Which you may know, by the very show, Albeit you never ask it: For there you may see, what his ensigns be, The rope, the cheese, and the basket. This CAROL plays, and has been in his days A chirping boy, and a kill-pot. Kit cobler it is, I'm a father of his, And he dwells in the lane called Fill-pot. But, who is this? O, my daughter Cis, MINCED PIE; with her do not dally On pain o' your life; she's an honest cook's wife, And comes out of Scalding-alley. Next in the trace, comes GAMBOL in place; And to make my tale the shorter, My son Hercules, tane out of Distaff lane, But an active man and a porter. Now, POST AND PAIR, old Christmas's heir, Doth make and a gingling sally; And wot you who, 'tis one of my two Sons, card makers in Pur-alley. Next, in a trice, with his box and his dice, Mac' pipin my son, but younger, Brings MUMMING in; and the knave will win For he is a costermonger. But NEW YEAR'S GIFT, of himself makes shift To tell you what his name is; With orange on head, and his gingerbread, Clem Waspe of Honey lane 'tis. This, I you tell, is our jolly WASSEL, And for Twelfth night more meet too; She works by the ell, and her name is Nell, And she dwells in Threadneedle street too. Then OFFERING, he, with his dish and his tree, That in every great house keepeth, Is by my son, young Little-worth, done, And in Penny-rich street he sleepeth. Last BABY CAKE, that an end doth make Of Christmas merry, merry vein-a, Is child Rowlan, and a straight young man, Though he comes out of Crooked lane-a. There should have been, and a dozen, I ween, But I could find but one more Child of Christmas, and a LOG it was, When I had them all gone o'er. I prayed him, in a tune so trim, That he would make one to prance it: And I myself would have been the twelfth, O! but LOG was too heavy to dance it. Nor must we forget a Masque by Milton, "Comus, a Masque, at Ludlow Castle, 1634," in which appeared the Lord Brockley, Mr. Thomas Egerton, his brother, and the Lady Alice Egerton.