Gold had I to spare and give;—
Now my joys are vanished with my treasure,
As a wretched slave I live.”
Matryòna. The master and mistress have waked up; you might carry in the samovar, Ivànych.
First C. Oh! you’re a fine lady, I suppose. Why, you’ve got so fat that one can’t pinch you anywhere; just as if you’d been hammered on an anvil. (Sings.)
“Who has known a captive’s sorrow?
Who shall tell its bitterness?”
Matryòna. Talk about me being fat! Why, your own cheeks are blown out like wind-bags! Can’t you take in the samovar when I ask you?
First C. Come again to-morrow. (Sings.)
“In my youth I knew of naught but pleasure,