Solo

Why, young orphan, all this wailing?

“Would to heaven that I were dead!
For my guardian’s craft prevailing

Soon will make me beg my bread.”
Knowing well the rascal genus,

Into court I dragg’d the knave;
Fair the judges were between us,

And the maiden’s wealth did save.

CHORUS.

Surely we for wine may languish!

Let the bumper then go round!
For all sighs and groans of anguish

Thou to-day in joy hast drown’d.