| Trip it, gipsies, trip it fine |
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| Spite of his spite, which that in vain |
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| Lullaby, lullaby baby |
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| The Song |
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| Enter the Huntsmen, with three Country Wenches. As they come in they sing this song |
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| The Song |
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| How I laugh at their fond wish |
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| Ye sacred fires, and powers above |
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| The Seasons' Song |
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| Enter at one door, Mopso singing |
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And I mus say
That you did a fine
Job writting your poem