SCHOOLMASTER
If you but favor, our country pastime made is.
We are a few of those collected here
That ruder tongues distinguish "villager."
And to say verity, and not to fable,
We are a merry rout, or else a rabble,
Or company, or by a figure, chorus,
That 'fore thy dignity will dance a morris.
And I that am the rectifier of all,
By title pedagogus, that let fall
The birch upon the breeches of the small ones,
And humble with a ferula the tall ones,
Do here present this machine, or this frame.
And, dainty duke, whose doughty dismal fame
From Dis to Daedalus, from post to pillar,
Is blown abroad, help me, thy poor well-willer,
And with thy twinkling eyes look right and straight
Upon this mighty "Morr," of mickle weight--
"Is" now comes in, which being glued together
Makes "Morris," and the cause that we came hither.
The body of our sport, of no small study,
I first appear, though rude, and raw, and muddy,
To speak before thy noble grace this tenner,
At whose great feet I offer up my penner.
The next, the Lord of May and Lady bright,
The Chambermaid and Servingman by night
That seek out silent hanging; then mine Host
And his fat Spouse, that welcomes to their cost
The galled traveler, and with a beck'ning
Informs the tapster to inflame the reck'ning;
Then the beest-eating Clown; and next the Fool,
The Bavian with long tail and eke long tool,
Cum multis aliis that make a dance;
Say "ay," and all shall presently advance.
