"Be aisy an' list to a chune
That's sung uv bowld Tim, the dragoon;
Sure, 'twas he'd niver miss
To be stalin' a kiss—
Or a brace—by the light uv the moon,
Aroon,
Wid a wink at the man in the moon!"
"Really!" murmured Miss Limpenny. The keys of the decorous "Collard" clashed as they had never clashed before. The guests, at first shocked and startled, began to be carried away with the reckless swing of the music. The Vicar stared for a moment, and then began gradually to nod his head to the measure.
"You must sing the last line in chorus, please," said Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys from the piano—
"Wid a wink at the man in the moon!"
"Wid a wink at the man in the moon!"
It was sung timidly at first. Nothing daunted, the performer plunged into the next verse—
"Rest his sowl in the arms uv owld Nick!
For he's gone from the land uv the quick:
But he's still makin' luv
To the leddies above,
An' be jabbers! he'll tache 'em the thrick,
Avick,
Niver fear but he'll tache 'em the thrick!"
"Rest his sowl in the arms uv owld Nick!
For he's gone from the land uv the quick:
But he's still makin' luv
To the leddies above,
An' be jabbers! he'll tache 'em the thrick,
Avick,
Niver fear but he'll tache 'em the thrick!"
There was no doubt this time. By the spirit of her mad singing, by some demon that rode upon her full and liquid voice, the whole company seemed possessed. Miss Limpenny looked furtively towards the Vicar. He was actually joining in the chorus! And what a chorus! She put her mittened palms to her ears, such a shout it was that went up.
"'Tis by Tim the dear saints'll set sthore,
And 'ull thrate him to whiskey galore;
For they've only to sip
But the tip uv his lip,
An' bedad! they'll be askin' for more,
Asthore,
By the powers! they'll be shoutin' 'Ancore'!"