Lady H. (impatiently). Open it, open it—don't you hear? Quick, air! (very affectedly).
(Tris. runs, trottingly, to open the window.)
Nan. (aside). My lord is running for the prize.
(Here the song of the servants bound for Richmond fair is heard outside.)
[No. 3a.]
Cho. (singing). Hither come, linger not,
Fate a home shall allot;
She who works and not shirks,
Finds her fun, when 'tis done.
Lady H. Hear them sing!
Cho. Hither come, take your pick,
We will serve through thin and thick,
Masters kind, come and bind,
If we find you to our mind.
Nan. It's quite amusing!
Tris. Nonsense! you must be mad.