As Now Performed at Christmas, in the County of Durham

GOOD gentlemen all, to our captain take heed,And hear what he’s got for to sing;He’s lived among music these forty long year,And drunk of the elegant spring.

Six actors I have broughtWho were ne’er on a stage before;But they will do their best,And they can do no more.

The first that I call inHe is a squire’s son;He’s like to lose his sweetheartBecause he is too young.

But though he is too young,He has money for to rove,And he will spend it allBefore he’ll lose his love.

The next that I call inHe is a tailor fine;What think you of his work?He made this coat of mine!

So comes good master Snip,His best respects to pay:He joins us in our tripTo drive dull care away.

Here the TAILOR walks round, accompanied by the SQUIRE’S SON.This form is observed after each subsequent introduction, all the newcomers taking apart.

The next I do call in,The prodigal son is he;By spending of his goldHe’s come to poverty.

But though he all has spent,Again he’ll wield the plow,And sing right merrilyAs any of us now.

Next comes a skipper bold,He’ll do his part right weel—A clever blade I’m toldAs ever pozed a keel.

He is a bonny lad,As you must understand;It’s he can dance on deck,And you’ll see him dance on land.

To join us in this playHere comes a jolly dog,Who’s sober all the day—If he can get no grog.

But though he likes his grog,As all his friends do say,He always likes it bestWhen other people pay.

Last I come in myself,The leader of this crew;And if you’d know my name,My name it is ‘True Blue.’

My mother was burnt for a witch,My father was hanged on a tree,And it’s because I’m a foolThere’s nobody meddled wi’ me.

Alas! our parson’s dead,And on the ground is laid;Some of us will suffer for’t,Young men, I’m sore afraid.

I’m sure ’twas none of me,I’m clear of that crime;’Twas him that follows meThat drew his sword so fine.

I’m sure it was not me,I’m clear of the fact;’Twas him that follows meThat did this dreadful act.

I’m sure ’twas none of me,Who say’t be villains all;For both my eyes were closedWhen this good priest did fall.

Cheer up, cheer up, my bonny lads,And be of courage brave,We’ll take him to his church,And bury him in the grave.

Oh, for a doctor,A ten pound doctor, oh.

I’m a doctor, a doctor rare,Who travels much at home;My famous pills they cure all ills,Past, present, and to come.

My famous pills who’d be without,They cure the plague, the sickness and gout,Anything but a love-sick maid;If you’re one, my dear, you’re beyond my aid!

Take a little of my nif-naf,Put it on your tif-taf;Parson rise up and preach again,The doctor says you are not slain.

Our play is at an end,And now we’ll taste your cheer;We wish you a merry Christmas,And a happy new year.The Bessy. And your pockets full of brass,And your cellars full of beer!