[NEW GUISE _enters, but remains in the background._] _New G._ The weather is cold; God send us good fires! _Cum sancto sanctus eris, et cum perverso, perverteris._ _Ecce quam bonum et quam jocundum_, quod the devil to the friars, _Habitare fratres in unum_. _Man._ I hear a fellow speak; with him I will not mell. This earth with my spade I shall assay to delve; To eschew idleness I do that mine own self; I pray God send it His fusion! [_Enter_ NOW-A-DAYS _and_ NOUGHT.] _Now._ Make room, sirs, for we have be long! We will come give you a Christmas song. _Nought._ Now, I pray all the yemandry, that is here, To sing with us with a merry cheer: [NOUGHT _sings_. _It is written with a coal, it is written with a coal_-- _New G. and Now._ _It is written with a coal, it is written, etc._ _Nought._ _He that shitteth with his hole, he that shitteth with his hole_-- _New G. [and] Now._ _He that shitteth with his hole, etc._ _Nought._ _But he wipe his arse clean, but he, etc._-- _New G. [and] Now._ _But he wipe his arse clean, but he, etc._ _Nought._ _On his breech it shall be seen, on his breech, etc._-- _New G. [and] Now._ _On his breech it shall be seen, on his breech, etc._ _Cantant omnes._ _Holyke, holyke, holyke! holyke, holyke, holyke!_ _New G._ Hey, Mankind! God speed you with your spade! I shall tell you of a marriage: I would your mouth and his arse, that is made, Were married junctly together! _Man._ Hie you hence, fellows! with breeding; Leave your derision and your japing! I must needs labour; it is my living. _Now._ What, sir! we came but late hither-- Shall all this corn grow here That ye shall have the next year? If it be so, corn had need be dear; Else ye shall have a poor life. _Nought._ Alas, good father! this labour fretteth you to the bone; But, for your crop I take great moan; Ye shall never spend it alone-- I shall assay to get you a wife. How many acres suppose ye here, by estimation? _New G._ Hey! how ye turn the earth up and down! I have be, in my days, in many good town, Yet saw I never such another tilling! _Man._ Why stand ye idle? it is pity that ye were born! _Now._ We shall bargain with you; and nother mock nor scorn-- Take a good cart in harvest, and load it with your corn, And what shall we give you for the leaving? _Nought._ He is a good, stark labourer; he would fain do well-- He hath met with the good man, Mercy, in a shroud cell: For all this, he may have many a hungry meal. Yet, well ye see, he is politic: Here shall be good corn; he may not miss it; If he will have rain, he may overpiss it; And if he will have compos[t] he may overbliss it A little, with his arse like.