For my part I fear nothing but the wild man—Lack-a-day! it would do you good only, an't were to hear him roar—
(Music heard without.)
Mercy on us? What was that?
First Peasant.
That was no honest roaring. Such sweet sounds mean no good. I have rested enough now.
[Going.
Second Peasant.
Don't hurry so, goodman Ambrose, the music is not so bad.
Third Peasant.