MEG

Nay dame, Before we play another game. We must a little laugh and thank Our feat familiars for the prank They played us last. It's right. Come my Mamilion Like a Puggy, Now upon the Churls ground On which we're met, lets dance a round; That Cocle, Darnel, Poppia wild, May choke his grain, and fill the field. Now let us laugh to think upon The feat which we have so lately done, In the distraction we have set In Seelyes house; which shall beget Wonder and sorrow amongst our foe S, Whil to we make laughter of their woes. I, I, I, the Father to the Son does cry, The Son rebukes the Father old; The Daughter at the mother Scold, The wife the husband check and chide, But that's no wonder, through the wide World it's common. Enough, enough, Our sides are charmed, or else this stuff Would laughter-crack them; let's away About the Jig. we dance to day, To spoil the Hunter's sport. Then list ye well, the Hunter's are This day by vow to kill a Hare, Or else the sport they will forswear; And hang their Dogs up. There will Ibe, and Like a wily What, Until they put me up; isle squat. All the doubt can be but this, That if by chance of me they miss, And start another Hare. And I you Gilian by your gaunt thin gut. But where will Mawd bestow her self today? It's come, it's come. What Beast was by thee hither rid? And I bestrid A Porcupine that never pricked. Some Music then ith air Whilst thus by pair and pair, We nimbly foot it; strike. Enough, enough, now pat, To see the brides vexed heart, The bridegrooms too and all, That vomit up their gall For lack o'th wedding cheer. No following further, yonder horsemen come, In vain is our pursuit, let's break up court. But when? To horse, to horse. No comfort! My Mamilion. Mamilion, ho Mamilion, Mamilion. My friend, my Sweetheart, my Mamilion. It's folly to dissemble yie sir, I am one. Yes Sir. A matter of six years Sir. Yes when I pleased. 'Tis folly to dissemble; twice a Week he never failed me. 'Tis folly to speak worse of him than he is. He pleased me well Sir, Like a proper man. Only his flesh felt cold. Gentleman Like, but black black points and all. Some Delay hath kept it, now it's here, For bottles next of wine and beer, The Merchant's cellars they shall pay foe it. I can but laugh now to foresee, The fruits of their perplexity.