When Corydon most sad, forlorn,
With wrinkled hose, distraught,
All flouted by his worshiped Fair,
Walks forth as one that’s daft,
Lady Betty takes the air, etc.
When, at the turn-stile next the park,
The sad swain stops to sigh—
“No lady ever lived so dear
As she for whom I’d die!”
Lady Betty takes the air, etc.