It is a sordid but necessary business.
DAUGHTER (eagerly). Oh, I hope they give you plenty of money.
TALKER. Enough to support life, Mademoiselle. The hungry look which
you observe upon His Flutiness is, as I have explained, due to
melancholy.
DAUGHTER. You are going to perform, aren't you?
TALKER. Of a surety, Mademoiselle. Perhaps I should add that for
myself I am resting just now, and that my part of the performance
will be limited to nothing more than a note or two upon the pipe.
MOTHER (with a friendly smile). Sir, you are generous. We shall be
glad to hear your friends.
(The TALKER bows and turns to his company.)
TALKER. A song, good Master Duke, a song which her Royal Sweetness
will accompany upon the fiddle. Let it end, I pray you, with a G,
so that I may bring the thing to a climax upon the last note.
FIDDLER (to SINGER). Morland Hill.
SINGER. You like that? (She nods.) Very well. (He sings.)
Oh, when the wind is in the North,
I take my staff and sally forth;
And when it whistles from the East
I do not mind it in the least;
The warm wind murmurs through the trees
Its messages from Southern seas;
But after all perhaps the best
Is that which whispers from the West.
Oh let the wind, the wind be what it will,
So long as I may walk on Morland Hill!
The staff which helps to carry me,
I cut it from the Hazel-tree;
But once I had a cudgel torn
Most circumspectly from the Thorn;
I know a fellow, far from rash,
Who swears entirely by the Ash;
And all good travellers invoke
A blessing on the mighty Oak.
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