ck?_
But that were not so witty:
His cap and coat are enough to note
That he is the love o' the city.

And he leads on, though he now be gone,
For that was only his-rule:
But now comes in, Tom of Bosoms-inn,
And he presenteth Mis-rule.

Which you may know, by the very show,
Albeit you never ask it:
For there you may see what his ensigns be,
The rope, the cheese, and the basket.

This Carol plays, and has been in his days
A chirping boy, and a kill-pot:
Kit Cobler it is, I'm a father of his,
And he dwells in a lane called Fill-pot.

But who is this? O, my daughter Cis,
Minced-pie; with her do not dally
On pain o' your life: she's an honest cook's wife,
And comes out of Scalding-alley.

Next in the trace, comes Gambol in place;
And, to make my tale the shorter,
My son Hercules, tane out of Distaff-lane,
But an active man, and a porter.

Now Post and Pair, old Christmas's heir,
Doth make and a gingling sally;
And wot you who, 'tis one of my two
Sons, card-makers in Pur-alley.

Next in a trice, with his box and his dice,
Mac-pipin my son, but younger,
Brings Mumming in; and the knave will win,
For he is a costermonger.

But New-Year's-Gift, of himself makes shift,
To tell you what his name is:
With orange on head, and his ginger-bread,
Clem Waspe of Honey-lane 'tis.

This, I tell you, is our jolly Wassel,
And for Twelfth-night more meet too:
She works by the ell, and her name is Nell,
And she dwells in Threadneedle-street too.

Then Offering, he, with his dish and his tree,
That in every great house keepeth,
Is by my son, young Little-worth, done,
And in Penny-rich street he sleepeth.

Last, Baby-cake that an end doth make
Of Christmas, merry, merry vein-a,
Is child Rowlan, and a straight young man,
Though he come out of Crooked-lane-a.

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-