Lackaday!
Let the tears fall free
For the pretty little flower
And the great oak tree!

BOTH. Sing hey,
Lackaday! etc.

When she found that he was fickle,
Was that great oak tree,
She was in a pretty pickle,
As she well might be--
But his gallantries were mickle,
For Death followed with his sickle,
And her tears began to trickle
For her great oak tree!
Sing hey,
Lackaday! etc.

BOTH. Sing hey,
Lackaday! etc.

Said she, "He loved me never,
Did that great oak tree,
But I'm neither rich nor clever,
And so why should he?
But though fate our fortunes sever,
To be constant I'll endeavour,
Aye, for ever and for ever,
To my great oak tree!'
Sing hey,
Lackaday! etc.

BOTH. Sing hey,
Lackaday! etc.

(Falls weeping on Sir Roderic's bosom.)

(Enter Robin, excitedly, followed by all the characters and Chorus
of Bridesmaids.)

ROB. Stop a bit--both of you.
ROD. This intrusion is unmannerly.
HAN. I'm surprised at you.
ROB. I can't stop to apologize--an idea has just occurred
to me. A Baronet of Ruddigore can only die through refusing to
commit his daily crime.
ROD. No doubt.
ROB. Therefore, to refuse to commit a daily crime is
tantamount to suicide!
ROD. It would seem so.
ROB. But suicide is, itself, a crime--and so, by your own
showing, you ought never to have died at all!
ROD. I see--I understand! Then I'm practically alive!
ROB. Undoubtedly! (Sir Roderic embraces Dame Hannah.) Rose,
when you believed that I was a simple farmer, I believe you loved
me?
ROSE. Madly, passionately!
ROB. But when I became a bad baronet, you very properly
loved Richard instead?
ROSE. Passionately, madly!
ROB. But if I should turn out not to be a bad baronet after
all, how would you love me then?
ROSE. Madly, passionately!
ROB. As before?
ROSE. Why, of course.