MICHAEL:
And you’d go back again
To that tag-rag-and-bobtail? What’s the use
Of a man’s working to keep a decent home,
When his own mother tries to drag him down?

BELL:
Nay: my pernicketty, fine gentleman,
But I’ll not drag you down: you’re free of me:
I’ve slipt my apron off; and you’re tied now
To your wife’s apron-strings: for menfolk seem
Uneasy on the loose, and never happy
Unless they’re clinging to some woman’s skirt.
I’m out of place in any decent house,
As a kestrel in a hencoop. Ay, you’re decent:
But, son, remember a man’s decency
Depends on his braces; and it’s I who’ve sewn
Your trouser-buttons on; so, when you fasten
Your galluses, give the tinker’s baggage credit.
She’s done her best for you; and scrubbed and scoured,
Against the grain, for all these years, to keep
Your home respectable; though, in her heart,
Thank God, she’s never been respectable--
No dry-rot in her bones, while she’s alive:
Time and to spare for decency in the grave.
So, you can do your duty by the sheep,
While I go hunting with the jinneyhoolets--
Birds of a feather--ay, and fleece with fleece:
And when I’m a toothless, mumbling crone, you’ll be
So proper a gentleman, ’twill be hard to tell