11
Enter Phyllis.
| Recit.—Phyllis. | My well-loved Lord and Guardian dear, |
| Chorus of Peers. | Oh, rapture, how beautiful! |
Solo—Lord Tolloller.
Of all the young ladies I know
This pretty young lady's the fairest;
Her lips have the rosiest show,
Her eyes are the richest and rarest.
Her origin's lowly, it's true,
But of birth and position we've plenty;
We've grammar and spelling for two,
And blood and behaviour for twenty!
| Chorus. | Her origin's lowly, it's true, |
Solo—Earl of Mountararat.
Though the views of the House have diverged
On every conceivable motion,
All questions of Party are merged
In a frenzy of love and devotion;
If you ask us distinctly to say
What Party we claim to belong to,
We reply, without doubt or delay,
The Party I'm singing this song to!
| Chorus. | If you ask us distinctly to say, |
Solo—Phyllis.
I'm very much pained to refuse,
But I'll stick to my pipes and my tabors;
I can spell all the words that I use,
And my grammar's as good as my neighbours'
As for birth—I was born like the rest,
My behaviour is rustic but hearty,
And I know where to turn for the best,
When I want a particular Party!
| Chorus. | Though her station is none of the best, |
