WHY JESUS WEPT 
57 
SIR PERCY. 
 
Sleep, sleep !  (He sleeps.) 
 
ANGELA. 
 
I am awake — 
And being awake I weary somewhat of these jejune plati-
tudes, these rampant ululations of preposterous puberty.  
These are the very eructations of gingerbread ; they are the 
flatulence of calf-sickness.  I thought I had taught the boy 
more sense.  He weakens, and I weary.  As you will, my 
Lady Glenstrae !  Hortense !  (Hortense enters with a glass of brandy.) 
Brandy ! 
 
HORTENSE. 
 
Here, milady. 
 
ANGELA. 
 
Not enough, you she-devil.  More !  More ! 
Exit.  Angela falls back to sleep. 
 
 
SCENE XI 
 
 
Paris.  ANGELA, LORD and LADY GLENSTRAE, 
SIR PERCY DE PERCIVALE. 
 
 
ANGELA. 
 
You will not believe what I tell you ?  These friends will 
tell you what I mean, and if I mean it ! You had your dis-
missal this morning.  Never dare to address me again !