Why thou art a good-humour'd, kindly-hearted fellow, John; I must say that for thee. But this is the true way for all love music, di na ye ken? Out among the high rocks, or under a castle-wall, man!—But now, as we are all to play thegether, as it were in a concert (taking out his snuff-box, and rapping on the lid with an air of importance), di na ye think, gentlemen, it will be expedient to enquire first, whether we can play the same tunes or not, as I suppose none of us trouble ourselves with music-books, and sick like.
FIDDLER.
I can play a pretty many tunes, Piper, but none of them all goes so well on my fiddle as Ally Croaker.
PIPER.
Ay, that is good enough in town to play to an orange-woman under a lamp-post, or sick like; but this is a lady of family, man, and she must have something above the vulgar.
FIDDLER.
Play any thing you please, then: it will be all the same thing in my day's work whether I play one thing or another.
