Dr. Plot, in his _Natural History of Staffordshire_ (1685), describes a curious custom called the Hobby-horse dance, which he says had been practised at Pagets Bromley within memory of persons living when he wrote. On Twelfth Day a man on a hobby-horse used to dance down the village street, holding in his hand a bow and arrow, and accompanied by six men, carrying deers’ heads on their shoulders. “To this Hobby-horse dance,” says our author, “there also belong’d a _pot_, which was kept by turnes by 4 or 5 of the _chief_ of the _Tow_, whom they call’d _Reeves_, who provided _Cakes_ and _Ale_ to put in this _pot_; all people who had any kindness for the good intent of the Institution of the _sport_, giving pence a piece for themselves and families; and so _forraigners_ too, that came to see it: with which mony (the charge of the _Cakes_ and _Ale_ being defrayed) they not only repaired their _Church_ but {240} kept their _poore_ too: which _charges_ are not now perhaps so cheerfully boarn.” It would be going too far from the special subject of this work to detail the more elaborate festivities of the Court and the Universities, or the masques and revels of those ancient abodes of legal learning, the Inns of Court, where Twelfth Night formed the annual excuse for much feasting and pageantry. On these occasions, no doubt, costly wines and liqueurs formed the staple of the liquids consumed, Both Ippocras and Vernage wine Mount Rose and wine of Greek, and not the honest juice of barley. Suffice it to note in passing that on the 2nd of February, 1601, John Manningham, a student of the Middle Temple, records in his Diary: “At our feast we had a play called _Twelfth Night or What You Will_.” This is the earliest recorded mention of that grand Twelfth-night revel, and was, perhaps, its first performance. The appearance of Twelfth Cake is the signal for the disappearance of mince pies, in accordance with the farewell words an old carolist puts into the mouth of Christmas:— Mark well my heavy doleful tale, For Twelfth-day now is come, And now I must no longer stay And say no word but mum. For I, perforce, must take my leave Of all my dainty cheer— Plum porridge, roast beef, and minced-pies, My strong ale and my beer. A minor festival, Plough Monday, used to be celebrated on the first Monday after Twelfth Night. A plough, dressed up with ribbons by the villagers, was taken round from house to house. Its escort consisted of a number of rustics dressed up in various mummers’ guises, and chanting verses, the text of which was “God speed the Plough.” The principal performers were Bessy and the Clown, Bessy being, in fact, a man dressed up in fantastic female weeds. Bread, cheese, and ale were asked for at the farmhouses and seldom refused, and a variety of curious dances and uncouth antics completed the entertainment of the day. {241}