"Beat! Beat! upon the board. Moscow! Moscow! that's the word. Moscow's got it in his head That Kolomna he will wed. Tula laughs with all his heart. But with the dowry will not part. Buckwheat is tuppence. It's twenty for oats. Millet is sixpence and barley three groats. [_Turns towards the girls_. If only oats would but come down! It's costly carting 'em to town." See! What weather! MÁSHA. This doesn't concern us. LÍZA. We don't trade in flour. ANNA IVÁNOVNA. What are you interrupting for! Just guess this riddle. What's this: round--but not a girl; with a tail--but not a mouse?[1] [Footnote 1: A turnip.] RAZLYULYÁYEV. That's a hard one! ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Indeed it is!--You just think it over! Now, girls, come along! [_The girls rise and get ready to go_] Come along, boys! GÚSLIN _and_ RAZLYULYÁYEV _get ready_. MÍTYA. But I'll come later. I'll put things to rights here first. ANNA IVÁNOVNA. [_Sings while they are getting ready_] "Our maids last night, Our pretties last night, They brewed us a brew of the beer last night. And there came to our maids, And there came to our pretties A guest, a guest whom they didn't invite." ANNA IVÁNOVNA _lets them all pass through the door, except_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA; _she shuts the door and does not allow her to pass_. SCENE X MÍTYA _and_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_At the door_] Stop, don't be silly! [_Through the door the girls are heard laughing_] They won't let me out! Oh, what girls! [_Walks away from the door_] They're always up to something. MÍTYA. [_Hands her a chair_] Be seated, Lyubóv Gordéyevna, and talk to me for just a moment. I'm very glad to see you in my room. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Why are you glad? I don't understand. MÍTYA. Oh, why!--It is very pleasant for me to see on your side such consideration; it is above my deserts to receive it from you. This is the second time I have had the good fortune-- LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. There's nothing in that! I came here, sat awhile, and went away again. That means nothing. Maybe I'll go away again at once. MÍTYA. Oh, no! Don't go!--Why should you! [_Takes the paper out of his pocket_] Permit me to present to you my work, the best I can do--from my heart. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. What is this? MÍTYA. I made these verses just for you. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Trying to hide her joy_] Still, it may be just some sort of foolishness--not worth reading. MÍTYA. That I cannot judge, because I wrote it myself, and without studying besides. LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Read it. MÍTYA. Directly. _Seats himself at the table, and takes the paper_: LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _approaches very near to him_. "In the meadow no grasses wither, And never a flower doth fade; However a fair lad fadeth That once was a lusty blade.