And thou can’st not have a lodging here.’
“Then the lover began to call a third time, and the husband asked what it was. She said it was the whistling of the wind among the trees, and she sang:—
“‘Begone, begone, my Willy, my Billy!
Begone, my love and my dear.
O the wind is in the West,
And the cuckoo’s in his nest,
So thou can’st not have a lodging here.’
“Again the lover tapped. Then she sprang out of bed, threw open the casement, and sang:—
“‘Begone, begone, my Willy, you silly;
Begone, you fool, yet my dear.