Mrs. Cricket. Who’s there, a beetle?—You don’t bite?
Tramp. No.
Mrs. Cricket. And how are the children?
Tramp. Ah,—now you’re askin’! Rum, ’ow Yer question ’urts me, some’ow; For, beg your pardon, Madam— Fact is, I’ve never ’ad ’em.
Mrs. Cricket. Oh, dear, haven’t you any children? That’s a pity. (Shakes rattle) Cricket! Cricket! And why did you never marry, beetle?
Tramp. Well, some’s too selfish, maybe, To want a wife and baby ... Oh, ’strewth, what do I care now?— She wouldn’t ’ave me! There now.
Mrs. Cricket. Yes! Yes! You men are troublesome. (Rattles) Cricket! Cricket! Cricket!
Chrysalis. In me, in me, in me, The future strives to be!
Tramp. Oh, buck up!