Mrs. Croaker. But can anything be more absurd than to double our distresses by our apprehensions, and put it in the power of every low fellow, that can scrawl ten words of wretched spelling, to torment us?
Honeyw. Without doubt, nothing more absurd.
Croaker. How! would it not be more absurd to despise the rattle till we are bit by the snake?
Honeyw. Without doubt, perfectly absurd.
Croaker. Then you are of my opinion?
Honeyw. Entirely.
Mrs. Croaker. And you reject mine?
Honeyw. Heavens forbid, madam. No; sure no reasoning can be more just than yours. We ought certainly to despise malice, if we cannot oppose it, and not make the incendiary's pen as fatal to our repose as the highwayman's pistol.
Mrs. Croaker. O! then you think I'm quite right?