[Scene: A public-house kitchen. HUFF the Farmer and SOLLERS the Wainwright talking; another man, a stranger, sitting silent.]

Huff:

Ay, you may think we're well off--

Sollers:

Now for croaks, Old toad! who's trodden on you now?--Go on; But if you can, croak us a new tune.

Huff:

Ay, You think you're well off--and don't grab my words Before they're spoken--but some folks, I've heard, Pity us, living quiet in the valley.

Sollers:

Well, I suppose 'tis their affair.

Huff:

Is it?

But what I mean to say,--if they think small Of us that live in the valley, mayn't it show That we aren't all so happy as we think?

[MERRICK the Smith comes in.]

Merrick:

Quick, cider! I believe I've swallowed a coal.

Sollers:

Good evening. True, the heat's a wonder to-night.

[Smith draws himself cider.]

Huff:

Haven't you brought your flute? We've all got room For music in our minds to-night, I'll swear.

Working all day in the sun do seem to push The thought out of your brain.

Sollers:

O, 'tis the sun Has trodden on you? That's what makes you croak?

Ay, whistle him somewhat: put a tune in his brain; He'll else croak us out of pleasure with drinking.

Merrick:

'Tis quenching, I believe.--A tune? Too hot.

You want a fiddler.

Huff:

Nay, I want your flute.

I like a piping sound, not sc.r.a.ping o' guts.

Merrick:

This is no weather for a man to play Flutes or music at all that asks him spend His breath and spittle: you want both yourself These oven days. Wait till a fiddler comes.

Huff:

Who ever comes down here?

Sollers:

There's someone come.

[Pointing with his pipe to the stranger.]

Merrick:

Good evening, mister. Are you a man for tunes?

Stranger:

And if I was I'ld give you none to-night.

Merrick: