Page:The life of the insects by Čapek brothers.pdf/49

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CREEPERS AND CRAWLERS
43

Parasite. It ’s more than I can stand—dirty old profiteer! What injustice! I’ll show ’im, that I will. Just you wait! (Trembling) ’E ’s not coming back, is ’e? Keep cave! I must just ’ave a look.

Tramp. Thank ’eaven! These ’eathen insec’s may be vile,
But man—man’s diff’rent. Folks like me an’ you
Work ’ard, real ’ard, and makes our little pile . . .
Blast! I’m all mixed. Thats what them beetles do.

It ’s what I say—man 'as ideals and dreams
And fam’ly love. ’Is purpose—put it plain—
Is keepin’ up the race . . ., ’Ullo, though,—seems
I’ve got them crickets fairly on the brain.

Bold—that ’s what man is: resolute, yer might s’y.
If ’e wants more, ’e does ’is neighbour in . . .
O ’Ell! That makes 'im like this murd’rous fly . . .
But, there you are, ’oo can think straight on gin?

Chrysalis. I feel something great—Something great.

Tramp. What jer call great?

Chrysalis. To be born, to live!

Tramp. All right, little chrysalis—I won’t desert yer.

Parasite. (Rolling out of the Fly’s lair, and hiccoughing) Ha, ha, ha! Hup—that—ha, ha, hup—the old miser—hup—kept a larder—hup—for that white-faced daughter of his. Hup—ha, ha. I feel quite—hup—I think I’m going to