60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      ACT II

       Table of Contents

      Scene I

      London. A room in Lydia’s house

      Enter Lydia and Lucian

      LYDIA. Welcome, dear cousin, to my London house.

       Of late you have been chary of your visits.

      LUCIAN. I have been greatly occupied of late.

       The minister to whom I act as scribe

       In Downing Street was born in Birmingham,

       And, like a thoroughbred commercial statesman,

       Splits his infinities, which I, poor slave,

       Must reunite, though all the time my heart

       Yearns for my gentle coz’s company.

      LYDIA. Lucian: there is some other reason. Think!

       Since England was a nation every mood

       Her scribes have prepositionally split;

       But thine avoidance dates from yestermonth.

      LUCIAN. There is a man I like not haunts this house.

      LYDIA. Thou speak’st of Cashel Byron?

      LUCIAN. Aye, of him.

       Hast thou forgotten that eventful night

       When as we gathered were at Hoskyn House

       To hear a lecture by Herr Abendgasse,

       He placed a single finger on my chest,

       And I, ensorceled, would have sunk supine

       Had not a chair received my falling form.

      LYDIA. Pooh! That was but by way of illustration.

      LUCIAN. What right had he to illustrate his point

       Upon my person? Was I his assistant

       That he should try experiments on me

       As Simpson did on his with chloroform?

       Now, by the cannon balls of Galileo

       He hath unmanned me: all my nerve is gone.

       This very morning my official chief,

       Tapping with friendly forefinger this button,

       Levelled me like a thunderstricken elm

       Flat upon the Colonial Office floor.

      LYDIA. Fancies, coz.

      LUCIAN. Fancies! Fits! the chief said fits!

       Delirium tremens! the chlorotic dance

       Of Vitus! What could any one have thought?

       Your ruffian friend hath ruined me. By Heaven,

       I tremble at a thumbnail. Give me drink.

      LYDIA. What ho, without there! Bashville.

      BASHVILLE [without]. Coming, madam.

      Enter Bashville

      LYDIA. My cousin ails, Bashville. Procure some wet. [Exit Bashville.

      LUCIAN. Some wet!!! Where learnt you that atrocious word?

       This is the language of a flower-girl.

      LYDIA. True. It is horrible. Said I “Some wet”?

       I meant, some drink. Why did I say “Some wet”?

       Am I ensorceled too? “Some wet”! Fie! fie!

       I feel as though some hateful thing had stained me.

       Oh, Lucian, how could I have said “Some wet”?

      LUCIAN. The horrid conversation of this man

       Hath numbed thy once unfailing sense of fitness.

      LYDIA. Nay, he speaks very well: he’s literate:

       Shakespear he quotes unconsciously.

      LUCIAN. And yet

       Anon he talks pure pothouse.

      Enter Bashville

      BASHVILLE. Sir: your potion.

      LUCIAN. Thanks. [He drinks.] I am better.

      A NEWSBOY [calling without]. Extra special Star!

       Result of the great fight! Name of the winner!

      LYDIA. Who calls so loud?

      BASHVILLE. The papers, madam.

      LYDIA. Why?

       Hath ought momentous happened?

      BASHVILLE. Madam: yes. [He produces a newspaper.

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