The difficulty, the pain even, of
writing with your crippled hand, became associated with them. You would
have much rather not had to write; and the disinclination, in an
exaggerated form, got into your dream. Now that, I hope, mitigates for you
the annoyance--the distress of mind.
STATESMAN. Yes, yes. It does, as you say, make it more understandable.
Bring them to me, Doctor; let me look my enemy in the face.
(_The Doctor carries the bowl across and sets it beside him. Very feebly
he reaches out a hand and takes some_.)
My favourite flower. He--he! My favourite flower.
(_Lassitude overtakes him--his head nods and droops as he speaks_.)
A primrose by the river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more.
Who was it wrote that?--Byron or Dr. Watts? My memory isn't what it used
to be. No matter. It all goes into the account.
My favourite flower!
"For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother, I'm to be Queen of the May!"
(_The Doctor takes up his hat, and tiptoes to the door_.)
Tell me, where is fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
(_He breaks, and lets the petals fall one by one_.)
(_The Doctor goes out_.)
Let us all ring fancy's knell;
I'll begin it--Ding-dong bell,
Ding-dong, bell.
(_He goes to sleep_.)
CURTAIN
The Comforter
Dramatis Personae
W.E. GLADSTONE
MRS. GLADSTONE
MR. ARMITSTEAD
MR. JOHN MORLEY
A FOOTMAN
The Comforter
A Political Finale
_The Scene is a sitting-room in Downing Street.
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