DICK.
How shall we manage then? Oh, I have it. Fetch me the tongs here. (Takes up the purse in the tongs, and holds it at arm's length.) Now I'm going. So, Meg, if you repent, now's the time. Speak—or for ever hold your tongue.
MARGERY.
Me repent? No, my dear Dick! I feel, somehow, quite light, as if a great weight were gone away from here. (Laying her hands on her bosom.) Money may be a good thing when it comes little by little, and we gain it honestly by our own hard work; but when it comes this way, in a lump—one doesn't know how or why—it's quite too surprising, as one may say;—it gets into one's head, like—the punch, Dick!
DICK.
Aye, and worser—turns it all the wrong way; but I've done with both:—I'll have no more to say to drinking, and fine ladies, and purses o' money;—we'll go and live in the stall round the corner, and I'll take to my work and my singing again—eh, Meg?
MARGERY.
Bless you, my dear, dear Dick! (kisses him.)