And you, to touch his pipe!

(_JIM stares at her, startled, as she stands before him, with drawn face
and set teeth: then, still eyeing her uneasily, begins to bluster._)

JIM:
You scarting randy!
I’ll teach you manners. That’s a good three-halfpence
Smashed into smithereens: and all for nothing.
I’ve lammed a wench for less. I’ve half a mind
To snap you like the stopple, you yackey-yaa!
De’il rive your sark! It’s long since I’ve had the price
Of a clay in my pouch: and I’m half-dead for a puff.
What’s taken you? What’s set you agee with me?
You used to like me; and you always seemed
A menseful body: and I lippened to you.
But you’re just a wheepie-leekie weathercock
Like the lave of women, when a man’s mislucket,
Moidart and mismeaved and beside himself.
I fancied I’d be in clover at Krindlesyke,
With you and all: but, sink me, if I haven’t
Just stuck my silly head into a bee-bike!
What’s turned you vicious? I only want to smoke
A cutty in peace: and you go on the rampage.
I mustn’t smoke young master’s pipe, it seems--
His pipe, no less! Young cock-a-ride-a-roosie
Is on the muckheap now; and all the hens
Are clucking round him. I ken what it is:
The cockmadendy’s been too easy with you.
It doesn’t do to let you womenfolk