THE PLOW BOYS, OR MORRIS DANCERS.
Enter Fool.
You gentle Lords of honour,
Of high and low I say,
We all desire your favour
For to see our pleasant Play.
Our Play it is the best, kind Sirs,
That you would like to know;
And we will do our best, Sirs,
And think it well bestowd.
Tho' some of us be little,
And some of a Middle sort,
We all desire your favour
To see our pleasant sport.
You must not look on our Actions,
Our Wits they are all to seek,
So I pray take no exceptions
At what I am a-going to speak.
We are come over the Mire and Moss,
We dance an Hobby Horse,
A Dragon you shall see.
And a wild Worm for to Flee.
Still we are all brave jovial Boys,
And takes delight in Christmas Toys.
We are come both for Bread and Beer,
And hope for better cheer;
And something out of your Purse, Sir,
Which I hope you will be never the worse. Sir.
Still we are all brave jovial Boys,
And takes delight in Christmas Toys.
Come, now, Mr. Musick Man, play me my delight.
Fidler. What is that, old Father?
