Lisbeth

If him she gets, why let her beware! The boys shall dash her wreath on the floor, And we’ll scatter chaff before her door! [Exit.

MARGARET (returning home)

How scornfully I once reviled, When some poor maiden was beguiled! More speech than any tongue suffices I craved, to censure others’ vices. Black as it seemed, I blackened still, And blacker yet was in my will; And blessed myself, and boasted high,— And now—a living sin am I! Yet—all that drove my heart thereto, God! was so good, so dear, so true!