Mist. Mer. What, Mr. Merry-thought, will you not let's in?
What do you think shall become of us?
Old Mer. What voice is that that calleth at our door?
Mist. Mer. You know me well enough, I am sure I have not been such a stranger to you.
Old Mer. "And some they whistled, and some they sung,
Hey down, down:
And some did loudly say,
Ever as the Lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away, Musgrave, away."
Mist. Mer. You will not have us starve here, will you, Master