When _Arthur_ his wench obtained, And all his suits had gained, A joyfull man was he, As any that you could see. Then homeward he went with speed, Till he met with her indeed. Two neighbours then did take To bid guests for his sake; For dishes and all such ware, You need not take any care. _With oh brave ~Arthur~_, &c. To the Church they went apace, And wisht they might have grace, After the Parson to say, And not stumble by the way; For that was all their doubt, That either of them should be out. And when that they were wed, And each of them well sped, The Bridegroom home he ran, And after him his man, [p. 86.] And after him the Bride, Full joyfull at the tyde, As she was plac’d betwixt Two yeomen of the Guests, And he was neat and fine, For he thought him at that time Sufficient in every thing, To wait upon a King. But at the doore he did not miss To give her a smacking kiss. _With oh brave ~Arthur~_, &c. To dinner they quickly gat, The Bride betwixt them sat, The Cook to the Dresser did call, The young men then run all, And thought great dignity To carry up Furmety. Then came leaping _Lewis_, And he call’d hard for Brewis; Stay, quoth _Davy Rudding_, Thou go’st too fast with th’ pudding. Then came _Sampson Seal_, And he carry’d Mutton and Veal; The old woman scolds full fast, To the Cook she makes great hast, And him she did controul, And swore that the Porridge was cold. _With oh brave_, &c. My Masters a while be brief, Who taketh up the Beef? Then came _William Dickins_, [p. 87.] And carries the Snipes & Chickens. _Bartholomew_ brought up the Mustard, _Caster_ he carry’d the Custard. In comes _Roger Boore_, He carry’d up Rabbets before: Quoth _Roger_, I’le give thee a Cake, If thou wilt carry the Drake. [1] Speak not more nor less, Nor of the greatest mess, Nor how the Bride did carve, Nor how the Groom did serve _With oh brave ~Arthur~_, &c. But when that they had din’d, Then every man had wine; The maids they stood aloof, While the young men made a proof. Who had the nimblest heele, Or who could dance so well, Till _Hob_ of the hill fell over, [? oe’r] And over him three or four. Up he got at last, And forward about he past; At _Rowland_ he kicks and grins, And he [? hit] _William_ ore the shins; He takes not any offence, But fleeres upon his wench. The Piper he play’d [a] Fadding, And they ran all a gadding. _With oh brave ~Arthur [o’ Bradley]~_, &c. (“_Wits Merriment_,” 1656, pp. 81-7.)