Huff:
Now ain't that just the way we go down here?
Here in the valley we're like dogs in a yard,
Chained to our kennels and wall'd in all round,
And not a sound of the world jumps over our hills.
And when there comes a passenger among us,
One who has heard what's stirring out beyond,
'Tis a grutchy mumchance fellow in the dismals!
Stranger:
News, is it, you want? I could give you news!--
I wonder, did you ever hate to feel
The earth so fine and splendid?
Huff:
Oh, you're one
Has stood in the brunt of the world's wickedness,
Like me? But listen, and I'll give you a tale
Of wicked things done in this little valley,
Done against me, will surely make you think
The Devil here fetcht up his masterpiece.
Sollers:
Ah, but it's hot enough without you talking
Your old hell fire about that pair of sinners.
Leave them alone and drink.
Huff:
I'll smell them grilling
One of these days.
Merrick:
But there'll be nought to drink
When that begins! Best keep your skin full now.
Stranger:
What do I care for wickedness? Let those
Who've played with dirt, and thought the game was bold,
Make much of it while they can: there's a big thing
Coming down to us, ay, well on its road,
Will make their ploys seem mighty piddling sport.
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