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53 Cards in this Set

  • Front
  • Back
Scene begins. Higgins enters.
Henry! What are you doing here to-day? It is my at-home day: you promised not to come.
Higgins: Oh bother!
Go home at once.
Higgins: I know, mother. I came on purpose.
But you mustn't. I'm serious, Henry. You offend all my friends. They stop coming whenever they meet you.
Higgins: Nonsense! I know I have no small talk, but people don't mind.
Oh! don't they? Small talk indeed! What about your large talk? Really, dear, you mustn't stay.
Higgins: I must. I've a job for you. A phonetic job.
No use, dear. I'm sorry; but I can't get round your vowels; and though I like to get pretty postcards in your patent shorthand, I always have to read the copies in ordinary writing you so thoughtfully send me.
Higgins: Well, this isn't a phonetic job.
You said it was.
Higgins: Not your part of it. I've picked up a girl.
Does that mean that some girl has picked you up?
Higgins: Not at all. I don't mean a love affair.
What a pity.
Higgins: Why?
Well, you never fall in love with anyone under forty-five. When will you discover that there are some rather nice-looking young women about?
Higgins: ... seriously liking young women: some habits lie too deep to be changed. Besides, they're all idiots.
Do you know what you would do if you really loved me, Henry?
Higgins: What? Marry, I suppose?
No. Stop fidgeting and take your hands out of your pockets.
...
That's a good boy. Now tell me about the girl.
Higgins: She's coming to see you.
I don't remember asking her.
You didn't. I asked her. If you'd known her, you wouldn't have asked her.
Indeed! Why?
Higgins: ... common flower girl. I picked her off the kerbstone.
And invited her to my at-home!
Higgins: ... things in general. That will be safe.
Safe! To talk about our health! about our insides! perhaps about our outsides! How could you be so silly, Henry?
Higgins: ... She talks English almost as you talk French.
Well, that's satisfactory, at all events.
Higgins: Well, it is and it isn't.
What does that mean?
Higgins: Oh Lord!
*cut him off and greet Mrs. and Miss EH*
Mrs. EH: How do you do?
Miss EH: How d'you do?
My son Henry.
Higgins: ... It doesn't matter. You'd better sit down.
I'm sorry to say that my celebrated son has no manners. You mustn't mind him.
Pickering: How do you do, Mrs. Higgins?
So glad you've come. Do you know Mrs. Eynsford Hill? Miss Eynsford Hill?
Higgins: We were interrupted, damn it!
Oh, Henry, Henry, really!
Mrs. EH: Are we in the way?
No, no. You couldn't have come more fortunately: we want you to meet a friend of ours.
Freddy: Ahdedo? --> me
Very good of you to come. (introducing) Colonel Pickering.
Freddy: Ahdedo? --> Pick
I don't think you know my son, Professor Higgins.
Higgins: And now, what the devil are we going to talk about until Eliza comes?
Henry: you are the life and soul of the Royal Society's soirees, but really, you're rather trying on more commonplace occasions.
Higgins: What the devil do you imagine I know of philosophy?
Or of manners, Henry?
Eliza: Mr. Higgins told me I might come.
Quite right: I'm very glad indeed to see you.
Higgins: Covent Garden! What a damned thing!
Henry, please! Don't sit on my writing-table: you'll break it.
Higgins: *sits on the ottoman*
*long and painful pause*
Will it rain, do you think?
Eliza: But it's my belief they done the old woman in.
Done her in?
Eliza: Have I said anything I oughtn't?
Not at all, Miss Doolittle.
Eliza: So pleased to have met you. Good-bye.
Good-bye.
Eliza: Walk! Not BLOODY likely!
*react to "bloody!"*
Freddy: Well, I ask you... Good-bye.
Good-bye. Would you like to meet Miss Doolittle again?
Freddy: Yes, I should, most awfully.
Well, you know my days.
Mrs. EH: But the boy is nice. Don't you think so?
Oh, quite nice. I shall always be delighted to see him.
Higgins: Well? Is Eliza presentable?
You silly boy, of course she's not presentable. She's a triumph of your art and of her dressmaker's; but if you suppose for a moment that she doesn't give herself away in every sentence she utters, you must be perfectly cracked about her.
Pickering: ... something to eliminate the sanguinary element from her conversation.
Not as long as she's in Henry's hands.
Higgins: Do you mean that my language is improper?
No, dearest: it would be quite proper-- say, on a canal barge; but it would not be proper for her at a garden party.
Higgins: Oh, well, if you say so, I suppose I don't always talk like a bishop.
(dismiss him) Colonel Pickering: will you tell me what is the exact state of things in Wimpole Street?
Pickering: We work together at my Indian Dialects; and we think it more convenient--
Quite so. I know all about that: it's an excellent arrangement. But where does this girl live?
Higgins: With us, of course. Where would she live?
But on what terms? Is she a servant? If not, what is she?
Higgins: ... and she remembers my appointments and so forth.
How does your housekeeper get on with her?
Higgins: ... not to mention her soul, which is the quaintest of the lot.
You certainly are a pretty pair of babies, playing with your live doll.
Pickering: Dressing Eliza.
What!
1. things it took me years to get hold of, and she picks them up like a shot,
2. everything she hears right off when she comes home, whether it's Beethoven and Brahms or
SH-SH-SH -- SH!
Higgins: Sorry. When Pickering starts shouting, nobody can get a word in edgeways.
Be quiet, Henry. Colonel Pickering: don't you realize that when Eliza walked into Wimpole Street, something walked in with her?
Pickering: Her father did. But Henry soon got rid of him.
It would have been more to the point if her mother had. But as her mother didn't, something else did.
Pickering: But what?
A problem.
Higgins: I'll solve that problem. I've half solved it already.
No, you two infinitely stupid male creatures: the problem is of what is to be done with her afterwards.
Higgins: ... She can go her own way, with all the advantages I have given her.
The advantages of that poor woman who was here just now! The manners and habits that disqualify a fine lady from earning her own living without giving her a fine lady's income! Is that what you mean?
Pickering: Ripping!
oh, men men MEN