Third Girl. Dipping them into wine to write bad words with.
On the bright table: how he laughed!

First Girl. My turn.
Spring's come and summer's coming: I would wear

A long loose gown, down to the feet and hands,
With plaits here, close about the throat, all day:
And all night lie, the cool long nights, in bed—
And have new milk to drink—apples to eat,
Deuzans and junetings, leather-coats...ah, I should say,
This is away in the fields—miles!

Third Girl. Say at once
You'd be at home: she'd always be at home!
Now comes the story of the farm among
The cherry orchards, and how April snowed
White blossoms on her as she ran: why, fool,
They've rubbed out the chalk-mark of how tall you were,

Twisted your starling's neck, broken his cage,
Made a dunghill of your garden!

First Girl. They, destroy
My garden since I left them? well—perhaps!
I would have done so: so I hope they have!
A fig-tree curled out of our cottage wall;

They called it mine, I have forgotten why,
It must have been there long ere I was born:
Cric—cric—I think I hear the wasps o'er-head
Pricking the papers strung to flutter there
And keep off birds in fruit-time—coarse long papers,
And the wasps eat them, prick them through and through.

Third Girl. How her mouth twitches! Where was I?—before
She broke in with her wishes and long gowns