Let’s hear the worst. Produce your budget, quick!
Bring lights! Pray what’s the price of candles, stick?
(Rooster aside.) There’s not a candle left. (aloud) It’s nearly morning.
(aside) What shall I say. (aloud) Sir, see the day is dawning.
(Stage gradually grows light.)
G. King. Well, how’s the Exchequer?
Roos. Empty.
G. King. Stock it.
Roos. I’ve eighteen pence, sir, in my waistcoat pocket.
It’s pretty clear we must increase taxation.