DIMBA. Yes ... zere is everysing.

ZHIGALOV. Hm. ... And Civil Servants.

ZMEYUKINA. I can imagine what the atmosphere is like in Greece!

ZHIGALOV. There must be a lot of swindling. The Greeks are just
like the Armenians or gipsies. They sell you a sponge or a goldfish
and all the time they are looking out for a chance of getting
something extra out of you. Let's have another, what?

NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. What do you want to go on having another for?
It's time everybody sat down to supper. It's past eleven.

ZHIGALOV. If it's time, then it's time. Ladies and gentlemen,
please! [Shouts] Supper! Young people!

NASTASYA TIMOFEYEVNA. Dear visitors, please be seated!

ZMEYUKINA. [Sitting down at the table] Give me poetry.
"And he, the rebel, seeks the storm,
As if the storm can give him peace."
Give me the storm!

YATS. [Aside] Wonderful woman! I'm in love! Up to my ears!

[Enter DASHENKA, MOZGOVOY, GROOMSMEN, various ladies and gentlemen,
etc. They all noisily seat themselves at the table. There is a
minute's pause, while the band plays a march.]