(O-la!)
Just fancy his having the face!
Now 'tis shrunken, and shrivelled, and that's why I sing,
Oh, bother the flowers that bloom in the Spring!
Tra la la la la la, &c.
Both (to Servant). So tell the next rascal who ventures to ring,
We'll buy no more flowers that bloom in the Spring!
[Dance, and exeunt, determined never again to be diddled by the howling "A-a-blowing and a-growing!" impostors, who, at this season, hawk heat-forced or illrooted pot-plants about the streets of the suburbs.