Ernest. Ah, Don Julian, you believe that an idea which has gripped the mind can be effaced and destroyed at our pleasure. I wanted to think out another play, but this accursed idea won't give it room, until it itself has seen the light.
D. Julian. God grant you a happy delivery.
Ernest. That's the question, as Hamlet says.
D. Julian. Couldn't you cast it into the literary foundling hospital of anonymity?
[In a low voice with an air of comical mystery.]
Ernest. Don Julian, I am a man of conscience. Good or bad, my children are legitimate. They bear my name.
D. Julian. [Preparing to go.] I have nothing more to say. What must be done will be done.
Ernest. I wish it were so. Unfortunately, it is not done. But no matter; if I don't do it, somebody else will.
D. Julian. Then to work, and good luck, and may nobody rob you of your laurels.