VLADIMIR:
Suppose we repented.

ESTRAGON:
What?

VLADIMIR:
There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet. (He takes off his hat again, peers inside it, feels about inside it, knocks on the crown, blows into it, puts it on again.) This is getting alarming. (Silence. Vladimir deep in thought, Estragon pulling at his toes.) One of the thieves…

ESTRAGON:
(examining his foot). I'll air it for a bit.

VLADIMIR:
Try and put it on again.

ESTRAGON:
There's nothing to show.

VLADIMIR:
Show me.

ESTRAGON:
Nothing.

VLADIMIR:
Sometimes I feel it coming all the same. Then I go all queer. (He takes off his hat, peers inside it, feels about inside it, shakes it, puts it on again.) How shall I say? Relieved and at the same time . . . (he searches for the word) . . . appalled. (With emphasis.) AP-PALLED. (He takes off his hat again,…

ESTRAGON:
Why don't you help me?

VLADIMIR:
(musingly). The last moment . . . (He meditates.) Hope deferred maketh the something sick, who said that?

ESTRAGON:
What do you expect, you always wait till the last moment.

VLADIMIR:
(stooping). True. (He buttons his fly.) Never neglect the little things of life.

ESTRAGON:
(pointing). You might button it all the same.

VLADIMIR:
(angrily). Hurts! He wants to know if it hurts!

ESTRAGON:
It hurts?

VLADIMIR:
(angrily). No one ever suffers but you. I don't count. I'd like to hear what you'd say if you had what I have.

ESTRAGON:
(angrily). Hurts! He wants to know if it hurts!

VLADIMIR:
It hurts?

ESTRAGON:
(feebly). Help me!