“Our friend is not himself,” said Mr Tinfoil, producing a key bugle; “but—
“Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,
To soften rocks, and rend the knotted oak.
“And, therefore, will we try the effect of it upon his senses.” Mr Tinfoil then played the air in “Midas”:—
“Pray, Goody, please to moderate,” etcetera.
During which Mr Winterbottom looked more sulky than ever. As soon as the air was finished, another of the party responded with his flute, from the other boat—while Mr Quince played what he called base, by snapping his fingers. The sounds of the instruments floated along the flowing and smooth water, reaching the ears and attracting the attention of many who, for a time, rested from their labour, or hung listlessly over the gunnels of the vessels, watching the boats, and listening to the harmony. All was mirth and gaiety—the wherries kept close to each other, and between the airs the parties kept up a lively and witty conversation, occasionally venting their admiration upon the verdure of the sloping lawns and feathering trees with which the banks of the noble river are so beautifully adorned; even Mr Winterbottom had partially recovered his serenity, when he was again irritated by a remark of Quince, who addressed him.
“You can play no part but Pyramus; for Pyramus is a sweet-faced man—a proper man as one shall see on a summer’s day; a most lovely, gentleman-like man; therefore, you must needs play Pyramus.”
“Take care I don’t play the devil with your physiognomy, Mr Western,” retorted Winterbottom.
Here Caliban, in the third boat, began playing the fiddle and singing to it—
“Gaffer, Gaffer’s son, and his little jackass,
Were trotting along the road.”
The chorus of which ditty was “Ee-aw, Ee-aw!” like the braying of a jackass.