CLYST. 'Tes awful peculiar—like a drame. Mr. Burlacombe 'e don't like to hear tell about drames. A guess a won't tell 'ee, arter that.
FREMAN. Out wi' it, Tim.
CLYST. 'Tes powerful thirsty to-day, Mr. Godleigh.
GODLEIGH. [Drawing him some cider] Yu're all wild cat's talk, Tim; yu've a-got no tale at all.
CLYST. [Moving for the cider] Aw, indade!
GODLEIGH. No tale, no cider!
CLYST. Did ye ever year tell of Orphus?
TRUSTAFORD. What? The old vet. up to Drayleigh?
CLYST. Fegs, no; Orphus that lived in th' old time, an' drawed the bastes after un wi' his music, same as curate was tellin' the maids.
FREMAN. I've 'eard as a gipsy over to Vellacott could du that wi' 'is viddle.