ugh for him, an
I would have been tempted, and have let him out by the week to the
king's players. Master Burbage has been about and about with me, and
so has old master Hemings, too, they have need of him; where is he,
trow, ha! I would fain see him--pray God they have given him some
drink since he came.

_Chris._ Are you ready, boys? Strike up! nothing will drown this noise
but a drum: a'peace, yet! I have not done. Sing,--

Now their intent is above to present--

_Car._ Why, here be half of the properties forgotten, father.

_Offer._ Post and Pair wants his pur-chops and his pur-dogs.

_Car._ Have you ne'er a son at the groom porter's, to beg or borrow a
pair of cards quickly?

_Gam._ It shall not need; here's your son Cheater without, has cards
in his pocket.

_Offer._ Ods so! speak to the guards to let him in, under the name of
a property.

_Gam._ And here's New-Year's-Gift has an orange and rosemary, but not
a clove to stick in't.

_New-Year._ Why, let one go to the spicery.

_Chris._ Fy, fy, fy! it's naught, it's naught, boys.

_Ven._ Why, I have cloves, if it be cloves you want. I have cloves in
my purse: I never go without one in my mouth.

_Car._ And Mumming has not his vizard, neither.

_Chris._ No matter! his own face shall serve, for a punishment, and
'tis bad enough; has Wassel her bowl, and Minced-pie her spoons?

_Offer._ Ay, ay: but Misrule doth not like his suit: he says the
players have sent him one too little, on purpose to disgrace him.

_Chris._ Let him hold his peace, and his disgrace will be the less:
what! shall we proclaim where we were furnish'd? Mum! mum! a'peace! be
ready, good boys.

Now their intent is above to present,
With all the appurtenances,
A right Christmas, as of old it was,
To be gathered out of the dances.

Which they do bring, and afore the king,
The queen, and prince, as it were now
Drawn here by love; who over and above,
Doth draw himself in the geer too.

_Here the drum and fife sound, and they march about once. In the
second coming up_, CHRISTMAS _proceeds in his song:_

Hum drum, sauce for a coney;
No more of your martial music;
Even for the sake o' the next new stake,
For there I do mean to use it.

And now to ye, who in place are to see
With roll and farthingale hooped:
I pray you know, though he want his bow,
By the wings, that this is Cupid.

He might go back for to cry, _What you la