The sons of the tillage Who dwell in this village Are people of lowly degree—degree. Though honest and active, They're most unattractive, And awkward as awkward can be—can be. They're clumsy clodhoppers With axes and choppers, And shepherds and ploughmen And drovers and cowmen, And hedgers and reapers And carters and keepers, But never a lover for me! ENSEMBLE. BRIDESMAIDS. BUCKS AND BLADES. So welcome gentry, etc. When thoroughly tired, etc. (Enter Sir Despard Murgatroyd.) SONG AND CHORUS—SIR DESPARD. SIR D. Oh, why am I moody and sad? CH. Can't guess! SIR D. And why am I guiltily mad? CH. Confess! SIR D. Because I am thoroughly bad! CH. Oh yes— SIR D. You'll see it at once in my face. Oh, why am I husky and hoarse? CH. Ah, why? SIR D. It's the workings of conscience, of course. CH. Fie, fie! SIR D. And huskiness stands for remorse, CH. Oh my! SIR D. At least it does so in my case! SIR D. When in crime one is fully employed— CH. Like you— SIR D. Your expression gets warped and destroyed: CH. It do. SIR D. It's a penalty none can avoid; CH. How true! SIR D. I once was a nice-looking youth; But like stone from a strong catapult— CH. (explaining to each other). A trice— SIR D. I rushed at my terrible cult— CH. (explaining to each other). That's vice— SIR D. Observe the unpleasant result! CH. Not nice. SIR D. Indeed I am telling the truth! SIR D. Oh, innocent, happy though poor! CH. That's we— SIR D. If I had been virtuous, I'm sure— CH. Like me— SIR D. I should be as nice-looking as you're! CH. May be. SIR D. You are very nice-looking indeed! Oh, innocents, listen in time— CH. We doe, SIR D. Avoid an existence of crime— CH. Just so— SIR D. Or you'll be as ugly as I'm— CH. (loudly). No! No! SIR D. And now, if you please, we'll proceed. (All the girls express their horror of Sir Despard. As he approaches them they fly from him, terror-stricken, leaving him alone on the stage.)