Julie. Oh, indeed! So it’s Christine again?

John. Yes; but it’s on your account as well. Take my advice and* go- up and go* to bed.

Julie. Shall I obey you?

John. This once for your own sake, I ask you; it’s late at night, sleepiness makes one dazed, and one’s blood boils. You go and lie down. Besides, if I can believe my ears, people are coming to find me, and if we are found here you are lost. [Chorus is heard in the distance and gets nearer.]

“She pleases me like one o’clock, My pretty young lidee, For thoughts of her my bosom block, Her servant must I be, For she delights my heart, Tiritidi—ralla, tiritidi—ra! And now I’ve won the match, For which I’ve long been trying, The other swains go flying, But she comes up to scratch, My pretty young lidee, Tiritidi—ralla—la—la!”

Julie. I know our people, and I like them—just in the same way that they like me. Just let them come, then you’ll see.

John. No, Miss Julie. The folks don’t love you. They eat your bread, but they make fun of you behind your back. You take it from me. Listen, just listen, to what they’re singing. No, you’d better not listen.

Julie. [Listens.] What are they singing?

John. It’s some nasty lines about you and me.

Julie. Horrible! Ugh, what sneaks they are!

John. The riff-raff is always cowardly, and in the fight it’s best to fly.

Julie. Fly? But where to? We can’t go out, and we can’t go up to Christine’s room either.

John. Then come into my room. Necessity knows no law, and you can rely on my being your real, sincere and respectful friend.