_Enter the_ Porter _at the end of supper._

_Porter._

MASTER and Mistris with all your guests, [F. 81v rev.]

G.o.d save you, heerin the matter rests; Christmas is now at the point to bee past, 'Tis giving vp the ghost & this is the last; And shall it pa.s.se thus without life or cheere?

This hath not beene seene this many a yeere.

If youl have any sporte, then say the woord, Heere come youths of the parish that will it affoord, They are heere hard by comminge alonge, Crowning their wa.s.saile bowle with a songe: [10]

They have some other sport too out of dowbt, Let mee alone, & I will finde it out.

I am your porter & your va.s.saile, Shall I lett in the boyes with their wa.s.saile?

Say: they are at doore, to sing they beginne, Goe to then, Ile goe & lett them in!

_Enter the wa.s.saile, two of them bearinge the bowle, & singinge the songe, & all of them bearing the burden._

_The Songe._

Gentills all Both great & small, Sitt close in the hall And make some roome, [20]

For amongst you heere At the end of your cheere With our countrey beare Wee ar bold to come.

Heers then a full carowse, Let it goe about the house, While wee doe carrye it thus 'Tis noe great labour.

Heave it vpp merilye, [F. 81r rev.]

Let care & anger flye, [30]

A pinne for povertye; Drinke to your neighbour.

Those that are wise, Doe knowe that with spice G.o.d Bacchus his iuyce Is wholsome & good.

It comforts age, It refresheth the sage, It rebateth rage, And cheereth the bloud. [40]

Heeres then a full, &c.

Take it with quicknes, Tis phisicke for sicknes, It driveth the thicknes Of care from the harte; The vaynes that are empty It filleth with plenty, Not one amongst twenty But it easeth of smarte.

Heers then a full, &c. [50]

Are you sadd, For fortune badd, And would bee gladd As ever you were, If that a quaffe Doe not make you laffe, Then with a staffe Drive mee out of dore.

Heers then a full, &c.

To tell you his merritts, [60]

Good thoughts it inherites, It raiseth the spirritts And quickens the witt; It peoples the veyns, It scoureth the reynes, It purgeth the braines And maks all things fitte.

Heers then a full, &c.

It makes a man bold, It keepes out the cold; [70]

Hee hath all things twice told Vnto his comforte, Hee stands in the middle, The world, hey dery diddle, Goes round without a fiddle To make them sporte.

Heers then a full carowse, &c.

_Por._ Why well said, my ladds of mettall, this is [F. 80v rev.]

somwhat yett, 'tis trimlye done; but what sporte, what merriment, all dead, no vertue extant? [80]

_Pri[mus]._ Pray, sir, gett our good Mistris to bestowe something on us, & wee ar gone.

_Por._ Talke of that _tempore venturo_; there's no goinge to any other houses now, your bowle is at the bottome, & that which is left is for mee.

_Sec[undus]._ Nay, good Master Porter.

_Por._ Come, come, daunce vs a morrice, or els goe sell fishe; I warrant youle make as good a night of it heere as if you had beene at all the houses in the towne.

_Ter[tius]._ Nay, pray letts goe, wee can doe nothinge. [90]

_Por._ Noe! What was that I tooke you all a gabling tother day in mother Bunches backside by the well there, when Tom at Hobses ranne vnder the hovell with a kettle on's head?

_Pri._ Why, you would not have a play, would you?

_Por._ Oh, by all meanes, 'tis your onely fine course. About it, ladds, a the stampe, I warrante you a reward sufficient; I tell you, my little windsuckers, had not a certaine melancholye ingendred with a nippinge dolour overshadowed the sunne shine of my mirthe, I had beene I pre, sequor, one of your consorte. But [F. 80r rev.] [100]

wheres gooddy Hubbardes sonne--I saw him in his mothers holliday cloaths eennow?

_Sec._ Doe you heere, Master Porter, wee have pittifull nailes in our shooes; you were best lay something on the grounde, els wee shall make abhominable scarrs in the face on't.

_Por. Rem tenes_; well, weele thinke on't.

_Ter._ It is a most condolent tragedye wee shall move.

_Por. Dictum puta; satis est quod suffocat._ [110]

_Sec._ In faith, I tickle them for a good voice.

_Por. Sufficiente quant.i.tate_, a woord is enough to the wise.

_Pri._ You have noe b.u.t.terd beare in the house, have yee?

_Por._ No, no, trudge, some of the guests are one the point to bee gone.

_Sec._ Have you ere a gentlewomans picture in the house, or noe?

_Por._ Why? [120]

_Sec._ If you have, doe but hange it yonder, & twill make mee act in conye.

_Por._ Well then, away about your geere.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter Prologue._

Wee are noe vagabones, wee ar no arrant Rogues that doe runne with plaies about the country.

Our play is good, & I dare farther warrant [F. 79v rev.]

It will make you more sport then catt in plum tree.

Wee are no saucye common playenge skipiackes, But towne borne lads, the kings owne lovely subiects.

This is the night, night latest of the twelve, [130]

Now give vs leave for to bee blith & frolicke, To morrow wee must fall to digg & delve; Weele bee but short, long sittinge breeds the collicke.

Then wee beginne, & lett none hope to hisse vs, The play wee play is Ovid's owne Narcissus.