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For poor folks Beauty is utility,
And fitness, home-spun habit and grogram gown.
Care for the woven web and plenishing gear
And healthful labour shall be your concern,
With no fantastick care for Beauty.
Sylvie:
Nay,
You will not chide me, leaning at the loom,
If from the lattice I may gaze at whiles
Upon the giant pear-tree at your door,
I us'd to dream the fairies lov'd the tree
And I would garland it each holyday,
At dawn and twilight it would whisper me
A message from the fairies.
Cassandre:
Ah, the pear,
With all its bounteous blossom, it fruited ill,
I fell'd it lately, grubb'd the root away,
