Maurice, the Dancer.

Maurice the Dancer

“Hi, I’m Maurice, the dancer.”

“You’re a Morris-Dancer?”

“No. My name is Maurice. I am a dancer.”

“Do you Morris-Dance?”

“No. I would have to be paid a lot of money – a lot of money – to Morris Dance – and by that, I mean a “lot” of money.”

“Why don’t you give it a try?”

“It’s the bells.”

“The whiskey?”

“No. Those little jingly-jangly ones that they tie around their ankles.”

“Oh, those!”

“Yes. And the sticks. How demeaning. I mean, would a veritable genius of the ballet arena (ie myself) even consider dressing up as a costumed clown of the MayPole Dancers Union?”

“We’d pay you this much.”

(A pause)

“Fol-de-rol, I say;

a Mummer’s thing

is to dance in May!”

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