There's twelve pence, said I, take the rest for your pains,
Your Servant said he, Sir, sweet Mr Haines.
His Majesty, faith, I must needs say was civil,
For he took up his Heels, and ran for't like a Devil.
Meantime I addrest myself to his Bride,
And took her unto the tireing House side;
A hay loft it was which at a dead lift,
Instead of a better serv'd then for a shift.
But mark the Fate of her Civility,
The Players did rant both at her and me: