ETHEL. No, never. No matter how much trouble you take, or what pains
you are (_he sighs feebly_) at (_he totters_), they are so ungrateful.
MAUD. Yes, always.
ETHEL. Well, I believe we can't venture to decide this morning (_he
staggers_) about the shade. We will very likely return to-morrow.
[_He raises a weakly deprecating hand._
MAUD (_aside, as the two ladies are going_). Well, we got off quite
nicely.
ETHEL. Yes, didn't we! I wouldn't be seen in either of those horrid
things; would you?
MAUD. No.
[_Newcome falls to the earth with a groan of despair; the
Chorus rush forward and gently raise him in their arms.
As they bear him off, they sing, in a doleful and yet
half-malicious fashion_:
_Chorus._
Poor Newcome!
You are not the first man they have ended,
And left on the cold ground extended;
Or to whom they have sweetly pretended,
On whose taste they have weakly depended;--
Whom they've left on the cold ground extended,
Minus money they never expended,
On goods that they never intended
To buy,
Heigh-o, heigh,
O--O--!
[_They retreat_, C., _as the ladies exeunt_, R., L. _Music
pianissimo as curtain falls._