Soldier: He is importunate, indeed distract:
His mood will needs be pitied.
Oligarch: What would he have?
Soldier: He speaks much of Holy Mother Russia; says he hears
There’s tricks ‘i the world: and hems, and beats his heart.
Oligarch: How now, Putilia?
Putilia: Lord, we know what we want, but know not
what we may get…
[Sings] Then up I rose, and struck my pose
And broke the Ukraine’s door.
Let in the blood! Let in the death!
And then depart no more…
Ghost of Tsar Nicholas: Pretty Putilia!
Putilia: Indeed, la, without a ruble, I’ll make an end on’t.
… I hope all will be well. We must be patient: but I
cannot choose but weep, to think they should place Aeroflot
in the cold cold ground. Good night, sweet ladies
Good night, good night.