(Exit, C.)
Juliet appears on balcony with a jar of pickled limes.
Song, “Juliet.” Air, “No one to Love.”
No one to woo, none to address
A tender young maid in the greatest distress.
Hard is my lot; beaux I have none;
On this piazza I’m sitting alone.
No gentle man, no tender lad,
Comes here to woo: ’tis really too bad.
No one to woo, none to address