I say, what rot!
[Exeunt, depressed.
Nightingale.
[Jubilantly from tree.] Wine! Wine! Red wine!
Rose.
[From neighbouring bush, much shocked.] My dear, you don’t know how your passion for alcohol shocks me.
Nightingale.
Oh yes I do. But every morning brings a thousand roses. After all, you’re cheap. Jamshyd and I like our liquor, and plenty of it.
Rose.