A Field in England Page #3

Baloo, my boy, thy mother's joy

Thy father bred me great annoy

Baloo, baloo

Baloo, baloo

Baloo, baloo

Lu-li-li-lu

O'er thee I'll keep my lonely watch

Intent thy lightest breath to catch

O, when thou wak'st to see thee smile

And thus my sorrow to beguile

Baloo, my boy...

You strike me as a man of the world.

What line of business you in, squire?

Buttons.

Baloo, my boy

lie still and sleep...

I'm going to have a sh*t.

It grieves me sore

to hear thee weep...

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

12 weary months have crept away

Since he, upon thy natal day

left thee and me

To seek afar

A bloody fate in doubtful war...

(GRUNTS)

Baloo, my boy

lie still and sleep...

(SIGHS)

It grieves me sore

to hear thee weep...

(SIGHS)

If thou'lt be silent

I'll be glad...

(GRUNTS)

Thy moaning

makes my heart full sad...

(GRUNTS)

I dreamed a dream but yesternight

Thy father slain in foreign fight

He, wounded, stood beside my bed

His blood ran down upon thy head

He spoke no word but looked on me

Bent low and gave a kiss to thee...

Mutton?

Baloo, baloo...

Where?

My darling boy

Thou 'rt now alone

Thy mother's joy

(GRUNTING)

(INHALES)

(GRUNTING)

- (CHUCKLES)

- (GRUNTING)

Sounds like hard work.

(GRUNTING)

(PANTING)

(GRUNTING)

(GRUNTING)

- (PANTING)

- Is it a boy or a girl?

- F*** off! Ugh.

- (GIGGLING)

F*** off!

- (LAUGHS)

- (GROANS) F***.

(GRUNTS)

F*** it!

(SCREAMS)

- (GIGGLING)

- Ah! F***ing nettles.

Yeah. You all right?

Ugh. You've got sh*t on you as well.

Help me up.

(GRUNTS)

(PANTING)

You never seen a man

have a sh*t before? Go on, f*** off.

(GIGGLING)

Ow...

Oh.

(SIGHS)

(RUMBLING IN THE DISTANCE)

Oh...

A merry band, are we not?

Formed merely

by the alchemy of circumstance.

- We would not otherwise associate.

- Many chums, have you, back home?

He has mostly been amongst books.

My balls scream like harpies.

Nevertheless,

'tis indeed a pleasure to find

like-minded company in such remote parts.

- Where am I?

- WHITEHEAD:
Monmouthshire.

- Oh. That near Essex, is it?

- (CHUCKLES) No.

Don't bother.

He hears the call and puts

one foot in front of the other.

Ain't that so, brother?

My master predicts that impending events

will stagger the monarch and kingdom.

After the alehouse,

I shall stagger southeast.

I believe I have distant relatives

at Gloucester. I might go there.

Perhaps they have a large linen cupboard

in which you could hide.

(CHUCKLES)

- No stoat in here, is there?

- None.

We give humble thanks for this,

thy special bounty,

beseeching thee to continue

thy loving kindness unto us,

that our land may yield us her fruits

of increase, divine glory and our comfort.

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