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Just as you please: I don't care.

I'll send them off then. (To Jenkins, who comes forward.) Take them all to the other side of the house, and make them play under Miss Martin's window. You understand.(Aside.)

Yes, sir. (Exeunt Jenkins and music, and enter Will, who retires to a corner of the stage.

How did you like my song, Hanabella?

Very well: but la! it an't the song you promised to make upon me: it don't say one word about either you or I.

Ay, but it does tho'; for you are Celia, and I am the shepherd, and that is the fashion of love-songs.

Well, that is so droll!

So it is,—And now, my dearest creature, fulfil