"How could I be?" said Martin. "The flowers must always be forgiven,
because their inconsistencies lie always at men's doors. Besides,
who does not love fairy-tales?"

Then Martin kicked his heels against the tree and sang idly:

When cuckoos fly in shoes
And foxes run in gloves,
Then butterflies won't go in twos
And boys will leave their loves.

"A silly song," said Joscelyn.

Martin: If you say so. For my part I can never tell the difference
between silliness and sense.

Jane: Then how can a good song be told from a bad? You must go by
something.

Martin: I go by the sound. But since Mistress Joscelyn pronounces my
song silly, I can only suppose she has seen cuckoos flying in shoes.

Joscelyn: You are always supposing nonsense. Who ever heard of
cuckoos flying in shoes?

Jane: Or of foxes running in gloves?

Joan: Or of butterflies going in ones?

Martin: Or of boys--