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'
The sparkling frost-stars brave
On thy shrouded bosom lie;
Thou art gone apart to dwell,
But I fain would have said good-bye.
For love of thee in thy grave
I have lived a better man,
O my Mary Anne,
My Mary Anne.

_Mrs. Thorpe (aside)._ O hearts! why, what a song!
To think on it, and he a married man!
_Mrs. Jillifer (aside)._ Bless you, that makes for nothing, nothing at
all,
They take no heed upon the words. His wife,
Look you, as pleased as may be, smiles on him.
_Mrs. T. (aside)._ Neighbours, there's one thing beats me. We've enough
O' trouble in the world; I've cried my fill
Many and many a time by my own fire:
Now why, I'll ask you, should it comfort me
And ease my heart when, pitiful and sweet,
One sings of other souls and how they mourned?
A body would have thought that did not know
Songs must be merry, full of feast and mirth.
Or else would all folk flee away from them.
_Mrs.


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