Before I can lend my daughter to you, I feel that I
must know something of you. I think that is the best way, is it
not? (With a very friendly smile) The cider is good, you know.
TALKER (rising and boning). Madame, we need say no more.
[The other three come in. The DAUGHTER has found from somewhere a
cap with a red feather in it. They stand in a row opposite the
MOTHER, and to the FIDDLER'S accompaniment sing a merry song.]
TOGETHER. The cuckoo comes in April,
Sings his song in May,
Changes his tune in the middle of June,
And then he flies away.
HE. The cuckoo comes when April's here--
He is not very good, I fear.
He goes and takes another nest--
Perhaps he does it for the best.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! ...
SHE. When April's over he begins
Repenting of his former sins;
From tree to tree he takes his way,
But this is all he finds to say:
Cuckoo! Cuckoo! ...
HE. By June he gets a trifle flat,
Which is not to be wondered at,
And critical observers note
A huskiness about the throat.
(Huskily) Cuckoo! Cuckoo! ...
SHE. Alas! he does not stay for long,
But other birds take up the song
Of summer gently following
The wild and happy days of Spring.
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