Peck me, my little pullet!
Hop-sa-sa! Let me trip it;—
I am a blissful game-cock!
Anitra.
You are sweating, my prophet; I fear you will melt;—
Hand me that heavy bag hung at your belt.
Peer.
Tender solicitude! Bear the purse ever;—
Hearts that[that] can love are content without gold!
[Dances and sings again.