"A long song is out of place over good liquor; so I'll not sing the
other eighteen verses of that one; its moral is, that a woman can't keep
a secret, even when the possession of what she desires depends on it;
but that her babbling often proves her salvation. A friar comes in
sight, while the forester is wooing, and he packs the maid off, for
appearance' sake;--telling her, if she'll meet him there the next day,
provided she don't reveal his promise to mortal, that he'll give her 'a
gown of the richest green,' besprinkled with dewy pearls, or pearly dew,
I forget which: but the maiden was so delighted, that when she got to
the Chase, she told the warden's niece, and the warden's niece told the
maiden's aunt, and the maiden's aunt locked her up for a week: so she
saved her reputation, but lost her present, by babbling.--Gentlemen, you
don't drink!"