FullReads

There should have been, and a dozen I ween,
But I could find but one more
Child of Christmas, and a Log it was,
When I them all had gone o’er.

I prayed him, in a time so trim,
That he would make one to prance it;
And I myself would have been the twelfth
O’ but Log he was too heavy to dance it.

Now, Cupid, come you on.

Cup.

You worthy wights, king, lords, and knights,
Or queen and ladies bright:
Cupid invites you to the sights
He shall present to-night.

Ven.

‘Tis a good child, speak out; hold up your head, Love.

Cup.

And which Cupid–and which Cupid–

Ven.

Do not shake so, Robin; if thou be’st a-cold, I have some warm waters for thee here.

Chris.

Come, you put Robin Cupid out with your water’s and your fisling; will you be gone?

Ven.

Ay, forsooth, he’s a child, you must conceive, and must be used tenderly; he was never in such an assembly before, forsooth, but once at the Warmoll Quest, forsooth, where he said grace as prettily as any of the sheriff’s hinch-boys, forsooth.

Chris.

Will you peace, forsooth?

Cup.

And which Cupid–and which Cupid–

Ven.

Ay, that’s a good boy, speak plain, Robin; how does his majesty like him, I pray? will he give eight-pence a day, think you? Speak out, Robin.

Chris.

Nay, he is out enough. You may take him away, and begin your dance; this it is to have speeches.

Ven.

You wrong the child, you do wrong the infant; I ‘peal to his majesty.

Here they dance.

Chris.

Well done, boys, my fine boys, my bully boys!

THE EPILOGUE

Sings.

Nor do you think that their legs is all
The commendation of my sons,
For at the Artillery garden they shall
As well forsooth use their guns,

And march as fine as the Muses nine,
Along the streets of London;
And in their brave tires, to give their false fires,
Especially Tom my son.

Now if the lanes and the allies afford
Such an ac-ativity as this;
At Christmas next, if they keep their word,
Can the children of Cheapside miss?

Though, put the case, when they come in place,
They should not dance, but hop:
Their very gold lace, with their silk, would ’em grace,
Having so many knights o’ the shop.

But were I so wise, I might seem to advise
So great a potentate as yourself;
They should, sir, I tell ye, spare’t out of their belly,
And this way spend some of their pelf.

Ay, and come to the court, for to make you some sport,
At the least once every year,
As Christmas hath done, with his seventh or eighth son,
And his couple of daughters dear.

[And thus it ended.]