Mer . [Sings .]
Or let her come, or go, or tarry.
Vent . Mock not my misery; it is your son
(Whom I have made my own, when all forsook him)
Has stoln
my only joy, my child, away.
Mer . [Sings .]
And himself upon a grey;
He never turned his face again,
But he bore her quite away.
Vent . Unworthy of the kindness I have shown
To thee and thine! too late I well perceive
Thou art consenting
to my daughter’s loss.
Mer . Your daughter! what a stir’s here wi’ your daughter?
Let her go, think no more on her, but sing
loud. If
both my sons were on the gallows, I would sing, [Sings .
Down, and arise they never shall.
Vent . Oh, might I behold her once again,
And she once more embrace her aged sire!
Mer . Fie, how scurvily this goes! “And she once more embrace her aged sire?” You’ll make a dog on her, will ye? she cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you.
[Sings .
She cares not for her mammy,
For she is, she is, she is, she is
My lord of Lowgave’s lassy.
Vent . For this thy scorn I will pursue that son
Of thine to death.
Mer . Do; and when you ha’ killed him,
[Sings .
Give him red, and white, and blue, green, and yellow.
Vent . I’ll fetch my daughter—
Mer . I’ll hear no more o’ your daughter; it spoils my mirth.
Vent . I say, I’ll fetch my daughter.
Mer . [Sings .]
Down, down,
Tormented as I poor Sir Guy,
De derry down,
For Lucy’s sake, that lady bright,
Down, down,
As ever men beheld with eye,
De derry down.
Vent . I’ll be revenged, by Heaven!
[Exeunt severally .
[Wife . How dost thou like this, George?
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