Under the Greenwood Tree

Fancy Day:
You get over a broken heart very quickly, Mr. Dewy, if that's indeed what it was.

Dick Dewy:
Not true, Miss Day. Tis broken and will remain so till the day you fix it.

Fancy Day:
You'll be waiting until you turn to stone, then.

[stares intently, then kisses him]

Dick Dewy:
I knew you felt the same, Fancy, I knew it. I tasted it on your lips the first time I kissed you.

Fancy Day:
Take me home, please.

Dick Dewy:
Say you'll be mine, Fancy.

Fancy Day:
You know I cannot.

Robert Penny:
[talking about Fancy's shoe] You will find her delicate but robust, neighbors. Part country girl she once was, part educated lady she is now.

Dick Dewy:
You do talk some nonsense, Robert Penny.

Fancy Day:
So you'll still speak to me after the choir is gone?

Dick Dewy:
I shall certainly consider it.

[Dick is furiously chopping wood]

Reuben Dewy:
What did that tree ever do to you, Dick Dewy?

Dick Dewy:
For a while I was blinded by your beauty but I now see you for what you are.

Fancy Day:
And what, pray, is that?

Dick Dewy:
I would marry the lowliest maid in the county if I loved her. Nor money, nor learnin', nor opinion of others would force me from loving her.

Fancy Day:
Dick, I...

Dick Dewy:
Goodbye, Miss Day. I hope you find what you're looking for.

Reuben Dewy:
The littler the maid, the bigger the riddle.

Reuben Dewy:
A shoe like that needs a fancy table to go under.

Fancy Day:
Wash your hands, Dick.

Dick Dewy:
You first... Fancy.

Fancy Day:
You're dirtier than me.

Dick Dewy:
But you're a lady.

Reuben Dewy:
I hear Mr Shinar has proposed, then.

Geoffrey Day:
He has. Just waiting on the girl to say yes.

Reuben Dewy:
And she will say yes, do you think?

Geoffrey Day:
She's like her mother. She needs to squeeze the last bit of drama out of the thing, but those church bells will be ringing out come harvest time. You mark my words.

Parson Maybold:
I offer you the world and your answer is no?

Parson Maybold:
Like beasts of the field, they are facinated when a peacock lives amongst them.

Reuben Dewy:
Tap the cider, Mr. Penny. Sabbath or no.