THE CHRONICLE OF CLEMENDY
Corelli of Aspignano; he plays the viol d'amore and is something of a poet. Next to him you see there squats a little fat fellow (by your leave Nanni); his name is Giovanni Mosca, Siena gave him birth, and the flute is his instrument. Next you have the sweet lutist, who softens maidens' hearts and makes lovers sigh, he is of Babbiena, and is called Piero Latini. Fourthly Coppo Cacci of Pisa, whose art on the violin you heard but lately; and lastly myself, who love the bass-viol better than any other instrument, and am styled Andrea Galliano of Perugia. As to our business it is to wander upon the earth, and make musick for men, who are good enough to let us live in return, and indeed your men are as a rule harmless creatures enough, though sometimes a little brutish." "And how did you fare today?" asked Phil Ambrose, "for I suppose you have been at Uske." "Right well," answered Andrea, "for the people made much of our musick all the morning and thumped down their pieces as heartily as one could wish; and indeed your folk are by no means devoid of harmony; for as we played I noted often how now one, now another of the crowd would edge close to us, hum the tune over once or twice to himself, then throw his head back, and sing to our playing in a full tenor voice, though somewhat slowly. And they tell me that the words are improvised, even after our own Italian manner, and that your Welsh tongue is very fit for singing and rolls from the throat richly and gloriously. But lord! how the people delighted themselves when the singing and
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