The Queen netted lace On the first April day, The Queen wore her lace In the first week of May, The Queen soiled her lace Ere May was out again, So the Queen washed her lace In the first June rain. The Queen bleached her lace On the first of July, She spread it in the orchard And left it there to dry, But on the first of August It wasn't in its place Because my sweetheart picked it up And hung it o'er her face. She laughed at me, she blushed at me, With such a pretty grace That I kissed her in September Through the Queen's own lace. At the end of the song Gillian sat up in the grass, and looked with all her heart over the duckpond. Joscelyn: I find your songs singularly lacking in point, singer. Martin: You surprise me, Mistress Joscelyn. The kiss was the point. Joscelyn: It is like you to think so. It is just like you to think a--a--a-- Martin: --kiss-- Joscelyn: Sufficient conclusion to any circumstances. Martin: Isn't it? Joscelyn: My goodness! You might as soon ask, is a peardrop sufficient for a body's dinner. Martin: It would suffice me. I love peardrops. But then I am a man. Women doubtless need more substance, being in themselves more insubstantial. Now as to your quarrel with my song-- Joscelyn: It is of no consequence. You raise expectations which you do not fulfill. But it is not of the least consequence. Martin: Dear Mistress Joscelyn, my only desire is to please you. We will not conclude on a kiss. You shall fulfill your own expectations. Joscelyn: Mine?--I have no expectations whatever. Martin: But I have disappointed you. What shall I do with my sweetheart? Shall she be whipped for her theft? Shall she be shut in a dungeon? Shall she be thrown before elephants? Choose your conclusion. Joan: But, Master Pippin!--why must the poor sweetheart be punished? I am sure Joscelyn never wished her to be punished. There are other conclusions. Martin: Dunderhead that I am, I can't think of any! What, Mistress Joscelyn, was the conclusion you expected? Joscelyn: I tell you, I expected none! Joan: Why, Master Pippin! I should have fancied that, seeing the dear sweetheart had hung the veil over her face, she might-- Martin: Yes? Joan: Be expected-- Martin: Yes! Joan: To be about to be-- Joscelyn: I am sick to death of this silly sweetheart. And since our mistress appears to be listening with both her ears, it would be more to the point to begin whatever story you propose to relate to-night, and be done with it. Martin: You are always right. Therefore add your ears to hers, while I tell you the tale of Open Winkins. OPEN WINKINS