cratching a blot.
But the lark
And the clerk,
I remark,
Comfort me not!

Over the ripening peach
Buzzes the bee.
Splash on the billowy beach
Tumbles the sea.
But the peach
And the beach
They are each
Nothing to me!
And why?
Who am I?
Daft Madge! Crazy Meg!
Mad Margaret! Poor Peg!
He! he! he! he! (chuckling).

Mad, I?
Yes, very!
But why?
Mystery!
Don't call!
Whisht! whisht!
No crime--
'Tis only
That I'm
Love-lonely!
That's all!

BALLAD--MARGARET.

To a garden full of posies
Cometh one to gather flowers,
And he wanders through its bowers
Toying with the wanton roses,
Who, uprising from their beds,
Hold on high their shameless heads
With their pretty lips a-pouting,
Never doubting--never doubting
That for Cytherean posies
He would gather aught but roses!

In a nest of weeds and nettles
Lay a violet, half-hidden,
Hoping that his glance unbidden
Yet might fall upon her petals.
Though she lived alone, apart,
Hope lay nestling at her heart,
But, alas, the cruel awaking
Set her little heart a-breaking,
For he gathered for his posies
Only roses--only roses!
(Bursts into tears.)

(Enter Rose.)

ROSE. A maiden, and in tears? Can I do aught to soften thy
sorrow? This app