone so quick by rights;
The doctor gave him longer.
3 RD MAN . He'ld never bide
By doctor's talk. " No drink" — that was the word:
But Peter'ld not be meddled with, not he.
2 ND WOMAN . And lying abed never to dress again
He drove his wife to keep the whisky pouring —
A terrible foolhardy drink for him,
As well he knew.
1 ST WOMAN . Indeed, she would be driven,
Poor girl, if he miscall'd her half as much
As he miscall'd Jack Turpin's face to-night.
3 RD MAN [ Turpin ]. O let it be.
1 ST MAN . Well, now the next affair
Is breakfast, I suppose.
2 ND WOMAN . Mine will be cheap.
Breakfast! when I'ld be chawing to the din
Of a dead man shouting like a monster at me:
" I say they might as well cut off my head
As do the things inside of me they're doing!"
1 ST WOMAN . " Catch my head," he cries to me, " catch my head:
There it goes bouncing past you down the stairs,
And every bump a souse of my best blood." —
I'll dream to-night of lobbing Peter's head
Up the staircase to him on the landing:
And he to catch it there and clap it down
Splash on his shoulders, and grin down to me.
2 ND MAN [ the old one ]. Don't! You will start a mischief in my brain,
To rouse in the night and sneak out, filling my sleep
With dreams of blood.
1 ST WOMAN . If it 's of your own blood,
It will be dreams of vinegar.
2 ND MAN . Be quiet! —
To dream of blood would mean I'm going to die,
Certain as stabbing. And I don't want to die.
1 ST MAN . Nor I; so let 's be shambling. I'm half clemm'd.
2 ND WOMAN . Ay, go about your breakfast, do! — That 's all
The trouble a man has — to scoff his meals.
3 RD MAN [ moving off ]. So Peter 's gone! Gone off like gunpowder!
A flaring way to die!
1 ST MAN . We used to call him
Old Jolly-Nose, at the inn.
1 ST WOMAN . And you may say
His best friend killed him.
1 ST MAN . Ay, 'tis things like this
Give drink a bad name 
L UTHER . Quiet, eh? — That should mean he 's made his end. —
Now what 's the mood, I wonder? — Hi! In there!
Missis!
Why, sweetheart, you're about betimes!
Where will your mother be?
THE GIRL . Upstairs.
LUTHER . Alone?
THE GIRL . I'm frightened.
LUTHER . No, not frightened now?
THE GIRL . The mouse
Has gone so quiet.
LUTHER . Not frightened now, though, home?
THE GIRL . Mother says Daddy 's dead. — O let 's go off
And play at something.
LUTHER . I've a word or two
First for your mother. What is she doing? Crying?
THE GIRL . Saying her prayers.
LUTHER . That will not help her much.
Run you and fetch her here.
THE GIRL . No, no, I won't!
I'll not go into the house again.
LUTHER . You shan't:
An idle-witted chap I was to say it.
Why, I'ld not go in there myself! So now
Let 's try if hollaring will bring her out.
Missis! — Join in. — Missis!
THE GIRL . Mother, mother!
LUTHER . We have moved something. I heard a door she to. —
How would you like to have me for your daddy?
THE GIRL [ reproachful, pushing away from him ].
O now you go and spoil it!
LUTHER . What 's to do?
And you such friends with me!
THE GIRL . But if you were
My daddy, you would be slapping me, I know.
LUTHER . Slapping?  Good God, the stuff they make men of!
No; I can tell you, 'twill be games all day
When I'm your daddy: slapping 's done with now.
MARTHA . What are you putting in her mind?
LUTHER [ to the Girl ]. Run off.
I'll find you soon. Think how'll we'll spend the morning.
Wading the stream for loaches?
THE GIRL . O yes, that!
LUTHER . Be scarce then for a while, little sweetheart.
That's an old promise. She's agog to feel
Her first loach under her toes, squirming and slipping,
Trapt on the gravel. Have no thought for her;
I'll give my day to her and keep her cheered.
I'm very sure it's wrong, out-and-out wrong,
To let a child be startled with the gliff
Of the real thing inside our talk of death.
MARTHA . So I'm to have the child against me too?
LUTHER . If I can ply you anyway with her,
I'll see I have her mind and let my will
Strain upon you through her: that's only sense. —
But she's the weakest of the ropes I've hitched
About you. You are muddled, I dare say,
With Peter dying; the fuss still goes on
About your wits like a flood pushing past
A willow, tugging at the branches, long
After it has done raining: you may forget
How firm I've fastened you to what I mean.
So here I've done the friendly thing, and come
To give you the mere hint the ropes still hold
I have had rigged about you this good while.
MARTHA . 'Twas kindly thought of.
LUTHER . Only a slight twitch,
A tingling jerk or two: you will soon feel
The purchase I have got on you. And then,
Soon as the ropes begin to tell on you,
You'll come my way, I hope, of your own motion,
Before I need to start winding them in.
MARTHA . It would be best to say out what you want.
LUTHER . What I want? — Whose is that house?
MARTHA . 'Tis mine
Now, I suppose.
LUTHER . And I suppose it's mine.
And that's the very thing the law supposes.
Why, if I took your house, your traps and sticks,
Everything — sent you off stript like a nigger —
Would that half fill, ay, or a quarter fill
The rummage Peter has made in my affairs,
Scattering money of mine as a terrier kicks
The earth behind him, burrowing in a warren?
MARTHA . Is so much owing? — I could work it off,
Maybe; and I've some money hid.
LUTHER . You've not:
It is my money you've in hiding, mine.
Just let me hammer that into your brain,
Clean through, and rivet it on t'other side.
I say you're naught, naught but body and soul,
Just your own nature: all your belongings now
Are packt up in your skin. There: is that clencht?
Bless you, Peter was in and out of my purse
Like playing at lucky-bag: half-crowns and tizzies,
Ten pound notes and sovereigns — all one to him.
And it's all written down, what Peter fingered,
Written and fairly signed — fair as he could:
I've seen him sign half on the paper and half
On the deal table top, when he was owlish.
But it's a book I have, a regular bible,
Of I O U and Peter's name — O, pages!
Well: the world round about knows, and you know,
My money goes from me to bring in gain.
There's other gain than cash, though; I've a mind
To marry.
MARTHA . You should have all there is to know
Of marrying by heart.
LUTHER . Why, not quite all.
The twice I've married so far, you may say,
Has been just doing business: good strokes, both.
But too much business stiffens upon a man
Till he is shell'd tight as a tortoise: I'm strong
On a man marrying once in his life at least
For pleasure. And it's you I'll have for pleasure.
MARTHA . And I'm a dummy in this bargain?
LUTHER . Yes:
I don't see what you'ld have to say; it's struck.
But once we can look back on the deal made good,
You'll find me the easiest temper in the parish;
It's just that I must have my way.
MARTHA . You won't!
You sell me up and see if I care a wink!
LUTHER . I know what's speaking now; I've a good ear:
You have your fancy still for that young fellow.
Well, turn it out. He's off to the war, and that
Will keep him doing for a smart spell yet.
You've him to thank, though, that I took this gait,
Spinning my money into a tackle upon you;
I've seen him eyeing you. — Well, the last knot
That wanted tying was Peter's death; so now,
Shall I not start the pully-haul before
Johnny comes marching home — a sergeant-major!
MARTHA . I'ld laugh at this in a tale.
LUTHER . What's the strange thing?
MARTHA . You so cheering yourself with wickedness
And relishing the injuries you've done
And mean to do still; and the man you set
Death tracking after, like a dog on a hare,
Lying within a stride of you!
LUTHER . I set
Death on his track?
MARTHA . What else was your money
But death hot-foot after him? — Then to come here
With a brag about it all! — Ay, and bidding
Me to stand in with you!
LUTHER . Don't make it out
Such mighty news! I dare say it has been
A long time winding in and out of your thoughts,
Much like a taking tune that will keep humming.
Why, Peter meant it himself.
MARTHA . Peter meant it?
LUTHER . We had it square as if a lawyer wrote it.
He'ld come with his palm held out, easy and brazen,
The figure of churchwarden handing the plate.
" Time for another payment," he would say;
" You know the pledge; and all I bargain for
Is this: keep cool about her till I'm dead.
But if you saw the years I'm going to live,
You'ld have a turn." — Well, he's had the turn. —
Come: you are known for duty. 'Twas a good wife
Who stuck so nobly to her man's dying wish
For liquor: stand by him now in this thing too.
MARTHA . And if he'ld said, in one of his snarling whinkles
" Sup poison when I'm gone: dose yourself full
Of sheep-dip," — I'ld be meek about that too? —
And I'ld as lief do that as go with you.
LUTHER . O you're the kind for me! Let's have a flare
Brave me! I cannot away with quiet women;
I'm for the fire-works. — I've had this to do
Twice already.
MARTHA . Had what to do?
LUTHER . Why, tame
A woman's mind. I make no more of it
Than brushing the nap of a tall hat shiny again.
It seems as if there's something living in me
Women have to obey.
MARTHA . My mind's my own.
LUTHER . Is that why you daren't look me in the face?
MARTHA . Pooh, daren't I!
LUTHER . But in my eyes? No, that you daren't;
Dare you, Martha? — Martha, look in my eyes!
Look in my eyes and don't blink till I tell you.
Now you see how it is. You'll banter me
Just as much as you please, say you? — But no;
It's just as much as I please, isn't it?
Isn't it, Martha? Those keen scorning thoughts,
It's I who let them cluster in your brain,
Isn't it, Martha? Your mind's in my grasp
As if I held a dandelion-clock
Before me in my fingers: one good puff,
And the pretty down's adrift, loose in the air:
The very way I'll scatter, when I choose,
The dearest thoughts you have. — Now you may blink.
You saw the picture, though.
MARTHA . My mind's my own.
LUTHER . Why, say that, if you like, over and over.
But every time the words bob up to be said,
Think you can see me smiling to myself,
Holding a dandelion-clock before me
And musing, Shall I blow? Shall I blow now?
MARTHA . O don't! don't!
LUTHER . And you'll remember how you lookt in my eyes;
You'll feel my hands weighing on your shoulders,
And you not able to blink against my gaze,
And being steept in what looks out of me,
Like a white cloth steeping in scarlet dye.
MARTHA . I hate you: you know that.
LUTHER . That's your affair.
Much better love me. The thing is, you're fast,
You're mine. Be sure, though, I shan't trouble you:
Nor need to trouble myself. You can stay here
And act the widow handsomely awhile.
All you will feel will be a kind of drowze
Settling down on you, gently, very gently —
Like sleepiness, when you're awake too long,
That seems to fasten cobwebs, thousands of them,
Round your limbs, softly clinging and tingling,
Until the flossy threads have wound you tight,
Lapt hand and foot in a cocoon as firm
As rope; and sleep can suck your spirit out.
But you are the one to know, after these nights,
Who wins at last, when it's a fight with sleep.
Well: so you'll feel me spin my silky thought
About your mind, and hold you in the end
Graspt and helpless, and handling you like steel.
MARTHA . Is that what those two other women felt?
LUTHER . Very likely.
MARTHA . And I am to be the third
To go the way they went?
LUTHER . Why, yes: to church.
MARTHA . To church feet foremost, yes. Where are they now.
LUTHER . Well, they are dead; and come to think of it,
Where is your husband? And dead as my wives are
They didn't drink themselves dead: they went off
In sound respectable diseases both;
The doctor guaranteed them.
MARTHA . I dare say
He'll do the same for me.
LUTHER . When the time comes.
MARTHA . And that's for you to say?
LUTHER . Pull up! Fancy's running away with you.
Turn her into the lane that leads to church;
That's where a widow likes to think of going. —
So! Nothing like a chat for straightening things!
We know where we are now, Martha. I'll go find
The lass, and make a ploy up for the day.
She shall be blithe, I promise! I can touch
Her little mind like harping on it, and keep
A tune of laughter chiming there as bright
As sunny water. She'll tell you I'm the one
To make her happy, Martha: and you, too!
The only thing is — I must have my way.
MARTHA . Must you! Not this time.
Sound asleep, poor boy!
He said he'd had to walk most of the way.
MARTHA . Well, and what if they do see? You're on leave.
SOLDIER . I'm not.
MARTHA . Then how ?
SOLDIER . You said I had to come.
There is no leave: we're going out — I mean
They are. I'm a deserter.
MARTHA . What's the right name
For me, I wonder?
SOLDIER . Nay, they won't touch you.
You made me do it, but it's me that did it;
And it is me they'll lag.
MARTHA . We'll get round that;
You'll see.
SOLDIER . And how will I get round it, Martha?
Can you see that? — They're going out, and I
Deserted. — Well? You said I had to come? —
Nobody ever gave a woman aught
That cost the same as this! — But let that be.
It was for you.
MARTHA . O, but for both of us!
And we will put it right. We'll put all right;
There's a deal more than this. But you don't know.
We're safe now.
SOLDIER . Where is a deserter safe?
MARTHA . O that's easy.
SOLDIER . Is it? You made me come,
And now you slight it.
MARTHA . O, I don't, I don't!
But worse might be. I had to have you here:
I durstn't let you go to France just now!
SOLDIER . What is it? How's that drunken
MARTHA . He'she's dead.
SOLDIER . Good Christ! Why didn't you say?
MARTHA . I was going to tell you.
SOLDIER . When did he die?
MARTHA . This morning.
SOLDIER . Was it your guess
That this was nearing made you write so wild?
MARTHA . Suppose you'd gone to France! That was the error —
You would be gone, before
SOLDIER . And not come back?
It does no good, letting such thoughts run on.
MARTHA . But it's not only that. If he had died
While you were overseas! — Doesn't it sound
Wicked to say, Thank God for such a thing!
SOLDIER . This morning! — While I was asleep in there
MARTHA . The wonder is, you could sleep through last night.
SOLDIER . The wonder is your letter had no word
That this was coming; and not a word of this
When you were smuggling me away in there.
MARTHA . You were too tired. But all this is nothing
We'll go away to-night: the road's clear now.
SOLDIER . I've only one clear road — the way I came:
Give myself up.
MARTHA . O but I've planned it all.
Everything will be safe, you'll see. We'll start
Tramping to-night —
SOLDIER . Where to?
MARTHA . Why, anywhere
Three days' hard going — a hundred miles away —
You take another name and marry me —
I have the money by — and the next day
Enlist again. You're straight then with the army,
And I'm safe out of here. O we must do it!
SOLDIER . And what would all this crazy work be for?
MARTHA . But what else can you see?
SOLDIER . I've told you once:
Give myself up.
MARTHA . O where's the gain in that?
Why not go smooth and easy when you can?
SOLDIER . A fine smooth thing, to be called a deserter.
MARTHA . But you'll enlist again: that's not deserting.
SOLDIER . Won't it be, if I meet one of my mates!
'You've made me a pretty figure — and for why,
I'm puzzled.
MARTHA . Well, not for fun.
SOLDIER . For all the sense
I see in it, it might be that.
MARTHA . You don't
See, I suppose, I've made myself all yours?
SOLDIER . O Martha, was there any need to shame me?
He's gone, the staggering sot who fleered between us;
Could we not wait?
MARTHA . No! — Do you want me still?
SOLDIER . Well, I've deserted for you: I've sneakt off
Cringeing away from men who were my sworn friends
Just when the danger's sighted. — Don't I know
How, when their talk happens upon my name,
They'll spit it out as if they tasted dirt!
And you say, do I want you? — I wish I didn't!
MARTHA . You've done this for me. Now there's more to do.
And if it were ten times worse than what you've done.
I'ld ask you for it.
SOLDIER . I'll be bound you would;
And I suppose I'ld do it.
MARTHA . You'ld have to do it.
You don't know what the work's been here, while I
Have been alone, and you've been — smartly soldiering.
You don't know what it is to feel the chance
Of what may happen to you, like a live thing
Watching you — sitting there quietly, with bright eyes
Smouldering like a fiend's, hungering at you,
Croucht there waiting, set like the spring of a trap,
Eyeing the strain you make to keep away;
And still you are pusht sideling nearer and nearer; —
Until it comes to him, the panther's moment,
To leap and hug me against his loathsome breath!
SOLDIER . Why, what's all this?
MARTHA . It's Luther, Luther! He means
To have me: and there's one person in the world
Who is to say whether he shall or no.
SOLDIER . That should be you.
MARTHA . Me! — Nay, Peter has made
All his belongings over to his old friend!
SOLDIER . That's not a way to talk. — And do you mean
You've brought me here with my brain buzzing the world
Like clockwork 
MARTHA . What word?
SOLDIER . Deserter, deserter
Whatever I hear now, there'll be that word in it!
And all because an old blackguardly man
Shows you he has a mind to marry you.
Why, it's a joke.
MARTHA . I'll make you understand
Some day. I'm pawned to him — but that is nothing;
I've not a thing of my own: everything here
Is charity, Luther's charity; and still
I make nothing of that. — But you would think
I'ld have a right to my own mind! And even
That he has taken.
SOLDIER . How can you talk so trifling?
MARTHA . I'm in his hands like — but you'll think that silly:
Only it is so; as long as I stay here
He need no more than breathe — and all I am,
All that my life knows for its very own,
Would scatter like flighty down. — But I'll try this.
There was a story in the papers: how a woman
Was walking in the tropics by herself,
And one of those huge monkeys carried her off.
They got her back; she said, as the beast came close,
Snarling with pleasure to be handling her,
The life in her stood fixt: her flesh set hard
As gritstone at his twitching fondling paws,
And yet she was all one nerve of blinding horror.
The story is me and Luther. And there's worse:
I have the notion of him reaching out
A grasp upon my mind, plucking it like —
O like plucking a dandelion-clock
To blow it away with " Loves me — loves me not."
SOLDIER . There's more in this than I can well make out.
MARTHA . More than anyone can: let it alone.
You've come; that's the main thing. Don't make it now
All for nothing! Take me away from here!
Marry me, and make me your own property
Nobody else can touch — then, what you please:
Everything after that is all yours, yours.
But away from here, away from here!
SOLDIER . All right.
Since you have got me here, I may as well
Go through.
MARTHA . We'll start to-night; you'll hide till then.
SOLDIER . Hide! Yes, I'm getting clever now at hiding!
MARTHA . And I'll creep round to my sister's, and make sure
The child will be well used. — Is it so hard
To give me this? The choice you have is not
My life or death; but am I to live clean flesh
Or foul as a weeping sore full of maggots.
SOLDIER . You needn't go on telling me; I believe you.
I had the choice of being a passable man
Or a swindling sneak-thief lily-livered deserter.
I've chosen as you askt me; and why not
Go on that way? It will not harm me now.
MARTHA . Why, but you talk as though I only take
And cannot give.
SOLDIER . Well, that's how it is, it seems.
I am not grumbling. What is there you can give?
It's been a cruel price, and I'm right glad
It's been all mine to pay.
MARTHA . O I am sure
This will be rankling soon.
SOLDIER . You're hard to please.
I've paid the shot for both of us, and make
No grudge of it.
MARTHA . Then we start out of tune,
And you will come to hate me.
SOLDIER . Have I not proved
I love you? Have I not made myself for you
A thing I loathe? What is it now you want?
Am I to cheer about it?
MARTHA . I have not asked
For what I'd shirk myself — for both of us.
SOLDIER . I know, I know. I am all out of tune.
MARTHA . The giving has not all been yours.
SOLDIER . I know.
You've had vile things to bear.
MARTHA . But you are glad
Our lives at last are our own?
SOLDIER . Yes, yes!
MARTHA . And that
Is what it has been mine to give.
SOLDIER . You gave it?
But it was Peter's death! — My God! I had
Forgotten the poor beast is lying in there!
MARTHA . Ay, it's a marvel what you can forget
When you are put to it — everything you've grown up with!
SOLDIER . What made him die?
MARTHA . The neighbours say it was
The way he drank: he'ld sooner drink than live.
SOLDIER . Do you say that?
MARTHA . I know he wisht to live.
O horribly he wisht to go on living!
SOLDIER . And yet his demon made him kill himself!
MARTHA . Yes. I was his demon. — There had to be an end! —
And Luther always strolling by the house,
Pleasantly scanning around at crops and meadows,
But never a flicker of looking for me, as though
He past a thing here too familiarly
His own, to bother with a glance at it!
There had to be an end! — And with you here! —
Well, I have done it. Is this not giving something?
SOLDIER . My God! What have you given me? A murder?
You killed him?
MARTHA . Nobody could call it murder.
I let him kill himself.
SOLDIER . He did not want to die:
You were just saying so.
MARTHA . That's true; it was
A thing so hideous, I wonder I don't laugh
To think of it. Longing to live he was;
And whimpering to himself to stop, he'ld reach
To grope if there were liquor handy. — O,
The bottle was always there!
SOLDIER . Where you put it.
MARTHA . There were two things. Peter would take his time —
A month — six months — how should I know? — and die.
You'ld be in France, and I'ld go down alive
Into the filth of hell: O I have felt
As if to flay myself where Luther's toucht me
Would make me laugh like a child at being tickled,
If it would take the sickening sense of him off me! —
That was one thing I saw. And there was this —
Peter might die before you went to France;
And very soon you would be going, you said.
You'ld come for me; — and I need not be the pleasure
Of a fiendish monkey, if Peter would die soon.
SOLDIER . And so you plied him.
MARTHA . I tell you, you can't blame me.
He'd promised me to Luther. And what great thing
Is a dram more or less to a dying tippler?
SOLDIER . I am not blaming you; but I am going.
MARTHA . Going? Where to?
SOLDIER . The way I came. I know
What I shall have there; it's clean black or white,
The offer there: you live or else you're killed.
But here — well, I can say this for the war:
It does get you away from living at home.
MARTHA . I've killed your love for me.
SOLDIER . I can't tell you.
When I'm in clink, and feel a decent man,
I shall know that. Now all I know is this —
I will not let the life that you belong to
Touch me.
MARTHA . So I should soil you!
SOLDIER . It's no good,
MARTHA . A man's not dainty if there are things
He cannot eat.
MARTHA . You are not really going? —
O leave love out! For pity's sake —
SOLDIER . I can't!
MARTHA . You will let Luther put his clutch on me?
SOLDIER . You'll have me weakening; I must go now.
I should feel safe if I could see the bayonets
Coming to take me: and likely I'll meet them.
MARTHA . You are not leaving me here? —
THE GIRL . O mummy! Do you know what Luther says?
He's going to be my daddy from now on!
Will it come true?
MARTHA . I dare say. Have you been happy?
THE GIRL . I always am with him. — And he's to be
Quite a new sort of daddy. And he's sent
A present to you.
MARTHA . To me?
THE GIRL . I was to hold it
Behind my back, and say, " A present for you
From Luther."
MARTHA . Show me.
THE GIRL . A dandelion-clock! —
I don't think that's much of a present, do you?
1 ST MAN . And a fresh air 'tis!
2 ND WOMAN . Like coming out of a tunnel — such a noon
The night has been.
1 ST WOMAN . And such a stifle of folk!
My head 's bewilder'd.
1 ST MAN . Wash you in the dew,
The same as when you were a young thing.
1 ST WOMAN . Nay!
I've all my age just now, and a deal more:
As likely to be skittish as if I'd seen
My own time dated in the almanac,
As settled as the assizes.
2 ND MAN [ a very old man ]. Well, what a mood
For a fine morning! — You keep too soft a heart,
A heart like dough, no sad affair can touch
Without it pinches. You should have a heart
Like mine, crisp as a quartern loaf new-baked
With the warmth lively in it — to feel the morn
Kindle your senses again after you've seen
Another fellow's candle-light snufft out.
1 ST WOMAN . Well, I'm just daunted, when I've seen death busy.
2 ND MAN . And we left still alive to smell the air! —
Never a death now, but I feel as if
It took a parcel of years from off my back:
I'll have a spine like a sapling soon. — My word,
This garden favours pinks! Better than mine!
Look what a flourish of pinks!
2 ND WOMAN . When I'm to die,
I'll not have windows closed and a blinded room;
I'll have the morning blow right in on me,
And have some gleam of green things in my eyes.
You mind, all of you: else I'll die so loud,
Peter's noise would be a buzzing to it.
1 ST WOMAN . And I'll not have my dying day a show
For all the swarming neighbours.
2 ND MAN [ the old one ]. I'll be there:
I'll give you a send-off.
1 ST WOMAN . You old jackal!
You'll have your proper gait by then; you'll be
Going about four-footed.
1 ST MAN . You won't take,
We'll hope, missis, such a wild way of dying
As Peter took; there'll be no call for us
To come and manage you.
3 RD MAN . I thought, one while,
He'ld fight us down.
1 ST MAN . He gave my neck a wrench
Will keep me minding him all day, poor man; —
Specially as 'tis hoeing turnips for me.
2 ND WOMAN . I had my mind made up and my skirts gathered
To clear the stairs in a jump, and chance my legs,
When he seemed freeing himself: I never saw
Such vengeance in a man's eyes.
1 ST MAN . Ay, you mean
The fit he had of taking Turpin's face
For the Kayser looking in on him? Indeed,
He bounded under the clothes same as a salmon
Leaping a waterfall.
1 ST WOMAN . Anyone would suppose
His glare was on some great marauding face,
The picture of foreign wickedness and murder,
He did take Turpin's looks to heart so bad.
Yet it 's a homely make of face; you'ld say,
Surely, if there 's plain English anywhere,
It 's Turpin's face.
3 RD MAN [ Turpin ]. Never you mind my looks.
1 ST MAN . Peter minded them, worse than a slug mind salt:
A glance of you made him a foaming man.
" I'll give you Belgium," says he: and I'm sure
He'ld have had Turpin's face ript from his head
If I'd been slack a jiffy.
2 ND WOMAN . Then 'twas hell:
Hell was under the bedstead, burning for him.
1 ST WOMAN . You could nigh see the flames come growing up,
He dodged them so.
2 ND MAN [ the old one ]. But what is hell for him now,
Is thinking of us alive with the sun in our eyes,
And air and the taste of morning in our mouths;
And me noting the larkspurs and the lupins,
And how I beat him there, for all his pinks
Do wonders — thinking of this and knowing himself
A dead thing from now on: — that 's hell, I'm sure!
1 ST MAN . He ought not to have gone so quick by rights;
The doctor gave him longer.
3 RD MAN . He'ld never bide
By doctor's talk. " No drink" — that was the word:
But Peter'ld not be meddled with, not he.
2 ND WOMAN . And lying abed never to dress again
He drove his wife to keep the whisky pouring —
A terrible foolhardy drink for him,
As well he knew.
1 ST WOMAN . Indeed, she would be driven,
Poor girl, if he miscall'd her half as much
As he miscall'd Jack Turpin's face to-night.
3 RD MAN [ Turpin ]. O let it be.
1 ST MAN . Well, now the next affair
Is breakfast, I suppose.
2 ND WOMAN . Mine will be cheap.
Breakfast! when I'ld be chawing to the din
Of a dead man shouting like a monster at me:
" I say they might as well cut off my head
As do the things inside of me they're doing!"
1 ST WOMAN . " Catch my head," he cries to me, " catch my head:
There it goes bouncing past you down the stairs,
And every bump a souse of my best blood." —
I'll dream to-night of lobbing Peter's head
Up the staircase to him on the landing:
And he to catch it there and clap it down
Splash on his shoulders, and grin down to me.
2 ND MAN [ the old one ]. Don't! You will start a mischief in my brain,
To rouse in the night and sneak out, filling my sleep
With dreams of blood.
1 ST WOMAN . If it 's of your own blood,
It will be dreams of vinegar.
2 ND MAN . Be quiet! —
To dream of blood would mean I'm going to die,
Certain as stabbing. And I don't want to die.
1 ST MAN . Nor I; so let 's be shambling. I'm half clemm'd.
2 ND WOMAN . Ay, go about your breakfast, do! — That 's all
The trouble a man has — to scoff his meals.
3 RD MAN [ moving off ]. So Peter 's gone! Gone off like gunpowder!
A flaring way to die!
1 ST MAN . We used to call him
Old Jolly-Nose, at the inn.
1 ST WOMAN . And you may say
His best friend killed him.
1 ST MAN . Ay, 'tis things like this
Give drink a bad name 
L UTHER . Quiet, eh? — That should mean he 's made his end. —
Now what 's the mood, I wonder? — Hi! In there!
Missis!
Why, sweetheart, you're about betimes!
Where will your mother be?
THE GIRL . Upstairs.
LUTHER . Alone?
THE GIRL . I'm frightened.
LUTHER . No, not frightened now?
THE GIRL . The mouse
Has gone so quiet.
LUTHER . Not frightened now, though, home?
THE GIRL . Mother says Daddy 's dead. — O let 's go off
And play at something.
LUTHER . I've a word or two
First for your mother. What is she doing? Crying?
THE GIRL . Saying her prayers.
LUTHER . That will not help her much.
Run you and fetch her here.
THE GIRL . No, no, I won't!
I'll not go into the house again.
LUTHER . You shan't:
An idle-witted chap I was to say it.
Why, I'ld not go in there myself! So now
Let 's try if hollaring will bring her out.
Missis! — Join in. — Missis!
THE GIRL . Mother, mother!
LUTHER . We have moved something. I heard a door she to. —
How would you like to have me for your daddy?
THE GIRL [ reproachful, pushing away from him ].
O now you go and spoil it!
LUTHER . What 's to do?
And you such friends with me!
THE GIRL . But if you were
My daddy, you would be slapping me, I know.
LUTHER . Slapping?  Good God, the stuff they make men of!
No; I can tell you, 'twill be games all day
When I'm your daddy: slapping 's done with now.
MARTHA . What are you putting in her mind?
LUTHER [ to the Girl ]. Run off.
I'll find you soon. Think how'll we'll spend the morning.
Wading the stream for loaches?
THE GIRL . O yes, that!
LUTHER . Be scarce then for a while, little sweetheart.
That's an old promise. She's agog to feel
Her first loach under her toes, squirming and slipping,
Trapt on the gravel. Have no thought for her;
I'll give my day to her and keep her cheered.
I'm very sure it's wrong, out-and-out wrong,
To let a child be startled with the gliff
Of the real thing inside our talk of death.
MARTHA . So I'm to have the child against me too?
LUTHER . If I can ply you anyway with her,
I'll see I have her mind and let my will
Strain upon you through her: that's only sense. —
But she's the weakest of the ropes I've hitched
About you. You are muddled, I dare say,
With Peter dying; the fuss still goes on
About your wits like a flood pushing past
A willow, tugging at the branches, long
After it has done raining: you may forget
How firm I've fastened you to what I mean.
So here I've done the friendly thing, and come
To give you the mere hint the ropes still hold
I have had rigged about you this good while.
MARTHA . 'Twas kindly thought of.
LUTHER . Only a slight twitch,
A tingling jerk or two: you will soon feel
The purchase I have got on you. And then,
Soon as the ropes begin to tell on you,
You'll come my way, I hope, of your own motion,
Before I need to start winding them in.
MARTHA . It would be best to say out what you want.
LUTHER . What I want? — Whose is that house?
MARTHA . 'Tis mine
Now, I suppose.
LUTHER . And I suppose it's mine.
And that's the very thing the law supposes.
Why, if I took your house, your traps and sticks,
Everything — sent you off stript like a nigger —
Would that half fill, ay, or a quarter fill
The rummage Peter has made in my affairs,
Scattering money of mine as a terrier kicks
The earth behind him, burrowing in a warren?
MARTHA . Is so much owing? — I could work it off,
Maybe; and I've some money hid.
LUTHER . You've not:
It is my money you've in hiding, mine.
Just let me hammer that into your brain,
Clean through, and rivet it on t'other side.
I say you're naught, naught but body and soul,
Just your own nature: all your belongings now
Are packt up in your skin. There: is that clencht?
Bless you, Peter was in and out of my purse
Like playing at lucky-bag: half-crowns and tizzies,
Ten pound notes and sovereigns — all one to him.
And it's all written down, what Peter fingered,
Written and fairly signed — fair as he could:
I've seen him sign half on the paper and half
On the deal table top, when he was owlish.
But it's a book I have, a regular bible,
Of I O U and Peter's name — O, pages!
Well: the world round about knows, and you know,
My money goes from me to bring in gain.
There's other gain than cash, though; I've a mind
To marry.
MARTHA . You should have all there is to know
Of marrying by heart.
LUTHER . Why, not quite all.
The twice I've married so far, you may say,
Has been just doing business: good strokes, both.
But too much business stiffens upon a man
Till he is shell'd tight as a tortoise: I'm strong
On a man marrying once in his life at least
For pleasure. And it's you I'll have for pleasure.
MARTHA . And I'm a dummy in this bargain?
LUTHER . Yes:
I don't see what you'ld have to say; it's struck.
But once we can look back on the deal made good,
You'll find me the easiest temper in the parish;
It's just that I must have my way.
MARTHA . You won't!
You sell me up and see if I care a wink!
LUTHER . I know what's speaking now; I've a good ear:
You have your fancy still for that young fellow.
Well, turn it out. He's off to the war, and that
Will keep him doing for a smart spell yet.
You've him to thank, though, that I took this gait,
Spinning my money into a tackle upon you;
I've seen him eyeing you. — Well, the last knot
That wanted tying was Peter's death; so now,
Shall I not start the pully-haul before
Johnny comes marching home — a sergeant-major!
MARTHA . I'ld laugh at this in a tale.
LUTHER . What's the strange thing?
MARTHA . You so cheering yourself with wickedness
And relishing the injuries you've done
And mean to do still; and the man you set
Death tracking after, like a dog on a hare,
Lying within a stride of you!
LUTHER . I set
Death on his track?
MARTHA . What else was your money
But death hot-foot after him? — Then to come here
With a brag about it all! — Ay, and bidding
Me to stand in with you!
LUTHER . Don't make it out
Such mighty news! I dare say it has been
A long time winding in and out of your thoughts,
Much like a taking tune that will keep humming.
Why, Peter meant it himself.
MARTHA . Peter meant it?
LUTHER . We had it square as if a lawyer wrote it.
He'ld come with his palm held out, easy and brazen,
The figure of churchwarden handing the plate.
" Time for another payment," he would say;
" You know the pledge; and all I bargain for
Is this: keep cool about her till I'm dead.
But if you saw the years I'm going to live,
You'ld have a turn." — Well, he's had the turn. —
Come: you are known for duty. 'Twas a good wife
Who stuck so nobly to her man's dying wish
For liquor: stand by him now in this thing too.
MARTHA . And if he'ld said, in one of his snarling whinkles
" Sup poison when I'm gone: dose yourself full
Of sheep-dip," — I'ld be meek about that too? —
And I'ld as lief do that as go with you.
LUTHER . O you're the kind for me! Let's have a flare
Brave me! I cannot away with quiet women;
I'm for the fire-works. — I've had this to do
Twice already.
MARTHA . Had what to do?
LUTHER . Why, tame
A woman's mind. I make no more of it
Than brushing the nap of a tall hat shiny again.
It seems as if there's something living in me
Women have to obey.
MARTHA . My mind's my own.
LUTHER . Is that why you daren't look me in the face?
MARTHA . Pooh, daren't I!
LUTHER . But in my eyes? No, that you daren't;
Dare you, Martha? — Martha, look in my eyes!
Look in my eyes and don't blink till I tell you.
Now you see how it is. You'll banter me
Just as much as you please, say you? — But no;
It's just as much as I please, isn't it?
Isn't it, Martha? Those keen scorning thoughts,
It's I who let them cluster in your brain,
Isn't it, Martha? Your mind's in my grasp
As if I held a dandelion-clock
Before me in my fingers: one good puff,
And the pretty down's adrift, loose in the air:
The very way I'll scatter, when I choose,
The dearest thoughts you have. — Now you may blink.
You saw the picture, though.
MARTHA . My mind's my own.
LUTHER . Why, say that, if you like, over and over.
But every time the words bob up to be said,
Think you can see me smiling to myself,
Holding a dandelion-clock before me
And musing, Shall I blow? Shall I blow now?
MARTHA . O don't! don't!
LUTHER . And you'll remember how you lookt in my eyes;
You'll feel my hands weighing on your shoulders,
And you not able to blink against my gaze,
And being steept in what looks out of me,
Like a white cloth steeping in scarlet dye.
MARTHA . I hate you: you know that.
LUTHER . That's your affair.
Much better love me. The thing is, you're fast,
You're mine. Be sure, though, I shan't trouble you:
Nor need to trouble myself. You can stay here
And act the widow handsomely awhile.
All you will feel will be a kind of drowze
Settling down on you, gently, very gently —
Like sleepiness, when you're awake too long,
That seems to fasten cobwebs, thousands of them,
Round your limbs, softly clinging and tingling,
Until the flossy threads have wound you tight,
Lapt hand and foot in a cocoon as firm
As rope; and sleep can suck your spirit out.
But you are the one to know, after these nights,
Who wins at last, when it's a fight with sleep.
Well: so you'll feel me spin my silky thought
About your mind, and hold you in the end
Graspt and helpless, and handling you like steel.
MARTHA . Is that what those two other women felt?
LUTHER . Very likely.
MARTHA . And I am to be the third
To go the way they went?
LUTHER . Why, yes: to church.
MARTHA . To church feet foremost, yes. Where are they now.
LUTHER . Well, they are dead; and come to think of it,
Where is your husband? And dead as my wives are
They didn't drink themselves dead: they went off
In sound respectable diseases both;
The doctor guaranteed them.
MARTHA . I dare say
He'll do the same for me.
LUTHER . When the time comes.
MARTHA . And that's for you to say?
LUTHER . Pull up! Fancy's running away with you.
Turn her into the lane that leads to church;
That's where a widow likes to think of going. —
So! Nothing like a chat for straightening things!
We know where we are now, Martha. I'll go find
The lass, and make a ploy up for the day.
She shall be blithe, I promise! I can touch
Her little mind like harping on it, and keep
A tune of laughter chiming there as bright
As sunny water. She'll tell you I'm the one
To make her happy, Martha: and you, too!
The only thing is — I must have my way.
MARTHA . Must you! Not this time.
Sound asleep, poor boy!
He said he'd had to walk most of the way.
MARTHA . Well, and what if they do see? You're on leave.
SOLDIER . I'm not.
MARTHA . Then how ?
SOLDIER . You said I had to come.
There is no leave: we're going out — I mean
They are. I'm a deserter.
MARTHA . What's the right name
For me, I wonder?
SOLDIER . Nay, they won't touch you.
You made me do it, but it's me that did it;
And it is me they'll lag.
MARTHA . We'll get round that;
You'll see.
SOLDIER . And how will I get round it, Martha?
Can you see that? — They're going out, and I
Deserted. — Well? You said I had to come? —
Nobody ever gave a woman aught
That cost the same as this! — But let that be.
It was for you.
MARTHA . O, but for both of us!
And we will put it right. We'll put all right;
There's a deal more than this. But you don't know.
We're safe now.
SOLDIER . Where is a deserter safe?
MARTHA . O that's easy.
SOLDIER . Is it? You made me come,
And now you slight it.
MARTHA . O, I don't, I don't!
But worse might be. I had to have you here:
I durstn't let you go to France just now!
SOLDIER . What is it? How's that drunken
MARTHA . He'she's dead.
SOLDIER . Good Christ! Why didn't you say?
MARTHA . I was going to tell you.
SOLDIER . When did he die?
MARTHA . This morning.
SOLDIER . Was it your guess
That this was nearing made you write so wild?
MARTHA . Suppose you'd gone to France! That was the error —
You would be gone, before
SOLDIER . And not come back?
It does no good, letting such thoughts run on.
MARTHA . But it's not only that. If he had died
While you were overseas! — Doesn't it sound
Wicked to say, Thank God for such a thing!
SOLDIER . This morning! — While I was asleep in there
MARTHA . The wonder is, you could sleep through last night.
SOLDIER . The wonder is your letter had no word
That this was coming; and not a word of this
When you were smuggling me away in there.
MARTHA . You were too tired. But all this is nothing
We'll go away to-night: the road's clear now.
SOLDIER . I've only one clear road — the way I came:
Give myself up.
MARTHA . O but I've planned it all.
Everything will be safe, you'll see. We'll start
Tramping to-night —
SOLDIER . Where to?
MARTHA . Why, anywhere
Three days' hard going — a hundred miles away —
You take another name and marry me —
I have the money by — and the next day
Enlist again. You're straight then with the army,
And I'm safe out of here. O we must do it!
SOLDIER . And what would all this crazy work be for?
MARTHA . But what else can you see?
SOLDIER . I've told you once:
Give myself up.
MARTHA . O where's the gain in that?
Why not go smooth and easy when you can?
SOLDIER . A fine smooth thing, to be called a deserter.
MARTHA . But you'll enlist again: that's not deserting.
SOLDIER . Won't it be, if I meet one of my mates!
'You've made me a pretty figure — and for why,
I'm puzzled.
MARTHA . Well, not for fun.
SOLDIER . For all the sense
I see in it, it might be that.
MARTHA . You don't
See, I suppose, I've made myself all yours?
SOLDIER . O Martha, was there any need to shame me?
He's gone, the staggering sot who fleered between us;
Could we not wait?
MARTHA . No! — Do you want me still?
SOLDIER . Well, I've deserted for you: I've sneakt off
Cringeing away from men who were my sworn friends
Just when the danger's sighted. — Don't I know
How, when their talk happens upon my name,
They'll spit it out as if they tasted dirt!
And you say, do I want you? — I wish I didn't!
MARTHA . You've done this for me. Now there's more to do.
And if it were ten times worse than what you've done.
I'ld ask you for it.
SOLDIER . I'll be bound you would;
And I suppose I'ld do it.
MARTHA . You'ld have to do it.
You don't know what the work's been here, while I
Have been alone, and you've been — smartly soldiering.
You don't know what it is to feel the chance
Of what may happen to you, like a live thing
Watching you — sitting there quietly, with bright eyes
Smouldering like a fiend's, hungering at you,
Croucht there waiting, set like the spring of a trap,
Eyeing the strain you make to keep away;
And still you are pusht sideling nearer and nearer; —
Until it comes to him, the panther's moment,
To leap and hug me against his loathsome breath!
SOLDIER . Why, what's all this?
MARTHA . It's Luther, Luther! He means
To have me: and there's one person in the world
Who is to say whether he shall or no.
SOLDIER . That should be you.
MARTHA . Me! — Nay, Peter has made
All his belongings over to his old friend!
SOLDIER . That's not a way to talk. — And do you mean
You've brought me here with my brain buzzing the world
Like clockwork 
MARTHA . What word?
SOLDIER . Deserter, deserter
Whatever I hear now, there'll be that word in it!
And all because an old blackguardly man
Shows you he has a mind to marry you.
Why, it's a joke.
MARTHA . I'll make you understand
Some day. I'm pawned to him — but that is nothing;
I've not a thing of my own: everything here
Is charity, Luther's charity; and still
I make nothing of that. — But you would think
I'ld have a right to my own mind! And even
That he has taken.
SOLDIER . How can you talk so trifling?
MARTHA . I'm in his hands like — but you'll think that silly:
Only it is so; as long as I stay here
He need no more than breathe — and all I am,
All that my life knows for its very own,
Would scatter like flighty down. — But I'll try this.
There was a story in the papers: how a woman
Was walking in the tropics by herself,
And one of those huge monkeys carried her off.
They got her back; she said, as the beast came close,
Snarling with pleasure to be handling her,
The life in her stood fixt: her flesh set hard
As gritstone at his twitching fondling paws,
And yet she was all one nerve of blinding horror.
The story is me and Luther. And there's worse:
I have the notion of him reaching out
A grasp upon my mind, plucking it like —
O like plucking a dandelion-clock
To blow it away with " Loves me — loves me not."
SOLDIER . There's more in this than I can well make out.
MARTHA . More than anyone can: let it alone.
You've come; that's the main thing. Don't make it now
All for nothing! Take me away from here!
Marry me, and make me your own property
Nobody else can touch — then, what you please:
Everything after that is all yours, yours.
But away from here, away from here!
SOLDIER . All right.
Since you have got me here, I may as well
Go through.
MARTHA . We'll start to-night; you'll hide till then.
SOLDIER . Hide! Yes, I'm getting clever now at hiding!
MARTHA . And I'll creep round to my sister's, and make sure
The child will be well used. — Is it so hard
To give me this? The choice you have is not
My life or death; but am I to live clean flesh
Or foul as a weeping sore full of maggots.
SOLDIER . You needn't go on telling me; I believe you.
I had the choice of being a passable man
Or a swindling sneak-thief lily-livered deserter.
I've chosen as you askt me; and why not
Go on that way? It will not harm me now.
MARTHA . Why, but you talk as though I only take
And cannot give.
SOLDIER . Well, that's how it is, it seems.
I am not grumbling. What is there you can give?
It's been a cruel price, and I'm right glad
It's been all mine to pay.
MARTHA . O I am sure
This will be rankling soon.
SOLDIER . You're hard to please.
I've paid the shot for both of us, and make
No grudge of it.
MARTHA . Then we start out of tune,
And you will come to hate me.
SOLDIER . Have I not proved
I love you? Have I not made myself for you
A thing I loathe? What is it now you want?
Am I to cheer about it?
MARTHA . I have not asked
For what I'd shirk myself — for both of us.
SOLDIER . I know, I know. I am all out of tune.
MARTHA . The giving has not all been yours.
SOLDIER . I know.
You've had vile things to bear.
MARTHA . But you are glad
Our lives at last are our own?
SOLDIER . Yes, yes!
MARTHA . And that
Is what it has been mine to give.
SOLDIER . You gave it?
But it was Peter's death! — My God! I had
Forgotten the poor beast is lying in there!
MARTHA . Ay, it's a marvel what you can forget
When you are put to it — everything you've grown up with!
SOLDIER . What made him die?
MARTHA . The neighbours say it was
The way he drank: he'ld sooner drink than live.
SOLDIER . Do you say that?
MARTHA . I know he wisht to live.
O horribly he wisht to go on living!
SOLDIER . And yet his demon made him kill himself!
MARTHA . Yes. I was his demon. — There had to be an end! —
And Luther always strolling by the house,
Pleasantly scanning around at crops and meadows,
But never a flicker of looking for me, as though
He past a thing here too familiarly
His own, to bother with a glance at it!
There had to be an end! — And with you here! —
Well, I have done it. Is this not giving something?
SOLDIER . My God! What have you given me? A murder?
You killed him?
MARTHA . Nobody could call it murder.
I let him kill himself.
SOLDIER . He did not want to die:
You were just saying so.
MARTHA . That's true; it was
A thing so hideous, I wonder I don't laugh
To think of it. Longing to live he was;
And whimpering to himself to stop, he'ld reach
To grope if there were liquor handy. — O,
The bottle was always there!
SOLDIER . Where you put it.
MARTHA . There were two things. Peter would take his time —
A month — six months — how should I know? — and die.
You'ld be in France, and I'ld go down alive
Into the filth of hell: O I have felt
As if to flay myself where Luther's toucht me
Would make me laugh like a child at being tickled,
If it would take the sickening sense of him off me! —
That was one thing I saw. And there was this —
Peter might die before you went to France;
And very soon you would be going, you said.
You'ld come for me; — and I need not be the pleasure
Of a fiendish monkey, if Peter would die soon.
SOLDIER . And so you plied him.
MARTHA . I tell you, you can't blame me.
He'd promised me to Luther. And what great thing
Is a dram more or less to a dying tippler?
SOLDIER . I am not blaming you; but I am going.
MARTHA . Going? Where to?
SOLDIER . The way I came. I know
What I shall have there; it's clean black or white,
The offer there: you live or else you're killed.
But here — well, I can say this for the war:
It does get you away from living at home.
MARTHA . I've killed your love for me.
SOLDIER . I can't tell you.
When I'm in clink, and feel a decent man,
I shall know that. Now all I know is this —
I will not let the life that you belong to
Touch me.
MARTHA . So I should soil you!
SOLDIER . It's no good,
MARTHA . A man's not dainty if there are things
He cannot eat.
MARTHA . You are not really going? —
O leave love out! For pity's sake —
SOLDIER . I can't!
MARTHA . You will let Luther put his clutch on me?
SOLDIER . You'll have me weakening; I must go now.
I should feel safe if I could see the bayonets
Coming to take me: and likely I'll meet them.
MARTHA . You are not leaving me here? —
THE GIRL . O mummy! Do you know what Luther says?
He's going to be my daddy from now on!
Will it come true?
MARTHA . I dare say. Have you been happy?
THE GIRL . I always am with him. — And he's to be
Quite a new sort of daddy. And he's sent
A present to you.
MARTHA . To me?
THE GIRL . I was to hold it
Behind my back, and say, " A present for you
From Luther."
MARTHA . Show me.
THE GIRL . A dandelion-clock! —
I don't think that's much of a present, do you?
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