Adown the moonlit path they walk,
Through all the world called lover's lane,
And hand in hand they sigh and talk
Of the love that binds them, happy twain!
What are you gaping like a great gaby for?
Diggory. For Fortune to drop the plum into my mouth.
Betsey. Where is the plum?
Diggory. There. [Pointing at her.]
Betsey. You silly fellow! yesterday I was a peach; the day before strawberries and cream; the day before that a rose; and last week a dove—marry, I don't coo for you! Can I be all these things at once and still be Betsey Tomkins?
Diggory. O, Betsey, thou art all the world to me!
Betsey. O, Diggory, thou art a great fool to me! Why, man, thy head is as soft as a pat of butter; I could take it between my paddles, like this, and mold it into any shape I chose.
Diggory. So you may, Betsey; so you may. And, Betsey, for the love of mercy, mold it into the head of thy future husband.
Betsey. 'Twould take a pair of shears to do that.