Here's the first verse:
"Who is Sylvia? What is she
That all the swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she,
The heavens such grace did lend her
That she might admired be."
I advise you to invest in doublet, hose, plumed hat, and guitar, and try
the effect of a serenade under our Sylvia's--beg pardon, _your_ Sylvia's
window. The fellow in the play made a great hit, so there's no telling
what you might accomplish.
I hated leaving the Littles', for the good time I had there sure beat the
good time I had on shipboard "to a frazzle"; but I soon found out that
the business part of the trip was going to be a good deal more
interesting and absorbing than I had imagined it would be. My
interpreter, Hans Roorda, a fellow several years younger than I am, can
speak five languages, all equally well, and I kept him busy talking
French to me. We were in the country almost three weeks. The farmers
haven't half the mechanical conveniences that we considered absolutely
necessary even in our least prosperous days, but are marvels of order and
efficiency, for all that.
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