Desire Under the Elms, Anna Cabot

Ye mustn’t mind him. He’s an old man. I don’t want t’ pretend playin’ Maw t’ ye, Eben. Ye’re too big an’ too strong fur that. I want t’ be frens with ye. Mebbe with me fur a fren ye’d find ye’d like livin’ here better. I kin make it easy fur ye with him, mebbe. I calc’late I kin git him t’ do most anythin’ fur me. … If cussin’ me does ye good, cuss all ye’ve a mind t’. I’m all prepared t’ have ye agin me–at fust. I don’t blame ye nuther. I’d feel the same at any stranger comin’ t’ take my Maw’s place. Yew must’ve cared a lot fur yewr Maw, didn’t ye? My Maw died afore I’d growed. I don’t remember her none. But yew won’t hate me long, Eben. I’m not the wust in the world–an’ yew an’ me’ve got a lot in common. I kin tell that by lookin’ at ye. Waal–I’ve had a hard life, too–oceans o’ trouble an’ nuthin’ but wuk fur reward. I was a orphan early an’ had t’ wuk fur others in other folks’ hums. Then I married an’ he turned out a drunken spreer an’ so he had to wuk fur others an’ me too agen in other folks’ hums, an’ the baby died, an’ my husband got sick an’ died too, an’ I was glad sayin’ now I’m free fur once, on’y I diskivered right away all I was free fur was t’ wuk agen in other folks’ hums, doin’ other folks’ wuk till I’d most give up hope o’ ever doin’ my own wuk in my own hum, an’ then your Paw come. . . .