But I do not think the version from which this is an extract is at all an elaborate one. There ought to be a "Triumph," with an archway of swords, in the style of Sir Roger de Coverley. After the passing and repassing strokes, there is usually much more hand-to-hand fighting, then four shoulder cuts, and some are aimed high and some down among their ankles, in a way which would probably be quite clear to any one trained in broadsword exercise.
The following Christmas Mumming Play is compiled from five versions the "Peace Egg," the "Wassail Cup," "Alexander the Great,"
"A Mock Play," and the "Silverton Mummer's Play" (Devon), which has been lent to me in manuscript.
The Mumming Chorus, "And a mumming we will go," &c., is not in any one of these versions, but I never saw mumming without it.
The Silverton version is an extreme example of the continuous development of these unwritten dramas. Generation after generation, the most incongruous characters have been added. In some cases this is a very striking testimony to the strength of rural sympathy with the great deeds and heroes of the time, as well as to native talent for dramatic composition.
Wellington and Wolfe almost eclipsed St. George in some parts of England, and the sea Heroes are naturally popular in Devonshire. The death of Nelson in the Silverton play has fine dramatic touches.
Though he "has but one arm and a good one too," he essays to fight whether Tippo Saib or St. George is not made clear. He falls, and St. George calls for the Doctor in the usual words. The Doctor ends his peculiar harangue with: "Britons! our Nelson is dead." To which a voice, which seems to play the part of Greek chorus, responds "But he is not with the dead, but in the arms of the Living God!" Then, enter Collingwood 
    "Collingwood Here comes I, bold Collingwood,                     Who fought the French and boldly stood;                     And now the life of that bold Briton's gone,                     I'll put the crown of victory on" 
with which "he takes the crown off Nelson's head and puts it on his own."
I have, however, confined myself in "The Peace Egg" to those characters which have the warrant of considerable antiquity, and their number is not small. They can easily be reduced by cutting out one or two; or some of the minor characters could play more than one part, by making real exits and changing the dress, instead of the conventional exit into the background of the group.
Some of these minor characters are not the least charming. The fair Sabra (who is often a mute) should be the youngest and prettiest little maid that can toddle through her part, and no old family brocade can be too gorgeous for her. The Pretty Page is another part for a "very little one," and his velvets and laces should become him.
They contrast delightfully with Dame Dolly and Little Man Jack, and might, if needful, be played by the same performers.
I have cut out everything that could possibly offend, except the line "Take him and give him to the flies." It betrays an experience of Asiatic battlefields so terribly real, that I was unwilling to abolish this unconscious witness to the influence of Pilgrims and Crusaders on the Peace Egg. It is easily omitted.
I have dismissed the Lord of Flies, Beelzebub, and (with some reluctance) "Little Devil Doubt" and his besom. I had a mind to have retained him as "The Demon of Doubt," for he plays in far higher dramas. His besom also seems to come from the East, where a figure "sweeping everything out" with a broom is the first vision produced in the crystal or liquid in the palm of a medium by the magicians of Egypt.
Those who wish to do so can admit him at the very end, after the sword dance, very black, and with a besom, a money-box, and the following doggrel:
    In come I, the Demon of Doubt,     If you don't give me money I'll sweep you all out;     Money I want and money I crave,     Money I want and money I'll have.
He is not a taking character unless to the antiquary! I have substituted the last line for the less decorous original, "If you don't give me money, I'll sweep you all to the grave."
It is perhaps only the antiquary who will detect the connection between the Milk Pail and the Wassail Cup in the Fool's Song. But it seems at one time to have been made of milk. In a play of the 16th century it is described as 
    "Wassayle, wassayle, out of the mylke payle;     Wassayle, wassayle, as white as my nayle,"
and Selden calls it "a slabby stuff," which sounds as if it had got mixed up with frumenty.
Since the above went to press, I have received some extracts from the unwritten version of "Peace Egg" in the West Riding of Yorkshire to which I have alluded. They recall to me that the piece properly opens with a "mumming round," different to the one I have given, that one belonging to the end. The first Mumming Song rehearses each character and his exploits. The hero of the verse which describes him singing (autobiographically!) his own doughty deeds in the third person. Thus St. George begins; I give it in the vernacular.
    "The first to coom in is the Champion bould,     The Champion bould is he,     He never fought battle i' all his loife toim,     But he made his bould enemy flee, flee, flee,     He made his bould enemy flee."
The beauty of this song is the precision with which each character enters and joins the slowly increasing circle. But that is its only merit. It is wretched doggrel, and would make the play far too tedious. I was, however, interested by this verse: 
    The next to come in is the Cat and Calftail,     The Cat and Calftail is he;     He'll beg and he'll borrow, and he'll steal all he can,     But he'll never pay back one penny, penny,     He'll never pay back one penny.
Whether "Cat and Calftail" is a corruption of Captain Calftail or (more likely) Captain Calftail was evolved from a Fool in Calf's hide and Cat's skins, it is hard to say. They are evidently one and the same shabby personage!
The song which I have placed at the head of the Peace Egg Play has other verses which also recite "the argument" of the piece, but not one is worth recording. A third song does not, I feel sure, belong to the classic versions, but to another "rude and vulgar" one, which I have not seen for some years, and which was played in a dialect dark, even to those who flattered themselves that they were to the manner born. In it St. George and the Old Fool wrangle, the O.F. accusing the Patron Saint of England of stealing clothes hung out to dry on the hedges. St. George, who has previously boasted 
    I've travelled this world all round,     And hope to do it again,     I was once put out of my way     By a hundred and forty men 
 indignantly denies the theft, and adds that, on the contrary, he has always sent home money to his old mother. To which the Old Fool contemptuously responds 
    All the relations thou had were few,     Thou had an Old Granny I knew,     She went a red-cabbage selling,     As a many old people do.
In either this, or another, rough version, the hero (presumably St.
George) takes counsel with Man Jack on his love affairs. Man Jack is played by a small boy in a very tall beaver hat, and with his face blacked.
"My Man Jack, what can the matter be?
That I should luv this lady, and she will not luv me."