tention to them.]

No. 12. Turn, oh, turn in this direction
(Chorus)
Maidens

Turn, oh, turn in this direction,
Shed, oh, shed a gentle smile,
With a glance of sad perfection,
Our poor fainting hearts beguile!

On such eyes as maidens cherish
Let thy fond adorers gaze,
Or incontinently perish,
In their all-consuming rays!
Or incontinently perish,
In their all-consuming rays!

[GROSVENOR sits, R.; they group themselves around him in a
formation similar to that which opens Act I.]

GROS. [aside, not looking up] The old, old tale. How
rapturously these maidens love me, and how hopelessly! [He looks
up.] Oh, Patience, Patience, with the love of thee in my heart,
what have I for these poor mad maidens but an unvalued pity?
Alas, they will die of hopeless love for me, as I shall die of
hopeless love for thee!

ANGELA Sir, will it please you read to us?

GROS. [sighing] Yes, child, if you will. What shall I read?

ANGELA One of your own poems.

GROS. One of my own poems? Better not, my child. They will not
cure thee of thy love. [All sigh.]

ELLA Mr. Bunthorne used to read us a poem of his own every day.

SAPHIR And, to do him justice, he read them extremely well.

GROS. Oh, did he so? Well, who am I that I should take upon
myself to withhold my gifts from you? What am I but a trustee?
Here is a decalet -- a pure and simple thing, a very daisy -- a
babe might understand it. To appreciate it, it is not necessary
to think of anything at all.

ANGELA Let us think of nothing at all!

GROS. [reciting]

Gentle Jane was as good as gold,
She always did as she was told;
She never spoke when her mouth was full,
Or caught bluebottles their legs to pull,
Or spilt plum jam on her nice new frock,
Or put white mice in the eight-day clock,
Or vivisected her last new doll,
Or fostered a passion for alcohol.
And when she grew up she was given in marriage
To a first-class earl who keeps his carriage!

GROS. I believe I am right in saying that there is not one word
in that decalet which is calculated to bring the blush of sh