Was what she wanted him to do,
And so the same would all of you,
Tra-la-la-la-Tra-la,
But she withdrew from his embrace,
Tra-la, la-la, Tra-la,
And mocked poor Farmer to his face,
Tra-la-la-la, Tra-la,
And danced away along the lane
And cried 'Before I'm here again
Poor Farmer Brown you'll dance with Pain,"
Tra-la-la-la-Tra-la,
And that was true as you shall hear,
Tra-la, la-la, Tra-la,
Poor Farmer Brown danced many a year,
Tra-la-la-la, Tra-la,
But never once that maid did see,
He grew as aged as aged could be.
And danced into Eterni-tee,
Tra-la-la-la-Tra-la.
The red-flaming beadle moved down the steps, and behind him came the drum, the trumpet and the flute. The drum a stout fellow with wide spreading legs, had from the practice of many year, and his father and grandfather having been drummers before him, caught the exact measure of the tune. Along the market-place went the beadle, the drum, the trumpet and the flute.
For a moment a marvellous silence fell.
To Harkness this silence was exquisite. The myriad stars, the high buildings, their façades ruby-coloured with the leaping light, the dark piled background, the crowd humming now with quiet, like
