_Diggory._ If there be no true charm but it hath a touch of folly in
it, this one must be most potent. Now a wise man would not think
there's that virtue in a bit of grease, a jingling rhyme, and a hair
cut, that one might thereby win a woman's love--but the wise are
fools in love. I have here the lard of three bears--one more than
the old adage of "bear and forbear"--and with it I am to anoint my
head as an enchantment to bring about my marriage to Betsey--marry,
I'll temper the strength of the charm with a little bergamot, for in
truth two of the bears have been dead over-long. Whew!--Aha!
enchantment is the only highway to success in love! Now let me see:
"Lady love, lady love, where'er you be"--
_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]
_Little bird, little bird, come tell me true;
If I love my love, as your love loves you,
And if he loves me, as you love your mate;
How long, little bird, should I make him wait?_
_Diggory._ That's Betsey singing now! If the charm works like this,
bear fat will be worth its weight in gold. But perhaps my features
may have pleased her after all--I'm not bad to look upon; and truly
I would save my hair; it's the best part about me. Singing again.
_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]
_In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do,
If, while he walks close by her side,
Her lover begins to woo?_
_Diggory._ Now I wonder where she learnt all those profane songs?
From some liberal folk in the old country, no doubt; they ill become
a puritan. If she were a little slower in her speech, what an angel
she would be! As it is, she is a very good woman, tongue and all.
_Betsey._ [_Singing again, behind the scenes._]
_For her, of buttercups and violets,
A circlet for her hair he makes;
And sings, in roundelays and triolets,
A song that soon her fancy takes.
In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do,
If, while he walks close by her side,
Her lover begins to woo?_
_Diggory._ I'm not a judge of songs, but if she means half she
says--and a woman sometimes does--some one is about to be the top
feather in Fortune's cap; it may be me. I'll try my luck once more.
[_Going toward R. wing_] Why, here she comes.
_Enter BETSEY, with a pair of butter paddles._
_Betsey._ [_Entering._]
_Adown the moonlit path they walk,
Through all the world called lover's lane,
And hand in hand they sigh and talk
Of the love that binds them, happy twain!_
What are you gaping like a great gaby for?
_Diggory._ For Fortune to drop the plum into my mouth.
_Betsey._ Where is the plum?
_Diggory._ There. [_Pointing at her._]
_Betsey._ You silly fellow! yesterday I was a peach; the day before
strawberries and cream; the day before that a rose; and last week a
dove--marry, I don't coo for you! Can I be all these things at once
and still be Betsey Tomkins?
_Diggory._ O, Betsey, thou art all the world to me!
_Betsey._ O, Diggory, thou art a great fool to me! Why, man, thy
head is as soft as a pat of butter; I could take it between my
paddles, like this, and mold it into any shape I chose.
_Diggory._ So you may, Betsey; so you may. And, Betsey, for the love
of mercy, mold it into the head of thy future husband.
_Betsey._ 'Twould take a pair of shears to do that.
_Diggory._ Wouldst thou marry me, Betsey, if I should lose my pretty
locks?
_Betsey._ I would not marry you with them, that's flat.
_Diggory._ Shall I shave my head or only clip it close?
_Betsey._ Cut it off, Diggory, cut it off.
_Diggory._ Kiss me but once, Betsey, and I'll cut my head off; 'tis
of little use to me now, and if thou dost marry me--well, thy head
shall rest upon my shoulder, like this, and one head is enough for
any pair of shoulders.
_Betsey._ _In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide,
O, what can a maiden do_, etc. [_Exeunt._