To see thee Orb abuse.
Luna. I hope his anger 'twill not move;
Since I show'd it out of love.
Hey down, derry down.
Orb. Where shall I thy true love know,
Thou pretty, pretty moon?
Luna. To-morrow soon, ere it be noon,
On Mount Vesuvio.[60]
Sol. Then I will shine [To the tune of "Trenchmore." Bis.