By thea-hold, hold! thoul't bite, I zweare, my

wozen.

Whoy thon beleave ma whon ich zweare; zo do

thou.

Ich do, good Hodge; thou zweare no more;
Ich wooll be thoyne, and God beevore ;-
Thon geat wee growdes and boagbipes, harbs and

dabors,

To leead us on to eand ower loaves great labors.

THEIR WEDLOCKE.

A borgen's a borgen, che hard long agoe,

Be

merry, ond a vig vor woe:

Zing gleare, zing zweet and zure,

Our zong zhall bee but zhort.
Muzicke, foice, ond daunzing,
O'tis faliant zport.

Thon let this burden zweetly zung be ztill,
A borgen's a borgen, bee't good bee't ill:
A borgen's a borgen, vor veale or vor woe,
Zo ever led dis bleasing burden goe.

XLIV.

The Fayries' Baunce.

(FROM THE SAME.)

DARE you haunt our hallowed greene?
None but fayries here are seene.

Downe and sleepe,

Wake and weepe,

Pinch him black, and pinch him blew,

That seekes to steale a lover true.

When you come to heare us sing,
Or to tread our fayrie ring,

Pinch him black, and pinch him blew,

O thus our nayles shall handle you.

18

18 Douce adduces this Song as an illustration of the last scene of "The Merry Wives of Windsor." See Illustrations of Shakspeare, edit. 1839, p. 51.

XLV.

The Satyres' Baunce.

(FROM THE SAME.)

ROUND a, round a, keepe your ring;
To the glorious sunne we sing-

Hoé, hoe!

He that weares the flaming rayes,

And the imperiall crowne of bayes:
Him with shoutes and songs we praise—

Hoe, hoe!

That in his bountie he'd vouchsafe to grace The humble Sylvannes and their shaggy race.

XLVI.

The Urchins' Daunce.

(FROM THE SAME.)

By the moone we sport and play,
With the night begins our day;
As we friske the dew doth fall,
Trip it little urchins 19 all :
Lightly as the little bee,

Two by two, and three by three,
And about goe wee, goe wee.

19 Urchin, in its original signification, is a hedgehog, but came to be applied to a little elf or goblin of a mischievous kind, and thence to a child of a similar disposition.

XLVII.

Tosse the Pot.

(FROM THE SAME.)

Chorus.-Tosse the pot, tosse the pot, let us be

merry,

And drinke till our cheeks be as red

as a cherry:

We take no thought, we have no care,
For still we spend, and never spare,
Till of all money our pursse is bare,
We ever tosse the pot.

Chorus.-Tosse the pot, &c.

We drink, carouse, with hart most free;
A harty draught I drinke to thee:

Then fill the pot againe to me,

And ever tosse the pot.

Chorus.-Tosse the pot, &c.