To spy upon the piper. Now, methinks,
I know him, by those horns and merry winks.
—Good morrow, Quercus, the faun!
QUERCUS
Now, by Lord Pan!
The poet’s ear and eye still spy me out.—
Alwyn, maker of songs—hail to you, master!
You!—Can it really be?
ALWYN
It can,