Catharine.
You have bespoken fair weather with bright words, and you shall bespeak a fair maid with bright eyes, as I promised you to-day on the seashore.
Bluegrass.
Oh, where is she?
Catharine.
Yonder she stands while the fates work her destiny,—the fair Ninon. Come, give me your arm.
[They join Ninon.
Whetstone.
Going, going, gone; knocked down to the first bidder! What a weakness he has developed for women!
Northlake.