"Sorry Her Lot Who Loves Too Well" Lyrics

(Enter Josephine, twining some flowers which she carries in a small basket.)

Josephine.
Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;
Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
When love is alive and hope is dead!

Sad is the hour when sets the sun —
Dark is the night to earth's poor daughters,
When to the ark the wearied one
Flies from the empty waste of waters.
Sad is the hour when sets the sun —
Dark is the night to earth's poor daughters.
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When love is alive and hope is dead!
When love is alive and hope is dead!

(Enter Captain)

Captain. My child, I grieve to see that you are a prey to
melancholy. You should look your best to-day, for Sir
Joseph Porter, K.C.B., will be here this afternoon to claim
your promised hand.

Josephine. Ah, father, your words cut me to the quick. I
can esteem — reverence— venerate Sir Joseph, for he is
a great and good man; but oh, I cannot love him! My heart
is already given.

Captain. (aside) It is then as I feared. (aloud) Given? And to
whom? Not to some gilded lordling?

Josephine. No, father — the object of my love is no lordling.
Oh, pity me, for he is but a humble sailor on board your own ship!

Captain. Impossible!

Josephine. Yes, it is true — too true.

Captain. A common sailor? Oh fie!

Josephine. I blush for the weakness that allows me to cherish
such a passion. I hate myself when I think of the depth to which
I have stooped in permitting myself to think tenderly of one so
ignobly born, but I love him! I love him! I love him! (weeps)

Captain. Come, my child, let us talk this over. In a matter of the
heart I would not coerce my daughter — I attach but little value
to rank or wealth, but the line must be drawn somewhere. A man
in that station may be brave and worthy, but at every step he would
commit solecisms that society would never pardon.

Josephine. Oh, I have thought of this night and day. But fear not,
father, I have a heart, and therefore I love; but I am your daughter,
and therefore I am proud. Though I carry my love with me to the
tomb, he shall never, never know it.

Captain. You are my daughter after all. But see, Sir Joseph's barge
approaches, manned by twelve trusty oarsmen and accompanied by
the admiring crowd of sisters, cousins, and aunts that attend him
wherever he goes. Retire, my daughter, to your cabin — take this, his
photograph, with you — it may help to bring you to a more reasonable
frame of mind.

Josephine. My own thoughtful father!

(Exit Josephine. Captain remains and ascends the poop-deck.)