You may not enter—the General snores in sleep;
Sweet sleep, that balm in heaven distilled,
Has fallen on his eyelids.
(Sings)
Low, galoot; speak low, galoot, or you may wake him—
Low, galoot, low!
Farmer Jones.
Yet listen, gentle knave; a farming man am I
From Jersey. Should’st open now my heart,
Lo, thou would’st find but two words graven on it—