Will Kempe danced from London to Norwich. He wrote verses about his nine days wonder, including one where he speaks of a local girl who "was Marian in his Morris dance." and danced beside him through the town.
The local morris team handed around cake, assuring those who ate it that it brought good luck for a year. I ate some of that cake. A week later my cat died. Within the next 52 weeks, my boyfriend developed a tumor, and had to go home to Minnesota for surgery. It turned out to be benign. Of course two days after I got the good knews, my father died. Since then I have avoided morris dancers bearing cakes.    (OH, my boyfriend dumped me. But the year was up by then.)