Bedlam Page #3

but he has no knack with horses.

I was glad to do thee this little service.

I saw thee strike Sims.

Thee shouldn't have done that.

Do you think I'm afraid of him?

- Do you think he could harm me?

- Thee are able enough.

It is those poor ones in there

I'm thinking of.

Sims will make them suffer for that blow.

Are we lovers

that you "thee" and "thou" me?

- I've never seen your face before.

- He's a Quaker, Mistress Bowen.

My name is William Hannay.

I am one of the Society of Friends.

I've heard of them.

They turn the other cheek.

There is more to being a Quaker

than turning the other cheek...

and saying "thee" and "thou."

It is feeling pity for those in there.

As thee did.

Do you think I struck him

because I felt pity for the loonies?

- I saw it in thy face.

- Pity?

I had no such feeling, sir.

I struck the man because I wanted to.

Because he is an ugly thing

in a pretty world.

There are many ugly things

in this pretty world...

if thee would but see them.

Master Quaker,

I did not always wear velvet.

I had guessed that.

But where there is one like thee...

to wrest comfort from a hard world

with wit and cleverness...

there are 10,000 who cannot.

I have no pity for them.

Let them do as I did.

But those in there,

can they help themselves?

And I have no pity for them, either.

Animals without souls.

That is not thy thought.

Is it not?

Come a week hence to Vauxhall

in the evening...

and you will see me laughing

at these same loonies that you think I pity.

Thee will not laugh

at the poor and the afflicted. Not thee.

I've seen great ladies

and their hearts were like stone.

- But thee...

- My heart is a flint, sir.

It may strike sparks,

but they are not warm enough to burn.

I have no time to make a show

of loving kindness before my fellow men.

Not in this life.

I've too much laughing to do.

Flanked by lunacy...

and speaking with the voice of youth,

our golden age of Reason...

will tell you of its brightest adornment...

Lord Mortimer.

Come, Reason, you've wit enough

to say a word or two.

What say you to this, Wilkes...

a mad boy playing Reason?

That's a Tory joke for you.

And only the Tories will laugh at it.

The opposition wonders what the effect

may be on that poor sick boy.

The Tories care only for the jest...

but we Whigs have some concern

for the humanities.

Do you hear that, Nell?

Give them a jest

and they answer with a political tirade.

He said something about the boy.

- The effect.

- Go ask him.

He'll make you a speech on the matter.

"To this pretty world. Pretty world.

"To this pretty world...

"there came...

"Came...

"heaven sent...

"divinely inspired..."

Good. The great voice of Reason.

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