Honeyw. I must own, my old monitor is not entirely wrong. There is something in my friend Croaker's conversation that quite depresses me. His very mirth is an antidote to all gaiety, and his appearance has a stronger effect on my spirits than an undertaker's shop.—Mr. Croaker, this is such a satisfaction—
Enter Croaker.
Croaker. A pleasant morning to Mr. Honeywood, and many of them. How is this? You look most shockingly to-day, my dear friend. I hope this weather does not affect your spirits. To be sure, if this weather continues—I say nothing—but God send we be all better this day three months.
"Croaker.—A pleasant morning to Mr. Honeywood."—p. 272.
Honeyw. I heartily concur in the wish, though, I own, not in your apprehensions.
Croaker. May be not. Indeed, what signifies what weather we have, in a country going to ruin like ours? Taxes rising and trade falling. Money flying out of the kingdom, and Jesuits swarming into it. I know at this time no less than a hundred and twenty-seven Jesuits between Charing-cross and Temple-bar.
Honeyw. The Jesuits will scarce pervert you or me, I should hope?
Croaker. May be not. Indeed what signifies whom they pervert in a country that has scarce any religion to lose? I'm only afraid for our wives and daughters.
Honeyw. I have no apprehensions for the ladies, I assure you.