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Mother. Well! I have done my song. But stay, honest anglers; for
I will
make Maudlin sing you one short song more. Maudlin ! sing that song
that you sung last night, when young Coridon the shepherd played
so
purely on his oaten pipe to you and your cousin Betty.
Maudlin. I will, mother.
I married a wife of late,
The more's my unhappy fate:
I married her for love,
As my fancy did me move,
And not for a worldly estate:
But oh! the green sickness
Soon changed her likeness;
And all her beauty did fail.
But 'tis not so
With those that go
Thro'frost and s
As
As all men know,
And carry the milking-pail.
Piscator. Well sung, good woman; I thank you. I'll give you another
dish
of fish one of these days; and then beg another song of you. Come,
scholar ! let Maudlin alone: do not you offer to spoil her voice.
Look !
yonder comes mine hostess, to call us to supper. How now! is my
brother Peter come?
Hostess. Yes, and a friend with him. They are both glad to hear
that you
are in these parts; and long to see you; and long to be at supper,
for they
be very hungry.
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