Chapter 8

_Diggory._ If there be no true charm but it hath a touch of folly in it, this one must be most potent. Now a wise man would not think there's that virtue in a bit of grease, a jingling rhyme, and a hair cut, that one might thereby win a woman's love--but the wise are fools in love. I have here the lard of three bears--one more than the old adage of "bear and forbear"--and with it I am to anoint my head as an enchantment to bring about my marriage to Betsey--marry, I'll temper the strength of the charm with a little bergamot, for in truth two of the bears have been dead over-long. Whew!--Aha! enchantment is the only highway to success in love! Now let me see: "Lady love, lady love, where'er you be"--

_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]

_Little bird, little bird, come tell me true; If I love my love, as your love loves you, And if he loves me, as you love your mate; How long, little bird, should I make him wait?_

_Diggory._ That's Betsey singing now! If the charm works like this, bear fat will be worth its weight in gold. But perhaps my features may have pleased her after all--I'm not bad to look upon; and truly I would save my hair; it's the best part about me. Singing again.

_Betsey._ [_Singing behind the scenes_]

_In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide, O, what can a maiden do, If, while he walks close by her side, Her lover begins to woo?_

_Diggory._ Now I wonder where she learnt all those profane songs? From some liberal folk in the old country, no doubt; they ill become a puritan. If she were a little slower in her speech, what an angel she would be! As it is, she is a very good woman, tongue and all.

_Betsey._ [_Singing again, behind the scenes._]

_For her, of buttercups and violets, A circlet for her hair he makes; And sings, in roundelays and triolets, A song that soon her fancy takes. In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide, O, what can a maiden do, If, while he walks close by her side, Her lover begins to woo?_

_Diggory._ I'm not a judge of songs, but if she means half she says--and a woman sometimes does--some one is about to be the top feather in Fortune's cap; it may be me. I'll try my luck once more. [_Going toward R. wing_] Why, here she comes.

_Enter BETSEY, with a pair of butter paddles._

_Betsey._ [_Entering._]

_Adown the moonlit path they walk, Through all the world called lover's lane, And hand in hand they sigh and talk Of the love that binds them, happy twain!_

What are you gaping like a great gaby for?

_Diggory._ For Fortune to drop the plum into my mouth.

_Betsey._ Where is the plum?

_Diggory._ There. [_Pointing at her._]

_Betsey._ You silly fellow! yesterday I was a peach; the day before strawberries and cream; the day before that a rose; and last week a dove--marry, I don't coo for you! Can I be all these things at once and still be Betsey Tomkins?

_Diggory._ O, Betsey, thou art all the world to me!

_Betsey._ O, Diggory, thou art a great fool to me! Why, man, thy head is as soft as a pat of butter; I could take it between my paddles, like this, and mold it into any shape I chose.

_Diggory._ So you may, Betsey; so you may. And, Betsey, for the love of mercy, mold it into the head of thy future husband.

_Betsey._ 'Twould take a pair of shears to do that.

_Diggory._ Wouldst thou marry me, Betsey, if I should lose my pretty locks?

_Betsey._ I would not marry you with them, that's flat.

_Diggory._ Shall I shave my head or only clip it close?

_Betsey._ Cut it off, Diggory, cut it off.

_Diggory._ Kiss me but once, Betsey, and I'll cut my head off; 'tis of little use to me now, and if thou dost marry me--well, thy head shall rest upon my shoulder, like this, and one head is enough for any pair of shoulders.

_Betsey._ _In Summer-tide, sweet Summer-tide, O, what can a maiden do_, etc. [_Exeunt._