Charles. Descend! why, hang me if it isn’t a vault!
Sophia. If it would please you to descend....
Charles. Please me, you barbarous witches! would it please any one to be buried alive? What on earth do you mean?
Barbara. The only way to preserve your rights....
Charles. Rites, do you call these rites? They are very inhuman rites. Anything but the rites of hospitality. To offer a stranger the shelter of your roof, and then make his bed in a vault! This is your spare-room, is it? If I had guessed what you meant to do with your guest, I would not have troubled you with my company.
Horatia. O, for your Country’s sake....
Charles. My Country’s sake! what good can it do my Country? I know your motives, you scientific Monster! you want to make a petrifaction of me.
Horatia. Is it possible that a treatment so....
Charles. A treat meant is it? If you mean it for a treat, I assure you that I do not consider it as one. You may go in yourself and enjoy it.