GRANDFATHER. We are the Jolly Band of Have-Nothings.

AVANTI. The introduction was superfluous. But you will take
yourselves away a little further and leave us in peace.

GRANDFATHER. We never suffer from a want of space: we can afford
to give you as wide a berth as you like. What little suffices
for us is never the bone of contention between any rival
claimants. Is not that so, my little friends? [They sing.]

SONG.

/*
We have nothing, indeed we have nothing at all!
We sing merrily fol de rol de rol!
Some build high walls of their houses
On the bog of the sands of gold.
We stand before them and sing
Fol de rol de rol.
Pickpockets hover about us
And honour us with covetous glances.
We shake our empty pockets and sing
Fol de rol de rol.
When death, the old hag, steals to our doors
We snap our fingers at her face,
And we sing in a chorus with gay flourishes
Fol de rol de rol.
*/