MICHAEL:
Nay: still as nimble and nippy as a flea!

BELL:
But, I could talk, at one time! There are days
When the whole world’s hoddendoon and draggletailed,
Drooked through and through; and blury, gurly days
When the wind blows snell: but it’s something to be stirring,
And not shut up between four glowering walls,
Like blind white faces; and you never ken
What traveller your wayside fire will draw
Out of the night, to tell outlandish tales,
Or crack a jest, or start quarrel with you,
Till the words bite hot as ginger on the tongue.
Anger’s the stuff to loose a tongue grown rusty:
And keep it in good fettle for all chances.
I’m sick of dozing by a dumb hearthstone--
And the peat, with never a click or crackle in it--
Famished for news.

MICHAEL:
For scandal.

BELL:
There’s no scandal
For those who can’t be scandalized--just news:
All’s fish that comes to their net. I was made
For company.