Enter Whetstone and Bluegrass, with guitars, stealthily
advancing through the shrubbery, and appearing upon the lawn.
Bluegrass.
Now do we stand upon the green lawn of fresh enterprise. Stand yourself ’neath yonder tree, and fix your eyes on the balcony [Whetstone takes position accordingly], while I, from behind this green projecting wing of shrubbery, project our ripening song [moving behind the shrubbery]. First, our song of salutation, with fresh words.
Bluegrass, under cover of the shrubbery, sings and plays, while
Whetstone accompanies with pantomime.
The moon is on the hills,
The glow-worm’s in the grass;
The nightingales have bills,
The owls have singing-class.
Bluegrass ceases singing while Whetstone continues
pantomime.
Whetstone.
Give me more words!
Bluegrass.