118
RUDDIGORE
Rob.
Rose.
Rob.
Rose.
Rob.
Rose.
Both.
He cannot eat and he cannot sleep—
(Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!)
Daily he goes for to wail—for to weep—
(Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
She's very thin and she's very pale—
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
Daily she goes for to weep-for to wail—
(Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
Poor little maid!
Poor little man!
Poor little maid!
Poor little man!
Now tell me pray, and tell me true,
| What in the world should the |
young man maiden |
do? |
Rob.
Rose.
Rob.
Rose.
Rob.
Rose.
Rob.
Rose.
Both.
If I were the youth I should offer her my name—
(Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
If were the maid I should fan his honest flame—
(Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day—
(Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way—
(For I really do believe that timid youth will die!)
Poor little man!
Poor little maid!
Poor little man!
Poor little maid!
| I thank you, |
miss, sir, |
for your counsel true; | |||
| I'll tell that |
youth maid |
what |
he she |
ought to do! | |
[Exit Rose.
Rob.Poor child! I sometimes think that if she wasn't quite so particular I might venture—but no, no—even then I should be unworthy of her!