_You must suppose it to be_ Easter _Holy-Days: At what time_ Sisly _and_ Dol, Kate _and_ Peggy, Moll _and_ Nan, _are marching to_ Westminster, _with a Leash of Prentices before 'em; who go rowing themselves along with their right Arms to make more hast, and now and then with a greasie Muckender wipe away the dripping that bastes their Foreheads. At the Door they meet a crowd of_ Wapping _Sea-men_, Southwark _Broom-men, the Inhabitants of the_ Bank-Side, _with a Butcher or two prickt in among them. There a while they stand gaping for the Master of the Show, staring upon the Suburbs of their dearest delight, just as they stand gaping upon the painted Cloth before they go into the Puppet Play. By and by they hear the Bunch of Keys, which rejoyces their Hearts like the sound of the_ Pancake-Bell. _For now the Man of Comfort peeps over the Spikes, and beholding such a learned Auditory, opens the Gate of_ Paradise, _and by that time they are half got into the first Chapel, (for time is very precious) he lifts up his Voice among the Tombs, and begins his Lurrey in manner and form following._ _To the foregoing Tune; In Imitation of the Old Soldiers._ Here lies _William de Valence_, A right good Earl of _Pembroke_, And this is his Monument which you see, I'll swear upon a Book. He was high Marshal of _England_, When _Henry_ the Third did Reign; But this you take upon my Word, That he'll ne'er be so again. Here the Lord _Edward Talbot_ lies, The Town of _Shrewsbury's_ Earl; Together with his Countess fair, That was a most delicate Girl. The next to him there lyeth one, Sir _Richard Peckshall_ hight; Of whom we only this do say, He was a _Hampshire_ Knight. But now to tell you more of him, There lies beneath this Stone: Two Wives of his, and Daughters four, To all of Us unknown. Sir _Bernard Brockhurst_ there doth lie, Lord Chamberlain to Queen _Ann_; Queen _Ann_ was _Richard_ the Second's Queen, And was King of _England_. Sir _Francis Hollis_, the Lady _Frances_, The same was _Suffolk's_ Dutchess; Two Children of _Edward_ the Third, Lie here in Death's cold Clutches. This is the Third King _Edward's_ Brother, Of whom our Records tell Nothing of Note, nor say they whether, He be in Heaven or Hell. This same was _John_ of _Eldeston_, He was no Costermonger; But _Cornwall's_ Earl, and here's one dy'd, 'Cause he could live no longer. The Lady _Mohun_, Dutchess of _York_, And Duke of _York's_ Wife also; But Death resolv'd to Horn the Duke, She lies now with Death below. The Lady _Ann Ross_, but wot ye well, That she in Childbed dy'd; The Lady Marquiss of _Winchester_, Lies Buried by her side. Now think your Penny well spent good Folks, And that you're not beguil'd; Within this Cup doth lie the Heart Of a _French Embassador's_ Child. But how the Devil it came to pass, On purpose, or by chance; The Bowels they lie underneath, The Body is in _France_.