Me, is it? Oh, if that be true,
Then, I am sure ’tis double you.
PUPILS.
MASTER.
Oh, Apollo, pity me!—
Young Miss, I’ve not yet heard you sing,
Have you a cold, or anything?
“Don’t know?” Oh, you feel bashful; boys!
Look on your notes, and stop that noise.
Do mi sol do, do sol mi do.
PUPILS.
Do mi sol do, do sol mi do.
MASTER.
Out of tune is the way we go;
I’ll sing, and in Apollo’s name,
Now try if you can do the same.
SWALLOW.