This is no weather for a man to play
Flutes or music at all that asks him spend
His breath and spittle: you want both yourself
These oven days. Wait till a fiddler comes.
Huff:
Who ever comes down here?
Sollers:
There's someone come.
Pointing with his pipe to the stranger.
Merrick:
Good evening, mister. Are you a man for tunes?
Stranger:
And if I was I'ld give you none to-night.