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ALL (suddenly revealed in the light which has been steadily increasing until it is possible to see the whole gathering, bursting into song.)
Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your grey mare,All along, down along, out along lea …
BION I can't make myself heard in all this din. It's too bad. After all, I did create them.
MAN And they are now returning the compliment. If you did, surely you can write the verse?
BION I have not written a note of music or a line of verse in my life.
MAN The man that hath no music in his soul … never mind … it's gone hasn't it? Try! Try now!
BION It is wrong anyhow. And damn you – who the hell are you?
MAN And damn you too: I have told you already. Why don't you listen to what you are told?
BION I have always listened to what I have been told.