BELL:
While you’ve a roof to shelter me, eh, son?
You mean so well; and understand so little.
Yours is a good thick fleece--no skin that twitches
When a breath tickles it. Sheep will be sheep,
And horses, horses, till the day of judgment.

MICHAEL:
Better a sound tup than a spavined nag.

BELL:
Ay, Ruth, you’ve kindled him! Good luck to you:
And may your hearthfire warm you to the end.

(_To MICHAEL._)

You’ve been a good son to me, in your way:
Only, our ways are different; and here they part.
For all my blether, there’s no bitterness
On my side: I’ve long kenned ’twas bound to come:
And, in your heart, you know it’s for the best,
For your sake, and for Ruth’s sake, and for mine.
I couldn’t obey, where I have bid; nor risk
My own son’s fathering me in second childhood:
And you’d not care to have me like old Ezra,
A dothering haiveril in your chimney corner,
Babbling of vanished gold? I read my fortune
In the flames just now: and I’ll not rot to death:
It’s time enough to moulder, underground.