Madam? I am a poor, weak woman, all alone in the world, and seeking to invest some of my money that it might bring me an income in the future. But I'm afraid my poor widow's might is hardly enough to warrant attention. Fifty pounds isn't much, it's true, but greater interest may accrue. Or take a sum of any size for the loan of a look from your lovely eye. Another conquest on its way, I'm glad that the dress was decollete. Although the sum is far from large, perhaps he'll invest it free of charge. I won't charge you for these investments, Mrs. Flanders. Oh, how can I ever repay you? If only I were not married, Mrs. Flanders. Well, at least he was honest enough to admit it. But as it is, perhaps you could give me some advice. My wife is a demon sent from hell. She's twice as vicious as Jezebel. She spends my money and drinks my wine. The bed that she sleeps in isn't mine. The world is full of married men, I'll never travel that road again. Have you considered the natural course to sue her at once for a quick divorce? Divorce? Well, that's a bit drastic, isn't it? Couldn't I just shoot someone instead? Oh, but the mess. True. It's not as if I'd know who to shoot. The fact of the matter is she's got more than one lover. Oh, you poor gentlemen. If I should do as you suggest and pluck this viper from my breast, for all the money that I'd have spent, if you were my wife, I'd be content. Sir, we met an hour ago, and love requires more time to grow. Still, an investment might be wise, and once we were wed, his stock might rise. May I hope you'll not refuse? A man may hope as a man may choose. Wait for me, Mole, and we'll vow one day to love, cherish, honour and obey. I'll divorce that heartless ***. And I'll to the north in the coach and four. Keep in your heart the words we'll say. We'll love, cherish, honour and obey. And so we part, good friends. I to see a lawyer in Chancery. And I to catch the coach for Liverpool. Oh, well I'll write to you there, then. Wahey! Stagecoach to Liverpool, leaving in five minutes' time. If travel should be your intention, A coach is a wondrous invention. Though we'd be more content if they'd only invent A less miserable form of suspension. There's no chance of stopping for miles. And in place, Marielle, with the piles. The first half hour is thrilling. The second is frankly killing. By noon, you've lost a feeling. And who knows may be added to which. You could well end up dead in a ditch. We're moving in bits and in starts, sir. Which is hard on the intimate part, sir. And the man over there keeps polluting the air With some very malodorous fart, sir. The truth is we really don't mind. Cos we're leaving the city behind. The north is where we're going. Where cleaner rivers are flowing. Where fresher winds are blowing. So the man over there can go hang. Our journey will go with a... Our journey will go with a... Our journey will go with a... Well, stand and deliver me, fine young girls. With your pretty frocks and your flowing curls. And over your rings and your strings of pearls. Not forgetting that delicate brooch. My brother will have his small joke, I fear. Me sight's unclear. Is that you, my dear? The wealthy widow from London's ear. Fool! You've killed up the wrong bloody coach!