CROAKER. Ah, my dear friend, these were the very words of poor Dick Doleful to me not a week before he made away with himself. Indeed, Mr. Honeywood, I never see you but you put me in mind of poor Dick. Ah, there was merit neglected for you! and so true a friend; we loved each other for thirty years, and yet he never asked me to lend him a single farthing. HONEYW. Pray what could induce him to commit so rash an action at last? CROAKER. I don't know, some people were malicious enough to say it was keeping company with me; because we used to meet now and then, and open our hearts to each other. To be sure I loved to hear him talk, and he loved to hear me talk; poor dear Dick! He used to say, that Croaker rhymed to joker; and so we used to laugh—Poor Dick! [_Going to cry._ HONEYW. His fate affects me. CROAKER. Ay, he grew sick of this miserable life, where we do nothing but eat and grow hungry, dress and undress, get up and lie down; while reason, that should watch like a nurse by our side, falls as fast asleep as we do. HONEYW. To say truth, if we compare that part of life which is to come, by that which we have passed, the prospect is hideous. CROAKER. Life at the greatest and best is but a froward child, that must be humoured and coaxed a little till it falls asleep, and then all the care is over. HONEYW. Very true, sir; nothing can exceed the vanity of our existence, but the folly of our pursuits. We wept when we came into the world, and every day tells us why. CROAKER. Ah, my dear friend, it is a perfect satisfaction to be miserable with you. My son Leontine shan't lose the benefit of such fine conversation. I'll just step home for him. I am willing to show him so much seriousness in one scarce older than himself—And what if I bring my last letter to the Gazetteer on the increase and progress of earthquakes? It will amuse us, I promise you. I there prove how the late earthquake is coming round to pay us another visit from London to Lisbon, from Lisbon to the Canary Islands, from the Canary Islands to Palmyra, from Palmyra to Constantinople, and so from Constantinople back to London again. _Exit._ HONEYW. Poor Croaker! His situation deserves the utmost pity. I shall scarce recover my spirits these three days. Sure, to live upon such terms is worse than death itself. And yet, when I consider my own situation, a broken fortune, a hopeless passion, friends in distress; the wish but not the power to serve them—(_pausing and sighing._) _Enter_ BUTLER. BUTLER. More company below, sir; Mrs. Croaker and Miss Richland; shall I show them up? But they're showing up themselves. _Exit._ _Enter_ MRS. CROAKER _and_ MISS RICHLAND. MISS RICH. You're always in such spirits.