University of Virginia Library

Mrs. Thorpe
(aside).
O hearts! why, what a song!
To think on it, and he a married man!

Mrs. Jillifer
(aside).
Bless you, that makes for nothing, nothing at all,
They take no heed upon the words. His wife,
Look you, as pleased as may be, smiles on him.

Mrs. T.
(aside).
Neighbours, there's one thing beats me. We've enough
O' trouble in the world; I've cried my fill
Many and many a time by my own fire:
Now why, I'll ask you, should it comfort me
And ease my heart when, pitiful and sweet,
One sings of other souls and how they mourned?
A body would have thought that did not know
Songs must be merry, full of feast and mirth,
Or else would all folk flee away from them.

Mrs. S.
(aside).
'Tis strange, and I too love the sad ones best.

Mrs. T.
(aside).
Ay, how they clap him! 'Tis as who should say,
Sing! we were pleased; sing us another song;
As if they did not know he loves to sing.
Well may he, not an organ pipe they blow
On Sunday in the church is half so sweet;
But he's a hard man.

Mrs. J.
(aside).
Mark me, neighbours all,
Hard though he be—ay, and the mistress hard—
If he do sing 'twill be a sorrowful
Sad tale of sweethearts, that shall make you wish
Your own time would come over again, although
Were partings in't and tears. Hist! now he sings.

Young farmer sings again.