I lighted down, she leaned full low,
Nor chid that hour's delay.
With thee Mary, with thee Mary,
Methought my life to crown,
But we ride up, but we ride up,
No more from yonder town.
Waiting on the weather,
Thou and I together,
Waiting on the weather,
Till the flood go down.


_Mrs. J. (aside)._ Well, very well; but what of fiddler Sam?
I ask you, neighbours, if't be not his turn.
An honest man, and ever pays his score;
Born in the parish, old, blind as a bat,
And strangers sing before him; 't is a shame!

_Mrs. S. (aside)._ Ay, but his daughter--

_Mrs. J. (aside)._ Why, the maid's a maid
One would not set to guide the chant in church,
But when she sings to earn her father's bread,
The mildest mother's son may cry 'Amen.'

_Mrs. S. (aside)._ They say he plays not always true.

_Mrs. J. (aside)_ What then?

_Mrs. T. (aside)._ Here comes my lady. She's too fat by half