Sir T. But debt
Increases like a tide when sun and moon
Uplift the mass of waters and the west
Scourges the huge Atlantic. Now you laugh:
That's best. My guarantors withdraw their names
To-night, if failure knells the curtain down.
Lady S. Tristram!—our own account!—that's overdrawn!
Sir T. And overdrawn again!
Lady S. The tragedy!
The only tragedy! The end of love,
The loss of children, snuffing out of hope,
Decay of soul is happiness itself
Beside the want of means—with our desires,
Experience, fancies, dreams.
Sir T. Yes, but you laughed;
And you must laugh again and yet again.
Why, Martha, with a roof above our heads,
A crust to eat, we will be what we are,
The essence of ourselves, in every fate.
Lady S. Live poor again? Not for a moment, Tristram!
No man can be himself in poverty,
Nor woman either: all the world knows that,
And sweats and aches and lies and sins for wealth.
No, Tristram; but the old deliverance.
Sir T. What?
Lady S. [Takes a vial from her pocket] This, that so often set our hearts at rest.
Sir T. Have I not told you never to show me that?
Lady S. Yes; but I show it. Is your courage gone?
Are you afraid to look upon the past?