NATALYA STEPANOVNA. It's low! It's dishonest! It's mean!
CHUBUKOV. And you're just a malicious, double-faced intriguer! Yes!
LOMOV. Here's my hat.... My heart!... Which way? Where's the door? Oh!... I think I'm dying.... My foot's quite numb.... [Goes to the door.]
CHUBUKOV. [Following him] And don't set foot in my house again!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Take it to court! We'll see!
CHUBUKOV. Devil take him! [Walks about in excitement.]
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What a rascal! What trust can one have in one's neighbours after that!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. The monster! First he takes our land and then he has the impudence to abuse us.
CHUBUKOV. And that blind hen, yes, that turnip-ghost has the confounded cheek to make a proposal, and so on! What? A proposal!
CHUBUKOV. Why, he came here so as to propose to you.
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. To propose? To me? Why didn't you tell me so before?
CHUBUKOV. So he dresses up in evening clothes. The stuffed sausage! The wizen-faced frump!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. To propose to me? Ah! [Falls into an easy-chair and wails] Bring him back! Back! Ah! Bring him here.
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Quick, quick! I'm ill! Fetch him! [Hysterics.]
CHUBUKOV. What's that? What's the matter with you? [Clutches at his head] Oh, unhappy man that I am! I'll shoot myself! I'll hang myself! We've done for her!
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. I'm dying! Fetch him!
[Runs out. A pause. NATALYA STEPANOVNA wails.]
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. What have they done to me! Fetch him back! Fetch him! [A pause.]
CHUBUKOV. He's coming, and so on, devil take him! Ouf! Talk to him yourself; I don't want to....
CHUBUKOV. [Yells] He's coming, I tell you. Oh, what a burden, Lord, to be the father of a grown-up daughter! I'll cut my throat! I will, indeed! We cursed him, abused him, drove him out, and it's all you... you!
CHUBUKOV. I tell you it's not my fault. [LOMOV appears at the door] Now you talk to him yourself [Exit.]
LOMOV. My heart's palpitating awfully.... My foot's gone to sleep.... There's something keeps pulling in my side.
NATALYA STEPANOVNA. Forgive us, Ivan Vassilevitch, we were all a little heated.... I remember now: Oxen Meadows really are yours.
LOMOV. My heart's beating awfully.... My Meadows.... My eyebrows are both twitching....