[* This tirade of gibberish is literally taken or selected from a mock discourse pronounced by a professed jester, which occurs in an ancient manuscript in the Advocates’ Library, the same from which the late ingenious Mr. Weber published the curious comic romance of the “Limiting of the Hare.” It was introduced in compliance with Mr. Strutt’s plan of rendering his tale an illustration of ancient manners. A similar burlesque sermon is pronounced by the Fool in Sir David Lindesay’s satire of the “Three Estates.” The nonsense and vulgar burlesque of that composition illustrate the ground of Sir Andrew, Aguecheek’s eulogy on the exploits of the jester in “Twelfth Night,” who, reserving his sharper jests for Sir Toby, had doubtless enough of the jargon of his calling to captivate the imbecility of his brother knight, who is made to exclaim: “In sooth, thou wast in very gracious fooling last night when thou spokest of Pigrogremitus, and of the vapours passing the equinoctials of Quenbus; ’t was very good, i’ faith!” It is entertaining to find commentators seeking to discover some meaning in the professional jargon of such a passage as this.] With much goodly gibberish to the same effect, which display of Gregory’s ready wit not only threw the whole company into convulsions of laughter, but made such an impression on Rose, the Potter’s daughter, that it was thought it would be the jester’s own fault if Jack was long without his Jill. Much pithy matter concerning the bringing the bride to bed, the loosing the bridegroom’s points, the scramble which ensued for them, and the casting of the stocking, is also omitted, from its obscurity. The following song, which has been since borrowed by the worshipful author of the famous “History of Fryar Bacon,” has been with difficulty deciphered. It seems to have been sung on occasion of carrying home the bride. BRIDAL SONG. _To the tune of “I have been a Fiddler,” etc._ And did you not hear of a mirth befell The morrow after a wedding-day, And carrying a bride at home to dwell? And away to Tewin, away, away! The quintain was set, and the garlands were made,— ’T is pity old customs should ever decay; And woe be to him that was horsed on a jade, For he carried no credit away, away. We met a consort of fiddle-de-dees; We set them a cockhorse, and made them play The winning of Bullen, and Upsey-fires, And away to Tewin, away, away! There was ne’er a lad in all the parish That would go to the plough that day; But on his fore-horse his wench he carries, And away to Tewin, away, away! The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap, The maidens did make the chamber full gay; The servants did give me a fuddling cup, And I did carry ’t away, away. The smith of the town his liquor so took That he was persuaded that the ground looked blue; And I dare boldly be sworn on a book Such smiths as he there’s but a few.