Ichneumon Fly. (Kills him) Larva, look what your kind daddy’s bringing you now.
Tramp. Oh, Gawd in Heaven—’ow can you stand by and see it?
Parasite. Just what I say. That’s the third cricket he’s had already, and me nothing. And that’s what we poor working men are asked to put up with.
Ichneumon Fly. (Re-entering) No, no, kiddy, I’ve no time. Daddy must go back to work. Eat, eat, eat. Quiet now, I’ll be back in an hour.
[Exit.
Parasite. It’s more than I can stand—dirty old profiteer! What injustice! I’ll show ’im, that I will. Just you wait! (Trembling) ’E’s not coming back, is ’e? Keep cave! I must just ’ave a look.
Tramp. Thank ’eaven! These ’eathen insec’s may be vile, But man—man’s diff’rent. Folks like me an’ you Work ’ard, real ’ard, and makes our little pile ... Blast! I’m all mixed. That’s what them beetles do.
It’s what I say—man ’as ideals and dreams And fam’ly love. ’Is purpose—put it plain— Is keepin’ up the race ..., ’Ullo, though,—seems I’ve got them crickets fairly on the brain.
Bold—that’s what man is: resolute, yer might s’y. If ’e wants more, ’e does ’is neighbour in ... O ’Ell! That makes ’im like this murd’rous fly ... But, there you are, ’oo can think straight on gin?
Chrysalis. I feel something great—something great.