DUET.

_She_. While he dreams, mine old grand sire,
And yon red logs glow,
Honey, whisper by the fire,
Whisper, honey low.

_He_. Honey, high's yon weary hill,
Stiff's yon weary loam;
Lacks the work o' my goodwill,
Fain I'd take thee home.
O how much longer, and longer, and longer,
An' how much longer shall the waiting last?
Berries red are grown, April birds are flown,
Martinmas gone over, ay, and harvest past.

_She_. Honey, bide, the time's awry,
Bide awhile, let be.
_He_. Take my wage then, lay it by,
Till 't come back with thee.
The red money, the white money,
Both to thee I bring--
_She_. Bring ye ought beside, honey?
_He_. Honey, ay, the ring.

_Duet_. But how much longer, and longer, and longer,
O how much longer shall the waiting last?
Berries red are grown, April birds are flown,
Martinmas gone over, and the harvest past.