[_Noise without._

_Chris._ Ho, peace! what's the matter there?

_Gam._ Here's one o' Friday-street would come in.

_Chris._ By no means, nor out of neither of the Fish-streets, admit
not a man; they are not Christmas creatures: fish and fasting days,
foh! Sons, said I well? look to it.

_Gam._ No body out o' Friday-street, nor the two Fish-streets there,
do you hear?

_Car._ Shall John Butter o' Milk-street come in? Ask him.

_Gam._ Yes, he may slip in for a torch-bearer, so he melt not too
fast, that he will last till the masque be done.

_Chris._ Right, son.

Our dance's freight is a matter of eight;
And two, the which are wenches:
In all they be ten, four cocks to a hen,
And will swim to the tune like tenches.

Each hath his knight for to carry his light,
Which some would say are torches
To bring them here, and to lead them there,
And home again to their own porches.

Now their intent,--

_Enter_ VENUS, _a deaf tire-woman._

_Ven._ Now, all the lords bless me! where am I, trow? where is Cupid?
"Serve the king!" they may serve the cobbler well enough, some of 'em,
for any courtesy they have, I wisse; they have need o' mending: unrude
people they are, your courtiers; here was thrust upon thrust indeed:
was it ever so hard to get in before, trow?

_Chris._ How now? what's the matter?

_Ven._ A place, forsooth, I do want a place: I would have a good
place, to see my child act in before the king and queen's majesties,
God bless 'em! to-night.

_Chris._ Why, here is no place for you.

_Ven._ Right, forsooth, I am Cupid's mother, Cupid's own mother,
forsooth; yes, forsooth: I dwell in Pudding-lane: ay, forsooth, he is
prentice in Love-lane, with a bugle maker, that makes of your bobs,
and bird-bolts for ladies.

_Chris._ Good lady Venus of Pudding-lane, you must go out for all
this.

_Ven._ Yes, forsooth, I can sit anywhere, so I may see Cupid act: he
is a pretty child, though I say it, that perhaps should not, you will
say. I had him by my first husband; he was a smith, forsooth, we
dwelt in Do-little-lane then: he came a month before his time, and
that may make him somewhat imperfect; but I was a fishmonger's
daughter.

_Chris._ No matter for your pedigree, your house: good Venus, will you
depart?

_Ven._ Ay, forsooth, he'll say his part, I warrant him, as well as
e'er a play-boy of 'em all: I could have had money eno