Then only sorrow shall thy lattice hide:
Go in! all honest pedlars come by day.'
There was dead silence in the drowsy wood;
'Here's syrup for to lull sweet maids to sleep;
And bells for dreams, and fairy wine and food
All day thy heart in happiness to keep';—
And now she takes the scissors on her thumb,—
'O, then, no more unto my lattice come!'
O sad the sound of weeping in the wood!
Now only night is where the Pedlar was;