He plays and sings this Song.
When Maidens are young and in their Spring
Of Pleasure, of Pleasure, let ‘em take their full Swing,
full Swing,—full Swing,
And love, and dance, and play, and sing.
For Silvia, _believe it, when Youth is done,
There’s nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum;
There’s nought but hum drum, hum drum, hum drum.
Then_ Silvia be wise—be wise—be wise,
Though Painting and Dressing for awhile are Supplies,
And may—surprise—
But when the Fire’s going out in your Eyes,
It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies.
And then to hear Love, to hear Love from you,
I’d as live hear an Owl cry—Wit to woo,
Wit to woo, wit to woo.
_Enter Mopsophil above_.
Mop. What woful Ditty-making Mortal’s this,
That e’er the Lark her early Note has sung,
Does doleful Love beneath my Casement thrum?
-Ah, Seignior Scaramouch, is it you?
Scar. Who shou’d it be that takes such pains to sue!
Mop. Ah, Lover most true blue.
Enter Harlequin in Woman’s Clothes.
Har. If I can now but get admittance, I shall not only deliver the young Ladies their Letters from their Lovers, but get some opportunity, in this Disguise, to slip this Billet-Doux into Mopsophil’s Hand, and bob my Comrade Scaramouch.—Ha, What do I see?—My Mistress at the Window, courting my Rival! Ah Gipsy!
Scar. But we lose precious time, since you design me a kind Hour in your Chamber.