Should pass in merriment.
To bed they then did go;
Full well he knew his part,
Where he with words, and eke with deeds,
Did buss his own sweetheart.

Long were they not in bed,
But one knocked at the door,
And said, Up, rise, and let me in:
This vexed both knave and whore.
He being sore perplexed
From bed did lightly start;
No longer then could he endure
To buss his own sweetheart.

With tender steps he trod,
To see if he could spy
The man that did him so molest;
Which he with heavy eye
Had soon beheld, and said,
Alas! my own sweetheart,
I now do doubt, if e'er we buss,
It must be in a cart.

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;