I’ve forgotten the rest, and therefore take a rest.
Whetstone.
Look! the door is opening. [Door partly opens, and Pompey shows his head.] Great thunder—a black walnut!
Bluegrass.
Vanish, thou black January! [Pompey vanishes.] We’ll strike a mellower melody, and yonder balcony shall bear fruitage brighter than October. The prize of the troubadours in the courts of love was the golden violet.
Whetstone.
Give me no more sentimental nonsense. Sing a song of business.
Bluegrass.
That’s clever. I feel the inspiration. I’ll improvise a matter-of-fact descriptive ballad illustrating the moral maxim, Business before love.
Bluegrass sings and plays; Whetstone accompanies with pantomime,
and joins in singing last line of each stanza.