MORRICE DANCERS AT REVESBY.
Cicely. (To Pickle Herring.) Old Father, for your reverend years,
Stand you the next Man unto me,
Then He that doth the Weapon bear.
For I will have the hind Man of the Three. Fool. (To Pickle Herring.) Old Father, a fig for your old Gold,
The Soldier, he shall bear no Sway,
But you shall see, and so shall we,
'Tis I that carries the Lass away.
[Then the Dancers takes hold of their Swords and foots it round the Room; then every V^ Man makes his Obeisance to the Master of
the House, and the whole concludes.