ce of the Ladies.
BUNTHORNE enters, L.U.E., followed by the Ladies, two and
two, playing on harps as before. He is composing a poem,
and is quite absorbed. He sees no one, but walks across the
stage, followed by the Ladies, who take no notice of the
DRAGOONS -- to the surprise and indignation of those
officers.]

[Bunthorne, the Ladies following, comes slowly down L. and then
crosses the stage to R.]

No. 4. In a doleful train
(Chorus and Solos)
Maidens, Ella, Angela, Saphir, Dragoons, and Bunthorne

MAIDENS In a doleful train
Two and two we walk all day--
For we love in vain!
None so sorrowful as they
Who can only sigh and say,
Woe is me, alackaday!
Woe is me, alackaday!

DRAGOONS Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this
preposterous?
A thorough-paced absurdity -- explain it if you
can.
Instead of rushing eagerly to cherish us and foster us,
They all prefer this melancholy literary man.
Instead of slyly peering at us,
Casting looks endearing at us,
Blushing at us, flushing at us, flirting with a fan;
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us,
jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us,
jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!

[Bunthorne, C.]

ANGELA [R. of BUNTHORNE] Mystic poet, hear our prayer,
Twenty love-sick maidens we--
Young and wealthy, dark and fair,
All of county family.
And we die for love of thee--
Twenty love-sick maidens we!

MAIDENS Yes, we die for love of thee--
Twenty love-sick maidens we!

BUNTHORNE [crossing to L.] Though my book I seem to scan
In a rapt ecstatic way,
Like a literary man
Who despises female clay,
I hear plainly all they say,
Twenty love-sick maidens they!

[BUNTHORNE crosses to C.]