Mrs. Croaker. Ha, ha, ha! And so my dear, it's your supreme wish that I should be quite wretched upon this occasion? Ha, ha!
Croaker (mimicking). Ha, ha, ha! and so, my dear, it's your supreme pleasure to give me no better consolation?
Mrs. Croaker. Positively, my dear, what is this incendiary stuff and trumpery to me? Our house may travel through the air like the house of Loretto, for aught I care, if I'm to be miserable in it.
Croaker. Would to heaven it were converted into a house of correction for your benefit! Have we not everything to alarm us? Perhaps, this very moment the tragedy is beginning.
Mrs. Croaker. Then let us reserve our distress till the rising of the curtain, or give them the money they want, and have done with them.
Croaker. Give them my money!—and pray what right have they to my money?
Mrs. Croaker. And pray what right then have you to my good humour?
Croaker. And so your good humour advises me to part with my money? Why, then, to tell your good humour a piece of my mind, I'd sooner part with my wife. Here's Mr. Honeywood, see what he'll say to it. My dear Honeywood, look at this incendiary letter dropped at my door. It will freeze you with terror; and yet lovey here can read it—can read it, and laugh.
Mrs. Croaker. Yes, and so will Mr. Honeywood.
Croaker. If he does, I'll suffer to be hanged the next minute in the rogue's place, that's all.