The Harvesters

The coldness of this water might do you harm.

Ah! My Lord; what a good soul you have!
You deigned to cast a glance toward the poor.

Holà! Rustaut, come here and give
Some of my wine to this good old man.

Ah! My Lord; it is unbelievable.
What! You do not count my poor days for nothing?
Your goodness does me more good
Than the wine you have me drink.

The sun is beating down too hard here, my dear Rustaut:
Lead our harvesters to the bottom of the mountain,
Where the shade still stretches across the countryside.

Well said; we shall be less hot.

Wait, wait; I will lead them myself.

What a good Lord! Heaven has given him to us.

Meanwhile, order their dinner.
Ah! These poor people, I love them;
I want to eat simply with them.
That meal will be joyful,
And we shall be among ourselves.
If my nephew considers himself too great a Lord,
And refuses himself the happiness
Of being one of us today,
You will have him served separately;
He will be bored nobly and alone.
Listen, listen further: Gennevote and Rosine
Hide what they are doing with great care.
General esteem is the only asset they have;
But it is the only one. Their state grieves me.
Try to unravel their secret.