Now you'd like to cut in, I've no doubt.
Chloe (coquettishly). La sakes! do not quarrel!
You're both very kyind,
But—I fancy dear Corydon's most to my mind.
[Beams on him, and accepts the Bouquet.
Strephon (suppressing himself). Well, well, 'tis the fortune of war!
As it's holiday season, let's sing,
Should Shepherds at Eastertide jar?
Suave Shenstone would scout such a thing.
I wish you and Corydon luck—