Year after year we’ve been waiting and tarrying,
Without ever dreaming of loving and marrying.
Though we’ve been hitherto deaf, dumb, and blind to it,
It’s pleasant enough when you’ve made up your mind to it.
Enter Constance, leading Notary.
Aria.—Constance.
Dear friends, take pity on my lot,
My cup is not of nectar!
I long have loved—as who would not?—
Our kind and reverend rector.