MICUS
We're ashamed o' nothin,' ma'am. We're only ourselves
an' care for nobody.
MRS. COTTER (_turning round_)
Well, this is the very last drink ye'll get then.
[_Exit_.
PADNA
Women are all alike.
MICUS
They are, God forgive them.
PADNA
They must keep talkin'.
MICUS
An' 'tis only a fool that 'ud try to prevent 'em.
MRS. COTTER (_entering and placing measures on table_)
Hurry up, now, an' don't have me at the next Petty
Sessions.
[_Exit_.
MICUS (_after testing drink_)
Nothin' like a good pint o' "Dundon's."
PADNA
'Tis great stuff.
MICUS
May the Lord spare them long, an' they buildin'
houses for the poor an' churches for God!
PADNA
An' all out o' the beer money?
MICUS
Of course. What else could ye make money at in a
country like this?
PADNA
'Tis a thirsty climate!
MICUS
If all those who made money built houses for the poor
an' gave employment, there 'ud soon be no poor at all.
PADNA
You're talkin' what's called socialism now, an' that's
too delicate a plant, like Christianity, to thrive in a
planet like this. So I heard one o' them preacher
chaps sayin' the other evenin'.
MICUS
Well, be all accounts, we're no better off than those
who heard St. Peter himself preachin'. The poor still
only get the promise of Heaven from the clergy.
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