oet hath hymned
The writhing maid, lithe-limbed,
Quivering on amaranthine asphodel,
How can he paint her woes,
Knowing, as well he knows,
That all can be set right with calomel?

When from the poet's plinth
The amorous colocynth
Yearns for the aloe, faint with rapturous thrills,
How can he hymn their throes
Knowing, as well he knows,
That they are only uncompounded pills?

Is it, and can it be,
Nature hath this decree,
Nothing poetic in the world shall dwell?
Or that in all her works
Something poetic lurks,
Even in colocynth and calomel?
I cannot tell.

[He goes off, L.U.E. All turn and watch him, not speaking until
he has gone.]

ANGELA How purely fragrant!

SAPHIR How earnestly precious!

PATIENCE Well, it seems to me to be nonsense.

SAPHIR Nonsense, yes, perhaps -- but oh, what precious nonsense!

COLONEL This is all very well, but you seem to forget that you
are engaged to us.

SAPHIR It can never be. You are not Empyrean. You are not
Della Cruscan. You are not even Early English. Oh, be Early
English ere it is too late!

[Officers look at each other in astonishment.]

JANE [looking at uniform] Red and Yellow! Primary colors! Oh,
South Kensington!

DUKE We didn't design our uniforms, but we don't see how they
could be improved!

JANE No, you wouldn't. Still, there is a cobwebby grey velvet,
with a tender bloom like cold gravy, which, made Florentine
fourteenth century, trimmed with Venetian leather and Spanish
altar lace, and surmounted with something Japanese -- it matters
not what -- would at least be Early English! Come, maidens.

[Exeunt Maidens, L.U.E., two and two, singing refrain of "Twenty
love-sick maidens we". PATIENCE goes off L. The Officers
watch the Ladies go off in astonishment.]

No. 4a. Twenty love-sick maidens we
(Chorus)
Maidens

[As the MAIDENS depart, the DRAGOONS spread across the stage.]

MAIDENS Twenty love-sick maidens we,
Love-sick all against our will.
Twenty years hence we shall be
Tw