_2. Boy._ Sir, I can get no bread for supper.
_Old mer._ Hang bread and supper, let's preserve our mirth, and we shall never feel hunger, I'll warrant you, let's have a Catch, boy follow me, come sing this Catch.
_Ho, ho, no body at home, meat, nor drink, nor money ha we none, fill the pot_ Eedy, _never more need I_.
_Old mer._ So boyes enough, follow me, let's change our place and we shall laugh afresh. [_Exeunt._
_Wife._ Let him go _George_, a shall not have any countenance from us, not a good word from any i'th' Company, if I may strike stroke in't.
_Cit._ No more, a shannot love; but _Nell_, I will have _Rafe_ do a very notable matter now, to the eternal honour and glory of all _Grocers_: sirrah, you there, boy, can none of you hear?
_Cit._ Let _Rafe_ come out on May day in the morning, and speak upon a Conduit with all his Scarfs about him, and his Feathers, and his Rings, and his Knacks.
_Boy._ Why sir, you do not think of our plot, what will become of that then?
_Cit._ Why sir, I care not what become on't, I'll have him come out, or I'll fetch him out my self, I'll have something done in honor of the City: besides he hath been long enough upon Adventures, bring him out quickly, [or if] I come [in] amongst you--
_Boy._ Well sir, he shall come out, but if our Play miscarry, Sir you are like to pay for't. [_Exit._
_Wife._ This will be brave i'faith: _George_ shall not he dance the Morrice too for the credit of the Strand.
_Cit._ No sweet-heart it will be too much for the boy. O there he is _Nell_, he's reasonable well in reparel, but he has not Rings enough.
Rafe. London, _to thee I do present the merry Month of May,_ _Let each true Subject be content to hear me what I say:_ _For from the top of Conduit head, as plainly may appear,_ _I will both tell my name to you, and wherefore I came here._ _My name is_ Rafe, _by due descent, though not ignoble I,_ _Yet far inferiour to the flock of gracious Grocery._ _And by the Common-counsel of my fellows in the Strand,_ _With gilded Staff, and crossed Skarfe, the May-lord here I stand._ _Rejoyce O English hearts, rejoyce, rejoyce O Lovers dear;_ _Rejoyce O City, Town, and Countrey, rejoyce eke every Shire;_ _For now the [fr]agrant flowers do spring and sprout in seemly sort,_ _The little Birds do sit and sing, the Lambs do make fine sport,_ _And now the Burchin Tree doth bud that makes the Schoolboy cry,_ _The Morrice rings while Hobby horse doth foot it featuously:_ _The Lords and Ladies now abroad for their disport and play,_ _Do kiss sometimes upon the Grass, and sometimes in the Hay._ _Now butter with a leaf of Sage is good to purge the blood,_ _Fly_ Venus _and Phlebotomy for they are neither good._ _Now little fish on tender stone, begin to cast their bellies,_ _And sluggish snails, that erst were mute, do creep out of their shellies,_ _The rumbling Rivers now do warm for little boys to paddle,_ _The Sturdy Steed, now goes to grass, and up they hang his saddle._ _The heavy Hart, the blowing Buck, the Rascall and the Pricket,_ _Are now among the Yeomans Pease, and leave the fearful thicket._ _And be like them, O you, I say, of this same noble Town,_ _And lift aloft your velvet heads, and slipping of your gown:_ _With bels on legs, and napkins clean unto your shoulders ti'de,_ _With Scarfs and Garters as you please, and Hey for our Town cry'd:_ _March out and shew your willing minds, by twenty, and by twenty,_ _To_ Hogsdon _or to_ Newington, _where Ale and Cakes are plenty._ _And let it nere be said for shame, that we the youths of_ London, _Lay thruming of our caps at home, and left our custom undone._ _Up then I say, both young and old, both man and maid a Maying_ _With Drums and Guns that bounce aloud, and merry Taber playing._ _Which to prolong, God save our King, and send his Countrey peace,_ _And root out Treason from the Land, and so my friends I cease._