At last the bawd arose And opened the door, And saw Discretion cloth'd in rug, Whose office hates a whore. He mounted up the stairs, Being cunning in his art; With little search at last he found My youth and his sweetheart. He having wit at will, Unto them both did say, I will not hear them speak one word Watchmen, with them away! And cause they loved so well 'Tis pity they should part. Away with them to new Bride-well; There buss your own sweetheart. His will it was fulfilled, And there they had the law; And whilst that they did nimbly spin, The hemp he needs must taw. He ground, he thumped, he grew So cunning in his art, He learnt the trade of beating hemp By bussing his sweetheart. But yet, he still would say, If I could get release To see strange fashions I'll give o'er, And henceforth live in peace, The town where I was bred, And think by my desart To come no more into this place For bussing my sweetheart. They all liked his song very well, and said that the young man had but ill-luck. Thus continued he playing and singing songs till candle-light: then he began to play his merry tricks in this manner. First he put out the candles, and then, being dark, he struck the men good boxes on the ears: they, thinking it had been those that did sit next them, fell a-fighting one with the other; so that there was not one of them but had either a broken head or a bloody nose. At this Robin laughed heartily. The women did not escape him, for the handsomest he kissed; the other he pinched, and made them scratch one the other, as if they had been cats. Candles being lighted again, they all were friends, and fell again to dancing, and after to supper. Supper being ended, a great posset was brought forth: at this Robin Good-fellow's teeth did water, for it looked so lovely that he could not keep from it. To attain to his wish, he did turn himself into a bear: both men and women (seeing a bear amongst them) ran away, and left the whole posset to Robin Good-fellow. He quickly made an end of it, and went away without his money; for the sport he had was better to him than any money whatsoever. The fear that the guests were in did cause such a smell, that the bridegroom did call for perfumes; and instead of a posset, he was fain to make use of cold beer. HOW ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW SERVED A TAPSTER FOR NICKING HIS POTS There was a tapster, that with his pots' smallness, and with frothing of his drink, had got a good sum of money together. This nicking of the pots he would never leave, yet divers times he had been under the hand of authority, but what money soever he had [to pay] for his abuses, he would be sure (as they all do) to get it out of the poor man's pot again. Robin Good-fellow, hating such knavery, put a trick upon him in this manner.