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