Copyright © 2004 by Paul Howarth
All Rights Reserved

[Maidens] In a doleful train
Two and two we walk all day;
For we love in vain!
None so sorrowful as they
Who can only sigh and say,
Woe is me, alackaday!
Woe is me, alackaday!

[Dragoons] Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous?
A thoroughpaced absurdity, explain it if you can.
Instead of rushing eagerly to cherish us and foster us,
They all prefer this melancholy literary man.
Instead of slyly peering at us,
Casting looks endearing at us,
Blushing at us, flushing at us, flirting with a fan;
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us, jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!
They're actually sneering at us, fleering at us, jeering at us!
Pretty sort of treatment for a military man!

[Angela] Mystic poet, hear our prayer,
Twenty lovesick maidens we;
Young and wealthy, dark and fair,
All of county family.
And we die for love of thee:
Twenty lovesick maidens we!

[Maidens] Yes, we die for love of thee:
Twenty lovesick maidens we!

[Bunthorne] Though my book I seem to scan
In a rapt ecstatic way,
Like a literary man
Who despises female clay,
I hear plainly all they say,
Twenty lovesick maidens they!

[Dragoons] He hears plainly all they say,
Twenty lovesick maidens they!

[Saphir] Though so excellently wise,
For a moment mortal be,
Deign to raise thy purple eyes
From thy heartdrawn poesy.
Twenty lovesick maidens see:
Each is kneeling on her knee!

[Maidens] Twenty lovesick maidens see:
Each is kneeling on her knee!

[Bunthorne] Though, as I remarked before,
Anyone convinced would be
That some transcendental lore
Is monopolizing me,
Round the corner I can see
Each is kneeling on her knee!

[Dragoons] Round the corner he can see
Each is kneeling on her knee!

Now is not this ridiculous, and is not this preposterous?
A thoroughpaced absurdity, ridiculous!
preposterous!
Explain it if you can.

[Maidens] In a doleful train
Two and two we walk all day,
For we love in vain!
None so sorrowful as they
Who can only sigh and say,
Woe is me, alackaday!
Woe is me, alackaday!

Twenty lovesick maidens we,
And we die for love of thee!
Yes, we die for love of thee!

By Arthur Sullivan
Generated by NoteWorthy Composer

Patience No. 4
Lyrics
Sopranos
Contraltos
Dragoons
Right Hand
Left Hand
Conductor