GUY. We can take no more.
MATTHEW (staggered). You can't take my cloth, my beautiful cloth?
EPHRAIM (with sympathy). It's true, Matt. Good cloth means a good price and people won't pay it.
MATTHEW. It's your fault, then. That's what you've brought them to. You've spoilt them with your factory rubbish.
GUY. They want cheap cloth. We provide it. Yours is dear. We can't sell it.
MATTHEW. Then I'll sell my own. I'll find buyers.
EPHRAIM. It's no use, Matt. Take my word for it, there are no customers to-day for cloth like yours. What between paying the country's bill for licking Bonaparte and power looms for silk and linen there's no demand for cotton cloth of your quality.
GUY. And you'll get no more yarn from us.
MATTHEW. You're not the only ones.
GUY. Nor from others. We're going to make an end of the whole breed of hand-loom weavers.