_Old Mer._ Yet, I thank God, I break not a wrinkle more than I had; not a stoop, boys. Care, live with cats, I defy thee! My heart is as sound as an oak; and tho' I want drink to wet my whistle, I can sing, "Come no more there, boys; come no more there: For we shall never, whilst we live, come any more there." _Enter a_ BOY _with a coffin_. _Boy._ God save you, sir. _Old Mer._ It's a brave boy. Canst thou sing? _Boy._ Yes, sir, I can sing, but 'tis not so necessary at this time. _Old Mer._ "Sing we, and chaunt it, Whilst love doth grant it." _Boy._ Sir, sir, if you knew what I have brought you, you would have little list to sing. _Old Mer._ "Oh, the Mimon round, Full long I have thee sought, And now I have thee found, And what hast thou here brought?" _Boy._ A coffin, sir, and your dead son Jasper in it. _Old Mer._ Dead! "Why farewell he: Thou wast a bonny boy, And I did love thee." _Enter_ JASPER. _Jasp._ Then I pray you, sir, do so still. _Old Mer._ Jasper's ghost! "Thou art welcome from Stygian-lake so soon, Declare to me what wondrous things In Pluto's Court are done." _Jasp._ By my troth, sir, I ne'er came there, 'tis too hot for me, sir. _Old Mer._ A merry ghost, a very merry ghost. "And where is your true love? Oh, where is yours?" _Jasp._ Marry look you, sir. [_Heaves up the coffin._ _Old Mer._ Ah ha! Art thou good at that i'faith? "With hey trixie terlerie-whiskin, The world it runs on wheels; When the young man's frisking Up goes the maiden's heels." MISTRESS MERRY-THOUGHT _and_ MICHAEL _within_. _Mist. Mer._ What, Mr. Merry-thought, will you not let's in? What do you think shall become of us? _Old Mer._ What voice is that that calleth at our door? _Mist. Mer._ You know me well enough, I am sure I have not been such a stranger to you. _Old Mer._ "And some they whistled, and some they sung, Hey down, down: And some did loudly say, Ever as the Lord Barnet's horn blew, Away, Musgrave, away." _Mist. Mer._ You will not have us starve here, will you, Master Merry-thought? _Jasp._ Nay, good sir, be persuaded, she is my mother. If her offences have been great against you, let your own love remember she is yours, and so forgive her. _Luce._ Good Master Merry-thought, let me entreat you, I will not be denied. _Mist. Mer._ Why, Master Merry-thought, will you be a vext thing still? _Old Mer._ Woman, I take you to my love again, but you shall sing before you enter; therefore despatch your song, and so come in. _Mist. Mer._ Well, you must have your will when all's done. Michael, what song canst thou sing, boy? _Mich._ I can sing none forsooth but "A Lady's Daughter of Paris," properly. _Mist. Mer._ [song.] "It was a lady's daughter," &c.