University of Virginia Library

DUET.

She.
While he dreams, mine old grand-sire,
And yon red logs glow,
Honey, whisper by the fire,
Whisper, honey, low.

He.
Honey, high's yon weary hill,
Stiff's yon weary loam;
Lacks the work o' my goodwill,
Fain I'd take thee home.

She.
Honey, bide, the time's awry,
Bide awhile, let be.

He.
Take my wage then, lay it by,
Till't come back with thee.

She.
Bring ye ought beside, honey?

He.
Honey, ay, the ring.

Duet.
But how much longer, and longer, and longer,
O how much longer shall the waiting last?
Berries red are grown, April birds are flown,
Martinmas gone over, and the harvest past.

[Applause.
Mrs. S.
(aside).
O she's a pretty maid, and sings so small
And high, 'tis like a flute. And she must blush
Till all her face is roses newly blown.
How folks do clap! She knows not where to look.
There now she's off; he standing like a man
To face them.

Mrs. G.
(aside).
Makes his bow, and after her;
But what's the good of clapping when they're gone?

Mrs. T.
(aside).
Why 'tis a London fashion as I'm told,
And means they'd have 'em back to sing again.

Mrs. J.
(aside).
Neighbours, look where her father, red as fire,
Sits pleased and 'shamed, smoothing his Sunday hat;
And Parson bustles out. Clap on, clap on.
Coming? Not she! There comes her sweetheart though.

Vicar presents the young man again.