And my fause luver staw my rose,
But, ah! he left the thorn wi’ me.
[As she finishes, Mrs. Fergus appears at the door, and stands looking in the direction that Burns has taken.]
Mrs. Fergus (singing, to Burns):
My bottle is a holy pool,
That heals the wounds o’ care an’ dool;
And pleasure is a wanton trout,
An ye drink it dry, ye’ll find him out.
Are you alone, Mrs. Burns?
[Coming into the room.]