Chapter CXLVI

[From 'Histrio-mastix, or, the Player Whipt,' 4to, Lond. 1610.
Mr. Rimbault tells me this is common in Yorkshire.]

Some up, and some down,
There's players in the town,
You wot well who they be;
The sun doth arise,
To three companies,
One, two, three, four, make wee!

Besides we that travel,
With pumps full of gravel,
Made all of such running leather:
That once in a week,
New masters we seek,
And never can hold together.