Ruth.I’m not the one to plot so.
Fred.Your face is lined, your hair is grey.
Ruth.It’s gradually got so.
Fred.Faithless woman to deceive me,
I who trusted so!
Ruth.Master, master, do not leave me.
Hear me, ere you go.
My love, without reflecting,
Oh, do not be rejecting.
Take a maiden tender—her affection, raw and green,