| Clown | Let’s read the will! |
| (Dancers line up and kneel behind body whilst expressing agreement. Clown gives sword to male member of the audience.) | |
| Dancers | We’ll read the will! Aye, the will! The will! etc |
| (Clown standing at head of body takes the will, a toilet
roll, from body's pocket. Places roll in hands of body, using his fingers
as roll holder, and pulls out a long length.) |
|
 |
|
| Clown | There was an old woman of Gloucester Who.. |
| King | No, No That must be wrong. Read it aright |
| (Clown points up, all dancers look up) | |
| Clown | God in Heaven take my soul |
| (Clown points to ground, all dancers look down.) | |
| Graveyard take my bones And that man there (pointing) that holds my sword, Take my wife and bairns! |
|
| (General low laughter as dancers stand and disperse. Dancer acting as horse quietly leaves to collect sign and Doctor. | |
| King | If we mean to escape a halter, for a doctor we must send. Is there a Doctor in the house? Five pounds for a doctor! |
| Dancers | Ten pounds for a doctor! Any other doctor in the house? Bottle of broon for a doctor! etc. |
| (Enter doctor on horse, dismounts.) | |
| Doctor | See here, (Flicks hat off head, which is
attached to coat with thread, and catches it as it swings between his
legs.) a doctor bold, Who travels much, at home. Take these here my pills. (pulling pills from bag) They cure the young, the old, The hot, the cold. The living and the dead. I can cure men with their heads off, Men with their hearts out, The itch, the stitch. The stone, the bone, The pulse and the gout. And if there are nineteen devils in a man, I can take twenty out. I’ve traveled all the way from Itty-Titty Where there’s neither town nor city. Wooden churches, leather bells, Black puddings for bell-ropes. And little pigs running up and down the street With knives and forks stuck in their backs Shouting “God save the Queen.”
|
| (All stand to attention saluting, body sits up waving flag. Doctor takes rubber hammer from bag and hits body on head) | |
| Doctor | Lie
down, you’re dead! What’s the matter here? |
| King | A man, dead! |
| Doctor | How long’s he been dead? |
| King | Seven minutes. Can you cure him? |
| Doctor | If he’d been dead seven years I could cure him! |
| King | Well, what’s your fee? |
| Doctor | My fee?
Nine hundred and ninety nine pounds. Ninety nine and a half new pence. A peck of ginger bread And some oats for my horse! |
| King | It’s an imposition! I shall not pay? |
| Copyright of Monkseaton Morrismen and Folk Dance Club | |