agony he died!

CHORUS. And thus, with sinning cloyed,
Has died each Murgatroyd,
And so shall fall,
Both one and all,
Each coming Murgatroyd!

(Exeunt Chorus of Bridesmaids.)

(Enter Rose Maybud from cottage, with small basket on her arm.)

HAN. Whither away, dear Rose? On some errand of charity,
as is thy wont?
ROSE. A few gifts, dear aunt, for deserving villagers. Lo,
here is some peppermint rock for old gaffer Gadderby, a set of
false teeth for pretty little Ruth Rowbottom, and a pound of
snuff for the poor orphan girl on the hill.
HAN. Ah, Rose, pity that so much goodness should not help
to make some gallant youth happy for life! Rose, why dost thou
harden that little heart of thine? Is there none hereaway whom
thou couldst love?
ROSE. And if there were such an one, verily it would ill
become me to tell him so.
HAN. Nay, dear one, where true love is, there is little
need of prim formality.
ROSE. Hush, dear aunt, for thy words pain me sorely. Hung
in a plated dish-cover to the knocker of the workhouse door, with
naught that I could call mine own, save a change of baby-linen
and a book of etiquette, little wonder if I have always regarded
that work as a voice from a parent's tomb. This hallowed volume
(producing a book of etiquette), composed, if I may believe the
title-page, by no less an authority than the wife of a Lord
Mayor, has been, through life, my guide and monitor. By its
solemn precepts I have learnt to test the moral worth of all who
approach me. The man who bites his bread, or eats peas with a
knife, I look upon as a lost creature, and he who has not
acquired the proper way of entering and leaving a room is the
object of my pitying horror. There are those in this village who
bite their nails, dear aunt, and nearly all are wont to use their
pocket combs in public places. In truth I could pursue this
painful theme much further, but behold, I have said enough.
HAN. But is there not one among them who is faultless, in
thine eyes? For example--young Robin. He combines the manners
of a Marquis with the morals of a Methodist. Couldst thou not
love him?
ROSE. And even if I could, how should I confess it unto
him? For lo, he is shy, and sayeth naugh