Since we are come hither, let us spare for no leather
To dance for the honour of Holloway.
And this for a Flower Dance:
Where's my lovely parsley, say?
My violets, roses, where are they?
My parsley, roses, violets fair,
Where are my flowers? Tell me where?
And yet another for one's Lonesome Low:
The king's young dochter was sitting in her window,