JUDITH:
Why don’t you finish?
“Ay, even though its mother ...” you were saying.

ELIZA:
It’s ill work, calling names.

JUDITH:
You needn’t fear
To make me blush by calling me any name
That hasn’t stung me to the quick already.
My pious father had a holy tongue;
And he had searched the Scriptures to some purpose.

ELIZA (_gazing before her in an abstracted manner_):
Ay: likely enough.... Poor bairn, poor little bairn--
It’s strange, but, as you snuggled to my breast,
I could have fancied, a moment, ’twas Jim I held
In my arms again. I’m growing old and foolish,
To have such fancies.

JUDITH:
Fancied ’twas Jim, your son--
My bastard brat?

ELIZA:
Shame on you, woman, to call
Your own bairn such, poor innocent. It’s not
To blame for being a chance-bairn. Yet ... O Jim!