Negress. Well, then, an uproar, if you will have it so.
Punch. Well, what are you going to sing?
Negress. Well, I can sing politics, sentimental, or on love.
Punch. Then let’s have it on love.
Negress (sings).
Two lovers wandering in a wood—
What can be more delightful?
Just as they whisper, “Be my own,”
Should some one overhear them,
Can mortal be more spiteful?