Bramble (forced to sit)
The devil!
Mrs. MacPherson
You wife has left us. It's sad. We must drink until she returns.
MacPherson
If my wife dies, I will get drunk for her epitaph.
Bramble I'm getting nothing from these drunks. I'd better wait till Tuneless returns.
Mrs. MacPherson While we're waiting for Tuneless, we'll sing you a little song to chase your sorrows away.
Bramble
Death.
Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson Heigh ho, heigh ho, it's off to the funeral we'll go, heigh ho, heigh ho—
(Enter Tuneless and Arabella.)
Tuneless
Silence. Get out. There Miss, come on in.
(Exit Mr. and Mrs. MacPherson.)