FLIP
Peace, peace. Neither of you could live on pumpkins, nor on power, nor would it suffice for either to have complete possession of his heart’s desire, the harlot Trade. To live on pumpkins—Lord, what a diet! Thick—yellow—mushy—with never a hint of stimulation for the uplift of the soul. We must have souls, nowadays, for it is the thing. They are nearly as common as tuberculosis, and quite as tragic. But those who go awhoring think not deeply of their souls lest they repent. And I would not feed my soul on pumpkin to outwit Capital and appease Labor—no not I. Rather would I turn viticulturist and try the grape cure!
LABOR
Raisins or pumpkins, it is all the same;
These things are mine, for I have made them be.
I, I deliver earth of what she bears
And am chief nurse at Nature’s lying-in.
FLIP
A very shocking nurse I will be bound—to go from the sacredness of Nature’s childbed, to woo Trade—verily, if the wages of sin be death, that would be going from the cradle to the grave!
CAPITAL
(self-righteously)
For my part I make no pretense at all!
FLIP