Jos. I wasn’t a confounded fool, if I was young.
Sam. Come back to bed, Josiah Allen; do you want to get the Bobbetses and the Doodleses mad at you?
Jos. Yes, I do.
Sam. I should think you would be ashamed of yourself, swearin’ and actin’ as you have; and you’ll end by gettin’ your death cold. (Shakespeare Bobbett has appeared outside with a guitar, and played a strain, as if uncertain of the key. Think, oh, think of me.)
Jos. No danger of our not thinkin’ on you, no danger on it. (Shakespeare plays and sings.)
Come, oh, come with me, Miss Allen.
The moon is beaming;
Oh, Tirzah! come with me,
The stars are gleaming.
All around is bright with beauty beaming,