Upon a holy thursday their innocent faces clean
  The children walking two & two in grey & blue & green
  Grey headed beadles walkd before with wands as white as snow
  Till into the high dome of Pauls they like thames waters flow

  O what a multitude they seemd, these flowers of London town
  Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own
  The hum of multitudes were there but multitudes of lambs
  Thousands of little girls & boys raising their innocent hands

  Then like a mighty wind they raise to heavn the voice of song
  Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heav'n among
  Beneath them sit the revrend men the guardians of the poor
  Then cherish pity lest you drive an angel from your door


           After this, they all sat silent for a quarter of an hour & Mrs Sigtagatist & Mrs Nannicantipot said "It puts me in mind of my grandmother's song."

  When the tongues of children are heard on the green
  And laughing is heard on the hill
  My heart is at rest within my breast
  And every thing else is still

  Then, come home my children, the sun is gone down
  And the dews of night arise
  Come, Come, leave off play & let us away
  Till the morning appears in the skies

  No, No, let us play for it is yet day
  And we cannot go to sleep
  Besides, in the Sky the little birds fly
  And the meadows are coverd with Sheep.

  Well, Well, go & play till the light fades away
  And then go home to bed
  The little ones leaped & shouted & laughd
  And all the hills echoèd


           Then Miss Gittipin, Tilly Lally & Quid sung:

  O father father where are you going
  O do not walk so fast
  O speak father speak to your little boy
  Or else I shall be lost

  The night it was dark & no father was there
  And the child was wet with dew
  The mire was deep & the child did weep
  And away the vapour flew

           Here nobody could sing any longer, till Tilly Lally pluckd up a spirit & he sung.

  O I say you Joe
  Throw us the ball
  I've a good mind to go
  And leave you all

  I never saw saw such a bowler
  To bowl the ball in a tansey
  And to clean it with my handkercher
  Without saying a word

  That Bill's a foolish fellow
  He does not know how to handle a bat
  Any more than would a dog or a cat

  He has knock'd down the wicket
  And broke the stumps
  And runs without shoes to save his pumps

           Here a laugh began and Miss Gittipin sung:

  Leave O leave me to my sorrows.
  Here I'll sit & fade away,
  Till I'm nothing but a spirit
  And I lose this form of clay

  Then if chance along this forest
  Any walk in pathless ways:
  Thro the gloom he'll see my shadow,
  Hear my voice upon the Breeze.

           The Lawgiver all the while sat delighted to see them in such a serious humour.

           Mr Scopprell said "You must be acquainted with a great many songs."

           "O dear sir! Ho Ho Ho! I am no singer. I must beg of one of these tender-hearted ladies to sing for me".

           They all declined & he was forced to sing himself.

  Theres Doctor Clash
  And Signior Falalasole
  O they sweep in the cash
  Into their purse hole
  Fa me la sol       La me fa sol

  Great A, little A
  Bouncing B
  Play away, Play away
  You're out of the key!
  Fa me la sol       La me fa sol


  Musicians should have
  A pair of very good ears
  And Long fingers & thumbs
  And not like clumsy bears
  Fa me la sol       La me fa sol


  Gentlemen, Gentlemen
  Rap! Rap! Rap!
  Fiddle, Fiddle, Fiddle,
  Clap! Clap! Clap!
  Fa me la sol       La me fa sol


           "Hm" said the Lawgiver, "funny enough. Lets have Handel's waterpiece then." Sipsop sung

  A crowned king,
  On a white horse sitting
  With his trumpets sounding
  And Banners flying
  Thro the clouds of smoke he makes his way

  And the shout of his thousands
 fills his heart with rejoicing & victory,
  And the shout of his thousands
 fills his heart with rejoicing & victory,
 Victory, Victory--    'twas William, the prince of Orange.

[Here a leaf or more of the original manuscript is missing.
This may have been how the account continued...]

           The night wore and and when dawn broke it illuminated a merry scene.
           For Steelyard lay in a pile of his books, snoring like the Cyclops.
           Sipsop had discovered a chair by the fire, while Suction the Epicurean had fallen into dreams midway through a mouthful of buns, laying his face smilingly in the plate whereof he partook.
           Inflammable Gass and Scopprell lie across a barrel together and the floor is littered with bottles and jam jars, empty in testament to the feast that has been enjoyed.
           Obtuse Angle was, at the moment slumber took him, examining the bell of a tuba and, nestling his ears comfortably at the rim, leaned inside and yawned his last.
           In short, there remain none to witness the growth of love between Quid and Miss Gitipin, who, having become earnest are deep in wondrous talk.