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!