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Full text of "Works. Edited from the earliest extant editions and broadsides, with an introd. and notes by Francis Oscar Mann"

THE WORKS OF 
THOMAS DELONEY 

EDITED FROM THE 

EARLIEST EXTANT EDITIONS & BROADSIDES 
WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 

BY 
FRANCIS OSCAR MANN 



OXFORD 

AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 
1912 



PR 

2.2M 



HENRY FROWDE 

PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD 

LONDON, EDINBURGH, NEW YORK 

TORONTO AND MELBOURNE 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

NOTE ON THE TEXT . . vi 
I. INTRODUCTION 

i. Thomas Deloney . vii 

ii. Deloney and the Elizabethan Novel . xiv 

iii. The poetry of Deloney . . . xxxi 

II. IACKE OF NEWBERIE . T 

III. THE GENTLE CRAFT (The first part) . . 69 

IV. THE GENTLE CRAFT (The second part) . J 37 
V. THOMAS OF READING . . . . .211 

VI. A DECLARATION MADE BY THE ARCHBISHOP OF 

COLLEN UPON THE DEEDE OF HIS MARIAGE . 273 

VII. THE PROCLAMATION AND EDICT OF THE ARCH- 

BYSHOP, AND PRINCE ELECTOR OF CULLEYN 289 

VIII. THE GARLAND OF GOOD WILL . . . . 295 

IX. STRANGE HISTORIES 381 

X. CANAANS CALAMITIE 417 

XI. MISCELLANEOUS BALLADS 457 

XII. APPENDIX 

i. Patient Grissell 493 

ii. Deloney's Lost Work 495 

iii. Attributed Ballads ..... 503 

XIII. NOTES 506 



NOTE ON THE TEXT 

THE plan adopted in preparing the text has been to reprint 
from the earliest extant editions. Where, however, the text seems 
doubtful, or later editions show any important variation, footnotes 
are appended. The comparative value of the texts of the various 
editions is sometimes indicated by the order of the letters used. 



INTRODUCTION 

I. THOMAS DELONEY. 

THE recorded facts of Deloney's life are very scanty. His 
earliest venture appears to have been A Declaration made by the 
Archbishop of Cullen vpon the Deede of his Mariage (1583), and 
Kempe in April, 1600, refers to him as having just died. Thus his 

r working literary life lasted about seventeen years, but it is impos 
sible to give even a rough guess at the date of his birth, although 
Ebbsworth suggests (apparently capriciously) I543- 1 He appears 
to have drifted into literature from the more substantial occupation 

^of silk-weaving, and his novels show the most intimate acquain 
tance with London life, but Nash's epithet ' the Balletting Silke 
Weauer of Norwich ' 2 seems to point to that town as the place of 
his birth, and it is significant that one of his earliest ballads 
The Lamentation of Beckles (1586) was printed 'for Nicholas 
Coleman of Norwich '. His name may indicate French ancestry, 
and this, combined with his strong Anti-Catholicism, perhaps 
points to descent from a Protestant silk-weaving family, one of 
those which took refuge in East Anglia from Continental religious 
persecution. From the earliest times Norwich had been colonized 
by Flemish and Walloon refugees, and in 1571 there were 3,925 
aliens dwelling within the city. 3 The number of silk workers 
(Deloney's own craft) seems to have increased considerably during 
the lajter half of the sixteenth century. 'Among the trading 
Strangers', writes Strype, 'that came over into England from 
Planders and those Parts for their Religion, in the said Queen 
Elizabeths Reign, there were divers of this Sort that dealt in 
dressing and preparing Silk for the other trades ' ; * and it may be 
remembered that alien artisans figure very prominently in Deloney's 
novels. 

Of his earlier life and education nothing is known, but his 
translation of the proclamation and letters in the Cologne tract 

1 Diet, of Nat. Biography, art. Thomas Deloney. 

2 Haue with You to Saffron Waldtn (1596), Works (M c Kerrow), vol. iii, p. 84. 
5 Beauties of England and Wales (Norfolk}, p. 132 ; Bloomfield's History 

of Norfolk, vol. iii, p. 282. 

4 Stirvey of London (Stow, edited Strype, 1720), bk. v, p. 333. 



viii Introduction. 

(p. 274) show him to have had a good working knowledge of 
Latin. There is some probability that he knew French, for in 
lacke of Newberie he apparently refers to a passage l in Montaigne's 
Essays, which were not Englished by Florio until 1603. Similarly 
the ' Spirit of Mogunce ' 2 may have been remembered from 
Belleforest's Histoires Prodigieuses ; the story of the Kings daughter 
of France 3 seems definitely drawn from the Histoires Tragiques ; 
while even the French-English of John in The Gentle Craft (/) is 
of some importance in this connexion. He was at any rate a man 
of some culture, and had probably received such education as 
an Elizabethan Grammar-school allowed, adding to it a know 
ledge of the Continental languages, acquired either from the 
foreign artisans with whom he rubbed shoulders, or perhaps from 
his own family. 

Elderton of the ' ale-crammed nose ', so famous in contemporary 
pamphletsTwas the king of the London Ballad-makers until his 
death in 1592, and him Deloney seems to have followed and 
finally succeeded as the popular ballad-journalist of the day, at 
first combining the weaving of good silk with the production of 
popular poetry. His earliest extant performances in this direction 
are of a rather lugubrious description, such as The Lamentation of 
Beckles and The Death and Execution of Fourteen Most Wicked 
Traitors (1586). About this time he appears as a married man, 
living in the parish of St. Giles, Cripplegate, for the baptismal 
entry in the church registers can scarcely apply to any but him : 

Richard the son of Thomas Deloney. Weaver, bap. Oct r i6 th 
1586. 

Although little of the work of his next eight years is extant, there 
can be no doubt that during this time he was writing prolifically, 
and had become one of the most notorious authors of the Eliza 
bethan Grub Street that catered for the ' groundlings '. 

Greene, in apologizing for the matter of his Defence of Conny 
Catching (1592), singles him out as a typical ballad-writer : 

' Such triviall trinkets and threedbare trash, had better seemed 
T.D. whose braines beaten to the yarking up of Ballades, might 
more lawfully have glaunst at the quaint conceites of conny- 
catching and crosse-biting '. 4 

1 p. 7, 1. 25, and note. 2 p. 24, 1. 40, and note. 

8 PP- 333~ 8 > and note - 

4 The Works of Robert Greene (Grosart), vol. xi, p. 49. 



Thomas Deloney. ix 

Gabriel Harvey, in Pierces Supererogation (1593),' classes him 
with ' Philip Stubs, Robert Armin. and the common Pamfleteers of 
London ', advising Nash ' to boast lesse with Thomas Delone, or 
to atchieve more with Thomas More '. 

Strype, in his edition of Stow's Survey, notes that 'abusive 
Ballads and Libels were too common in the City in Queen Eliza 
beth's Time, therein reflecting too boldly and seditiously upon 
the Government, particularly in case of Dearth '. His relation of 
an incident of 1596 throws light both upon the activities of 
Thomas Deloney and the difficulties of sixteenth-century popular 
journalism. 2 

'In the next Year [1596] Sir Stephen Slany, Maior, in the 
Month of July was brought to his Hands a certain Ballad, con 
taining a Complaint of great Want and Scarcity of Corn within 
the Realm. And forasmuch as it contained in it certain vain and 
presumptuous matters, bringing in the Queen, speaking with her 
People Dialogue wise in very fond and undecent sort (as the said 
Maior in his letter, wrote also to the Lord Treasurer shewed) and 
prescribing Order for the remedying of this Dearth of Corn ; 
which was extracted, as it seemed, out of a Book, published by 
the Lords the last Year, but done in that Vain and indiscreet man 
ner, as that thereby the Poor might aggravate their Grief, and take 
occasion of some Discontentment : therefore he thought fit to 
acquaint the said Lord, that he called before him both Printer 
and the Party by whom it was put to print; who pretended a 
License for it. But that finding it to be untrue, he committed 
him to one of the Counters, and took Sureties of the printer 
himself for his appearance. 

The Maker of this scurrilous Ballad was one Delonie, an idle 
Fellow, and one noted with the like Spirit, in printing a Book for 
the Silk Weavers : Wherein was found some such like foolish 
and disorderly matter. Him the Maior also was in Search for, 
but could not yet find him ; as he signified also the said Lord, 
and sent him a Copy of the foresaid Ballad.' 

The Ballad on the Want of Corn has entirely disappeared, to 
gether with the ' Book for the Silk Weavers '. But it seems fairly 
certain that Deloney was now installed as the poet of the people, 
and his voicing of popular cries was beginning to bring him 
into trouble. Slany's letter to Lord Burghley is still extant 
and is the original source of Strype's information. It is dated the 

1 The Works of Gabriel Harvey (Grosart), vol. ii, pp. 280-1. 

2 Survey of London (Stow, edited Strype, 1720), bk. v, p. 333. 



x Introduction. 

25th of July, 1596, and may be read in Wright's Elizabeth and her 
Times (vol. ii, p. 462). 

' I loathe to speake it ', says the author of the Epistle to Martin 
Mar-Sixtus (1592), 'euery red-nosed rimester is an author, euery 
drunken man's dreame is a booke, and he whose talent of little 
wit is hardly worth a farthing, yet layeth about him so outragiously, 
as if all Helicon had run through his pen, in a word, scarce a cat 
can look out of a gutter, but out starts a halfpenny chronicler, 
and presently A propper new ballet of a strange sight is endited V 
The ballad-singer was a common enough figure of popular Eliza 
bethan life, and Tudor legislation had found it necessary to 
include him in a sweeping scheme of social reform. By the i4th 
of Elizabeth, Cap. V, 

'All fencers, bearwards, common players in interludes and 
minstrels, not belonging to any baron of this realm or towards any 
other honourable personage of greater degree ; . . . which . . . 
shall wander abroad and have not license of two justices of the 
peace . . . shall be deemed rogues, vagabonds and sturdy 
beggars '. 2 

Chettle, in Kind-Hartes Dreame (1592), describes the ballad- 
singer's peculiar garb. 

* His head was couered with a round cap, his body with a side 
skirted tawny coate, his legs and feete trust vppe in leather bus 
kins, ... his treble violl in his hande, assured me of his profession. 
On which (by his continual sawing, hauing left but one string) 
after his best manner, hee gaue me a huntsup.' 3 

With this we may compare Deloney's own account of Antony Now- 
now in The Gentle Craft (II). But Chettle goes on to describe 
the ballad-singers further : 

' A company of idle youths, loathing honest labour and dis- 
pising lawful trades, betake themselues to a vagrant and vicious 
life, in euery corner of Cities and market Townes of the Realme, 
singing and selling of ballads and pamplets full of ribaudrie, and 
all scurrilous vanity, to the prophanation of God's name, and with 
drawing people from Christian exercises, especially at faires, mar 
kets, and such publike meetings.' 4 

Northbrooke and Stubbes attacked them with the proper dignity 
of Puritan morality, and Stubbes denounces their indifference to 

1 Quoted in Chappell's Popular Music of the Olden Time, vol. i, p. 106. 

2 Prothero's Statutes and other Constitutional Documents, p. 69. 

8 Kind-hartes Dreame (N. S. S. Shakspere Allusion Bks.\ pt. i, p. 43. 

* Ibid., p. 47. 



Thomas Deloney. xi 



moral issues with rhetorical fervour : * Who be more bawdie than 
they ? who vncleaner than they ? who more licentious and loose- 
minded ? ' 1 

To this honourable fraternity Thomas Deloney, the fervent 
Puritan-Protestant, joined himself, rising to more prominence in 
proportion as he left silk-weaving behind him. His novels show 
the closest acquaintance with the life of travelling craftsmen, with 
the legends, customs, and topography of certain districts, and 
especially those round which the Elizabethan textile industries 
were centred, 2 an acquaintance which could scarcely have been 
gained except by personal experience. He writes of Petworth 
and the high road thence to London, 3 of Gloucester, 4 Canter 
bury, 5 and Colnbrook, 6 with the casual accuracy which betokens 
familiarity, and his skilful imitation of the Northern dialect 7 
indicates a very real knowledge of its peculiarities. There cannot 
be the slightest doubt that he must have lived at Newbury long 
enough to have become well acquainted with its traditions and 
customs, 8 with the surrounding countryside and the names and 
reputations of local gentlefolk. Probably Berkshire as a whole 
was well known to him, for both lacke of Newberie and Thomas of 
Reading seem largely derived from traditional sources. His 
knowledge of Newbury streets and suburbs is remarkably detailed 
and correct. 9 Parry, 10 Englefield, 11 and Hungerford 12 in lacke of 
Newberie, and Nevel, Abridges, and Rainsford 13 in The Gentle 
Craft (II), are the names of Berkshire county families adopted 
boldly into fiction. ' It was her lucke vpon a Bartholomew day 
(hauing a Fayre in the toun) to spy her man lohn giue a paire of 
Gloues to a proper maide for a Fayring,' he writes in lacke of 
Newberie ; 14 and Ashmole, in the Antiquities of Berkshire (sub 
Newbury), mentions five yearly fairs, one upon August 24th, 

1 Anatomy of Abuses (N. S. S.), p. 171. 

2 Note on Sources of Thomas of Reading, infra, pp. 547-8. 

3 p. 176, 1. i ; p. 178, 1. 31 ; p. 185, 1. 39, and notes. 

4 p. 222, 11. 5-10, and notes. 5 p. 97, 11. 31, 45, and notes. 
6 Note on Sources of Thomas of Reading, infra, p. 549. 

* e. g. p. 227, 11. 34-8 ; p. 244, 11. 20-7. 

8 p. 27, 1. 6 ; p. 32, 1. 33 ; p. 33, 1. 12, and notes. 

9 e. g. p. 5, 1. 21 ; p. 6, 1. 8 ; p. 15, 1. 36, and notes. 

10 p. 22, 1. 10, and note. u p. 24, 1. 5, and note. 
13 p. 22, 1. n, and note. 

13 Note on Sources of Gentle Craft (//), infra, pp. 532-3. 

14 p. 10, 11. 5-7. 



Xll 



Introduction. 



Bartholomew day. Hence Deloney is here referring to an actual 
fact of local topography, the casual nature of the reference making 
it all the more certain that he speaks of a custom familiar to him 
by continued experience. He may have frequented Newbury 
with his ballads on fair days, an Autolycus among the villages of 
Bohemia, but more probably he worked there at his trade of silk- 
weaving. The silk industry reached considerable importance in 
Berkshire in Elizabeth's time, especially at Reading, and at New 
bury itself it survived until the early nineteenth century. 1 
Deloney's knowledge of Newbury customs and people appears too 
detailed to have been acquired in any other way than by actual 
residence in the town, and Canaans Calamitie 2 is actually dedi 
cated to Richard Kingsmill of Highclere, near by. 

Nash's Haue With You to Saffron- Walden (1596) gives a list of 
Deloney's pamphlets, some of which have entirely perished or 
cannot be identified with certainty. 

f as Thomas Deloney, the Balletting Silke-Weauer, of Norwich, 
hath rime inough for all myracles, and wit to make a Garland of 
Good will, more than the premisses, with an epistle of Momus and 
Zoylus; whereas his Muse, from the first peeping foorth, hath 
stood at Liuery at an Alehouse wispe, neuer exceeding a penny 
a quart, day or night, and this deare yeare, together with the 
silencing of his looms, scarce that ; he being constrained to betake 
him to carded Ale : whence it proceedeth that, since Candlemas 
or his ligge of John for the King, not one merrie Dittie will come 
from him, but the Thunder-bolt against Swearers, Repent, England, 
repent, and the strange iudgments of God.' 3 

Deloney's muse, from the first, was probably nourished on very 
small beer, and by 1596 the dear year and the slackness of trade 
seem to have driven him from his loom to rely entirely for susten 
ance on his ballads and romances. If this be the case, the issue 
was happy enough, for Deloney's chief claims for remembrance 
rest upon his novels, lacke of Newberie, registered March 7,1596-7 ; 
The Gentle Craft (7), October 19, 1597 ; and The Gentle Craft (II) 
and Thomas of Reading, written between 1597 and 1600, all of 
which seem to be the product of enforced idleness from his loom. 

The author of Skialetheia or the Shadow of Truth (1598) found 

1 Victoria County History oj Berks, vol. i, p. 395. 

2 See note on p. 33, 1. 12 ; also Note on Authorship of Canaans Calamitie, ; 
infra, p. 593. 

3 The Works of Thomas Nash (M c Kerrow), vol. iii, p. 84. I 



Thomas Deloney. xiii 

Deloney a poet of sufficient importance to satirize, noting at 
once the great popularity of his ballads and his choice of dolorous 
subjects. 

To DELONEY [8] 

Like to the fatal ominous Rauen which tolls 
The sicke mans dirge within his hollow beake, 
So euery paper-clothed post in Poules, 
To thee (Deloney) mourningly doth speake, 
And tells thee of thy hempen tragedy, .T, 

The wracks of hungry Tyburne nought to thine. 
Such massacre's made of thy balladry, 
And thou in griefe, for woe thereof maist pine. 

To Kemp's Nine Daies Wonder (April, 1600) is appended 
' Kempes humble request to the impudent generation of Ballad- 
makers and their coherents, that it would please their Rascalities, 
to pity his pains in the great journey he pretends ; and not fill the 
country with lies of his never-done-acts, as they did in his late 
Morrice to Norwich. To the tune of Thomas Deloney' s Epitaph.' * 
A further reference follows which fixes the date of Deloney's death 
as about March, 1 600, and clearly shows that if he kept his posi 
tion as ' general ' of the ballad-mongers up to the last, it at least 
did little to fill his needy pockets. 

1 1 have made a privy search, what private Jigmonger of your 
jolly number hath been the Author of these abominable Ballets 
written of me. 

' I was told it was the great Ballad-maker, T. D., alias Thomas 
Deloney, Chronicler of the memorable lives of the Six Yeomen 
of the West, Jack of Newbury, the Gentle Craft, &c., and such 
like honest men, omitted by Stow, Hollinshed, Grafton, Halle, 
Froissart, and all the rest of those well deserving writers. 

' But I was given since to understand, your late general, Thomas, 
died poorly (as ye all must do) and was honestly buried, which is 
much to be doubted of some you.' 2 

It is difficult to say much of a writer of whom so meagre details 
have been preserved, but Deloney's work to a certain extent be 
trays his character. He was doubtless an eager reader of such 
printed matter as came in his way, from the jest-book of Long 
Meg of Westminster to the Chronicles of Grafton and Holinshed, the 
Acts and Monuments of Fox, and The Golden Legend of Caxton. 
There are reasons to think he had dipped into some classical and 

1 Social England Illustrated {An English Garner], pp. 159, 160. 

2 Ibid., vol. vii, p. 36. 



xiv Introduction. 

foreign literature, nor did he neglect the contemporary stage, 
founding one of his ballads on the play of Edward III and often 
remembering Shakespeare in the plot and dialogue of his" novels. 
Besides this, he had stored his memory with fragments of folk-songs 
and quaint local customs and sayings, picked up on his wanderings 
about the country ; and out of this vivid information he spun much 
of the stuff of his prose and rhyme. None of the contemporary 
references to him are hostile or ill-tempered, and if the litterateurs 
of the day treated him with little respect, at least it was with good 
humour. Nash, although writing satirically in what he considered 
the vein of the ' Diuine Aretino ', is pleasantly enough disposed to 
the ale-house muse ; Harvey recognizes the unpretentious merit 
which is really present in Deloney's poetry, while Kemp's reference 
is a testimony to a respectability almost pathetic. He ' died 
poorly . . . and was honestly buried '. 

From his surviving work we can gather his acquaintance and 
sympathy with trade and handicraftsmen of all sorts, his admiration 
and satisfied acceptance of blue blood and the established order 
of things, which particularly marks the bourgeois class to which 
he belonged. Simon Eyer and John Winchcombe, the successful 
merchants endowed with all the popular virtues of generosity and 
good spirits, were his heroes of real life, but his sentimental 
conviction was the pre-eminent virtue of an aristocracy, so that all 
his kings are truly * royal ' and their ladies ' gracious '. He had 
all the democratic value for the commonplace virtues, and the 
democratic enjoyment of sheer life, pathetic, ridiculous, or merely 
coarse. A strong patriot and Protestant, he hated Spain and the 
Catholic Church with an honourable virulence, while his pride in 
substantial aldermen and civic corporations bespeaks him a typical 
Elizabethan Londoner, by adoption if not by birth. 

He is the chief representative of a host of writers (mostly 
nameless) who catered for that Elizabethan vulgar, eager for 
entertainment either in prose or verse. 

II. DELONEY AND THE ELIZABETHAN NOVEL. 

In the work of Thomas Deloney we may justly find the highest 
achievement of the Elizabethan novel ; and yet to the modern 
reader fresh from the art of the great novelists of the eighteenth 
and nineteenth centuries there must appear even in his work 



Deloney and the Elizabethan No^eL xv 

a lack of construction and seriousness which contrasts vividly 
with the great achievements of the same age in drama and 
poetry. 

Before 1400 Chaucer had written Troilus and Criseyde, in 
method an almost perfect example of the novel, in spite of its 
poetic form. Yet in the late sixteenth century novelists are 
working out in the dark the very rudiments of their art and, almost 
incapable of construction, can scarcely lill in more than the 
simplest outlines of characterization. The subtlety of handling 
and the mastery of material by which Chaucer vivified a common 
mediaeval story into a drama of quick and human interest is 
exchanged for the crudity and barbaric emphasis of a Jack Wilton 
or Don Simonides, and while Troilus and Criseyde shows us the 
art of the novelist in its most subtle form, the novels of the 
Elizabethans seem little more than elementary experiments in an 
unknown medium. 

Nevertheless, in the sixteenth century one step had been 
taken of the greatest importance in the development of the 
English novel. Fielding defines the novel as the ' prose epic ', 
and in scope it certainly embraces aspects of human life hostile to 
poetic treatment. The death of Barkis in David Copperfield may 
touch the realms of poetry, but Mr. Micawber can only move in 
the atmosphere of prose ; Esmond is * himself a true poem ', but 
Tom Tusher would be strangely out of place in the poetic con 
ventions. Hence it was imperative for the just development of 
the novel that the medium adopted should be prose and not poetry, 
and by the time of the Elizabethans this change of medium had 
already taken place, so that if contemporary novelists produced 
nothing approximating to Troilus and Criseyde^ at least they were 
subduing the hand to that it worked in, and experimenting in 
prose as a medium of creative literature. 

But the character of the sixteenth century was hardly favourable 
to the development of the novel in its higher forms. The 
tendencies of an ambitious Renaissance were towards poetic form 
jtnd method, and the popularity"6T the drama and poetry led 
writers of the day to throw the most prosaic matter into the more ~ 
popular shape. Drayton endeavoured to sublimate the details of~0 
topography into the Songs of Polyolbion^ and Sir John Davies 
discussed metaphysics in the four-lined stanzas of Nosce Teipsum. 
While poetic energy was potent enough to hammer out such 



xvi Introduction. 

unmalleable subjects as these, there can be little wonder that other 
prosaic but more vivid matter, which seems to a modern reader 
best fitted for the treatment of the novelist, should have found its 
expression in verse, and more especially in the drama. While the 
latest murder found artistic elaboration in The Yorkshire Tragedy 
or Arden of Fevers ham, and Ben Jonson illustrated the humours of 
Elizabethan life in Bartholomew Fair or The Alchemist, the use of 
the novel as a medium of literature was apt to be overlooked by 
the more important writers and despised by the more cultured 
readers. Renaissance ideals pointed to the great epic and the great 
tragedy as the two pinnacles of literary achievement, and it needed 
a prophetic soul to appreciate the ultimate possibilities of the 
rough contemporary work in prose fiction. 

But while poetry claimed the first attention of the educated, 
there was a large Elizabethan audience clamouring for literature 
of any kind, provided only that it should be sufficiently amusing. 
Eager publishers were not slow to reckon up the tastes of the 
vulgar, and not only were the old romances set forth again in 
a new and attractive rhetoric, but a host of writers who depended 
for sheer livelihood on popular approval set to work to ' yark up ' 
new pamphlets of pothouse jests, of London rogueries, of out 
rageous knight-errantry, of anything and everything which might 
satisfy the thirst for novelty and amusement. Greene poured 
forth the tragic reminiscences of his own life in The Repentance of 
Robert Greene, M.A., and his series of ' cony-catching ' pamphlets ; 
^Nasfi> lashed himself into the vein of ' lusty Juvenal ' to attack 
tKe vices of London and the age in Christs Teares and the 
Anatomic of Absurditie ; Dekker fancifully set forth the humours 
of men and things in The Bachelors Banquet^ The Guls Horn 
Bookj and a dozen more such pamphlets; while Painter, 
Whetstone, Fenton and their brother translators introduced to the 
contemporary public the popular stories of Italy, France, and 
Spain. 

Amidst this- torrent of miscellaneous literature the Elizabethan 
novel took its shape and developed its characteristics, and it is to 
the prose audience for whom these authors wrote that we owe the 
Elizabethan novel. 

There was no lack of good stories in the Middle Ages. The 
epic legends which the Teutons brought with them in their 
descent upon the south were softened down by Christianity and 



Deloney and the Elizabethan No^eL xvii 

a more elaborate civilization into the romance of Chretien de 
Troyes and Godfrey of Strasbourg. The sentiment of chivalry, 
with its half mystic refinements upon love and honour, replaced 
the old glorification of magnificent slaughter, and while nice 
points of honour were debated in the lord's court or lady's bower, 
the growth of a powerful burgher class in the twelfth and 
thirteenth centuries led to the rise of the fabliau, or town literature, 
which dealt preferably with the crude realities of life rather than 
with courtly theories of conductor etherealized adventures. 

' Why were taverns invented but to ripen men's wits ? and why 
were tales devised but to make men pleasant ? ' asks the anony 
mous author of the Cobler of Canterburie (1608), and doubtless., 
much of the realistic literature of the Middle Ages took rise from 
the tavern talk of those who, like Langland's Gula, missed mass 
for the alehouse. Here, travellers beguiled the time by the 
mutual relation of good stories, which passed down from mouth 
to mouth and from generation to generation until the tradition 
was lost or received a final literary shape at the hand of 
a Boccaccio or a Bandello. Chaucer shows us the Canterbury- 
Pilgrims whiling away their journey with tales, and Chaucer's own 
work shows us how various were the sources, classical, romantic, 
and popular, upon which the mediaeval artist could draw for his 
material. 

Besides the stories naked and undisguised told in the taverns, 
clerical zeal made collections of tales for moral edification, these 
being fragments from the floating mass of mediaeval oral and 
written literature, quaintly moralized. The Gesta Romanorum 
contains all sorts of stories from all sorts of sources, and its 
publication in 1517 by Wynkyn de Worde may be taken as 
a sign of its continued popularity in the sixteenth century. 

While the mediaeval minstrel read or sang his romances to 
gentle or simple, and the mediaeval bourgeoisie scattered their 
satirical and realistic fabliaux broadcast, the more tragic episodes 
of life that touched the heart and imagination of the people found 
their expression in the ballad, a traditional literature that stayed 
with us longest of all, and has not yet finally disappeared. Thus 
in the Middle Ages, the story or ' novel ' was an especially popular 
form of literature, in whatever guise it appeared, and whether it 
dealt with the matter of romance, the matter of town life, or the 
matter of tragedy. 

917.6 b 



xviii Introduction. 

The continuity of the mediaeval and Tudor ages has bee.. 
strangely overlooked, and this continuity is plainly marked in the 
early history of the English novel. For while the Renaissance 
set before Englishmen new ideals in literature and flooded 
England with new and strange material for fiction, yet it did not, 
as elsewhere, choke the springs of native genius, and the foreign 
matter was rather absorbed by the English literary tradition than 
triumphed over it. In spite of Ascham and Lyly English prose 
developed on its own lines, and in spite of the ' enchantments of 
Circes ' brought from Italy our novel of the sixteenth century is 
characteristically English. The two main streams of mediaeval 
literature, the realistic and the romantic, as they express them 
selves in the novel, may be seen in continuous development in 
popular Tudor prose, in the Hundred Merry Tales and Long Meg 
of Westminster on the one hand, and in the Morte Arthur and 
Montelion on the other. 

For the popularity of simple prose romances in Elizabethan 
times there is ample evidence. ' As the Lord de la Noue in the 
Sixth Discourse of his Politic and Military Discourses, censureth 
the books of Amadis de Gaul, which, he saith, are no less hurt 
ful to youth than the works of Machiavelli ; so these books are 
accordingly to be censured of, whose names follow,' writes Meres 
in Palladis Tamia (1598), and adds a list of romances, including 
Huon of Bordeaux, Guy of Warwick, Four Sons of Aymon, Arthur 
of the Round Table, The Seven Champions of Christendom, and 
other well-known mediaeval stories. The early English printing- 
press had in the first place busied itself with the dissemination of 
the culture and literature of an age which was passing away. In 
Caxton's Golden Legend, Capgrave's Nova Legenda Angliae was 
passed on to the Elizabethans, and Copland's translations from the 
French handed down the spirit of knight-errantry in romances 
such as Guy of Warwick and The Knight of the Swan. Ascham 's 
censure witnesses the popularity of Morte Arthur, and Shake 
speare's Oberon reminds us of the vogue of Berners's Huon of Bor 
deaux. But these versions of French romance, popular though 
they were, really belong to another civilization than the Tudor. 
For the Elizabethan children of the Renaissance looked out upon 
a world of garbled glories, and the haunting pathos of a dying age 
that broods upon the pages of Malory and Berners could find 
no real echo in the hearts of men who saw the New World un- 



Deloney and the Elizabethan No^eL xix 

rolled before them like a scroll and took all human learning and 
experience to be their province. More violent emotions shook 
society and the individual, and the excitement'of the age coloured 
even its language and its novels. Thus while the old stories in ; 
their old settings never ceased to be read, later writers who re- 
edited them for the press, or wrote similar romances of their own, 
decorated them with a more florid style and seasoned them with * 
a more Renaissance sentiment. 

With this change in romantic method and the rise of the pro 
fessional author, the old tales were degraded from their earlier 
dignity and addressed to a more popular audience. The end of 
this process is to be seen in the chap-books of the eighteenth cen 
tury, when the stories originally invented for the delight of courtly 
lords and ladies end in the penny tracts of Guy of Wanvick, Bevis 
of Hampton and The Seven Wise Masters. More cultured Eliza 
bethan readers preferred the brand-new phrases and sentimentalities 
of the Euphuistic romances to the old simple stories of endless 
adventures ; and even writers who, like Richard Johnson, wrote 
more distinctly for the vulgar, made their old-fashioned stories 
bright with a new and often astonishing rhetoric. Johnson's Tom a 
Lincolne, the Red Rose Knight is a tangled romance of the usual 
mediaeval kind, but it is evidently pitched for a bourgeois audience, 
and the characters constantly break out into violent apostrophes. 

' Despaire, where art thou ? I'll saddle winged Pegasus, and 
scale the mansion place of Jove, I will ransack all the corners of 
the sky, I will throw doun the sun, the moon and stars.' 

A comparison of Johnson's romance with Copland's Knight of 
the Swan shows clearly how the knightly romance had changed 
its literary method with its audience. Dignity and restraint have 
been replaced by over-emphasis and mere extravagance, and the 
subdued colourings of late mediaeval romance are transformed into 
the garish bravadoes of a bastard poetic prose. Of this school 
the chief writer was Emanuel Ford, and Ornatus and Artesia, 
Parismus, and the rest of his novels add to the mediaeval confusion 
of incident and sequence the Renaissance confusion of rhetoric 
and affectation. Antony Munday's numerous translations from 
the Spanish brought to native invention the tangles of foreign 
growth, and the romance of knight-errantry flourished with un- 
diminished popularity into the seventeenth century, until it was 
swallowed up into the heroic novel and the heroic drama. 

b 2 



xx Introduction. 

But when the University wits, educated in the school of Lyly, 
took up the novel of romance, a more ambitious method, addressed 
to a more cultured audience, makes a definite appearance. The 
readers of Tom a Lincolne were content with ' ginger, hot i' the 
mouth ', a torrent of rhetoric and adventure, but the interest of 
Greene's Philomela or Lodge's Margarite of America obviously 
lay in a different direction. George Petty 's Petite Palace of Petty 
his Pleasure ', containing many pretty stories by him set forth in comely 
colours (1576) was dedicated, like Lyly's Euphues^ to the ( Gentle 
women of England', and with Petty, and not with Lyly as 
M. Jusserand would persuade us, we enter upon the prose liter 
ature of the drawing-room. Petty, like Lyly, Greene, and Lodge, 
has all the tricks of euphuism at his fingers' ends, the ' pickt 
words and choise phrases ' that would recommend him to readers 
interested in the nice use of language, and his real business is not 
the depicting of character or action, but the discussion of emotions 
and delicate points of conduct. Here we have all the dignified 
morality, the sententiousness and interminable monologues and 
conversations of Euphues, two years before Euphues was published. 
So distinctly does Petty's interest lie in the sentiment and in 
the moralizations which seem more properly to belong to the 
essay than the novel, that he passes over the finest possibilities 
of a story to indulge his euphuistic vein. In the story of Horatia, 
when the heroine's husband is slain by her brother, we have a theme 
as keenly tragic as any in the old ballads. The born novelist or 
tragedian would have known how to use such a situation, but 
Petty slurs over the tragic crisis in a shower of mere words. 

'But seeing afar off about her brother's shoulders the coat 
armour of her Curiatus, which she herself with needlework 
curiously had made, being thereby fully assured of his death, she 
was drawn into these doleful plaints. 

* Oh heauens, what hellish sight do I see ; far more dolorous 
and dangerous than Medusa's head. And is my Curiatus slain ? 
then care come cut in sunder my corps, then dole deliuer me to 
the dreadful darts of death.' 

4 Euphues I read when I was a little Ape at Cambridge,' wrote 
[aslh, ' and I then thought it was ipse ille,' and Euphues ; published 
in 1578, the final elaboration of Petty's style and sentiment, was 
the guiding influence that permeated the romantic novels of Lodge 
and Greene. So essential indeed had euphuism become to 
romance that Greene, like Deloney, while using the plainer Eng- 



Deloney and the Elizabethan NoDeL xxi 

lish for ordinary occasions, relapses into the euphuistic method 
immediately he takes in hand a romantic subject. Like Lyly, 
Greene aims at morality, ' how young gentlemen that aim at 
honour should level the end of their affections ' ; the construction 
of his novels is as loose as his master's, and his characters equally 
indefinite. Heroes and heroines retire to private closets or cool 
arbours ' to powder forth their complaints ' at remorseless length, 
and are really nothing more than mouths through which the author 
pours sententious platitudes and pleasing rhetoric. But Greene, 
aiming at the elegant discussion of sentimental emotion, really 
achieves something in the management of courtly conversation, 
and Pandosto and Menaphon show an agreeable variety of colour 
and movement. Lodge's work, while sharing the general charac 
teristics of Greene's, rises to more reality in^f Margarite of America^ 
and in Rosalynde achieves a vivacity which explains the close 
relation of the novel and As You Like It. 

But while mediaeval romance had thus changed under the 
moulding influences of the Renaissance, the mediaeval fabliau 
had also been developed to a more elaborate form. In the Gesta 
Romanorum the Universal Church had held good wit prisoner for 
the sake of righteousness, but with the progress of the sixteenth 
century men began to print good stories without the excuse of 
allegory. TheJTudor jest-books, carried in the pocket or passed 
from hand to hand, were the successors of the Exempla Predica- 
toruni) and they bear traces in their * significations ' of their 
honourable lineage. The Hundred Merry Tales (1528) is the 
earliest example extant of a literature which was popular all through 
the Tudor period, and which survives in a debased form even in 
the age of free education and public libraries. Many of the tales 
are those excellent jokes of all time that reappear with unfailing 
regularity, though in slightly altered guise, in the columns of 
modern publications. Some are attached to actual localities, as 
the story of the ' archdekyn of Essex ' and that of the curate of 
Botley. There are few or none that seem to have a definitely 
literary source, and yet in many cases they are told with an art 
that has perhaps never been excelled in the history of the written 
joke. The story of the Welshmen in heaven is related with 
a satirical reserve and malice that shows how completely the art 
of simple jest was understood by the writers of earliest Tudor 
English. 




xxii Introduction. 

'I find written among old gestes, how God made S' Peter 
porter of heauen, and that God of his goodness, soon after his 
passion, suffered many men to come to the kingdom of heauen 
with small deseruing ; at which time there was in Heauen a great 
company of Welshmen, which with their cracking and babbling 
troubled all the other. Wherefore God said to S* Peter, that he 
was weary of them, and that he would fain haue them out of 
Heauen. To whom S* Peter said : Good Lord, I warrant you r 
that shal be done. Wherefore S l Peter went out of heauen gates 
and cried with a loud voice Cause bobe, that is as much to say as 
roasted cheese, which thing the Welshmen hearing ran out of 
heauen a great pace. And when S l Peter saw them all out he 
suddenly wente into Heauen, and locked the door, and so sparred 
all those Welshmen out.' 

The Sackful of News (1557) is full of stories nearly as good, 
but Merry Tales, Witty Questions and Quick Answers (1567) 
draws distinctly from literary sources, from Diogenes Laertius, 
Aesop, and Plutarch, and there is a corresponding decrease in 
vigour and effect. As a matter of fact, the temper of the age was 
becoming more literary, and the isolated joke belonging more 
distinctly to the oral literature of an age when books were rare r 
lacked the continuity and size demanded by the readers of Lyly 
and Greene. The essence of the joke is its brevity and point ; 
for a collection of jokes to become a humorous book some sort 
of constructional framework is necessary. The unsatisfactoriness 
of a torrent of unconnected ' japes ' had been felt in the Middle 
Ages, and had resulted in the creation of Reynard the Fox, the 
gigantic burlesque hero to whom could be attached all the 
rogueries and cunning tricks known to the mediaeval story-teller. 
But Caxton's prose epic of Reynard was the finished product of 
a civilization different from and more elaborated than that of 
the Tudors, and the earlier sixteenth-century attempts at unifying 
the jest-book seem childish in comparison with the broad outlines 
of the Reynard cycle. Tudor printers, however, found it profitable 
to ascribe collections of jokes to well-known jesters, such as 
Scogin (1565) and Dr. Skelton (1567), and these, like Tarlton at 
a later date, tended to become the central figures of buffoonery, 
and thus to give a biographical unity to an otherwise disconnected 
series of fragments. This unity had already been exemplified in 
the Oule Glasse version of the Eulenspiegel stories printed by 
Copland in 1530, where Owleglasse is a grotesque lubberly hero, 
a practical joker of magnified dimensions. The jest-books 



Deloney and the Elizabethan NoDel. xxiii 

by their very nature were realistic and often crude ; hence 
their development is towards the realistic novel, a develop 
ment which is clearly illustrated by the relation of the jest- 
.book called Long Meg of Westminster to the story of Richard 
^jCasteler in Deloney's Gentle Craft^ (Part II). Long Meg is 
extant in an edition of 1582, and as it stands is a collection of 
rough practical jokes, ascribed to an Amazonian maiden in 
service at a Westminster inn. But it was impossible to ascribe 
such doings to Long Meg without investing her with a personality 
of her own, coarse and crude, but distinct and vigorous enough. 
To describe 'the pranks of Long Meg' was to describe her 
character and life ; and Deloney easily transferred this roughly- 
sketched character to his own pages, endowing it with new life 
and more human personality. 

The Famous Historic of Fryer Bacon (before 1594?) is little 
more than an elaborated jest-book, where full advantage is taken 
of Bacon's magical powers to work practical jokes on a larger 
scale than is ordinary, ' How Fryer Bacon deceiued an old 
Vsurer,' ' How Miles, Fryer Bacons man did coniure for meat, 
and got meate for himselfe and his hoast,' &c.; and The History 
of Doctor Faustus (1587-9?), in spite of the magnificence of the 
plot upon which the rather stupid incidents are hung, may be 
adequately described in the same way. Nevertheless the titles of 
both plainly indicate that the jest-book was rapidly becoming the 
Life and Adventures of a picaresque hero. 

While these books of printed jokes thus brought the stuff of 
realism to the making of the Elizabethan novel, miscellaneous 
popular prose literature exerted a similar influence by its frank 
treatment of contemporary life. The Elizabethan a^e had an in- 
satiable appetite for information about life p.f a ll_Jk in ^S fnr thpn 
human nature seemed to be discovering itself anew, and hence 
si3e by sme with the TIterature~ofJ\rcarlifl runs thp literature of 
Southwark and the bordello. Mediaeval satire in Langland had 
sat at the alehouse door and^painted misery and^yjce with 
a masterful veracity^hat made Piers Plowman a^lavourite Eliza- 
betHah poem, and Slcelton in his Eleanor Rumnyge had carried 
on the tradition of unrelenting realism into the_Jiterature of .the 
sixteenth centurjr- into the poetry of Spenser and into, the, pnose 



1 See Note on Sources of The Gentle Craft (77), infra, pp. 53i-. 



xxiv Introduction. 

Awdeley's Fraternity of Vacabonds (1560) shows the author 
writing with 'his eye upon the object', and Harman in his 
Caveat to Common Cursitors describes from first-hand experience 
life among the Tudor vagrants, with a vividness and pathos that 
anticipates the work of Defoe. Harman reached the rock bottom of 
the realistic literary method when he gave a faithful transcript of 
a phase of human life he knew thoroughly well, and the truth and 
value of his work may be judged from the unscrupulous use that 
Greene and Dekker made of it in their own pamphlets on London 
low life. But while Dekker added little to his stolen material but 
the ornamentation of exuberant fancy, Greene worked into his 
' cony-catching ' pamphlets much of his own seamy experience, so 
that his Notable Discouerie of Cosenage (1591) and the Defence of 
Cony Catching (1592) have a distinct value of their own, full as 
they are of vigorous character-drawing and conversation. 

In Never Too Late and The Repentance of Robert Greene, M.A. 
he gave his own pathetic biography to the world, and in the 
'cony-catching' pamphlets his accounts of London rogues, 
wrought from the matter of his own experience, constantly tend to 
the biographical form. To the Disputation betweene a Hee Conny 
catcher and a shee Conny catcher (i $9 2) he added an account of 
the conversion of an English courtesan, which equals Moll 
Flanders in realistic power as it surpasses it in all true and fine 
feeling. Harman's description of the English rogues had been by 
no means lacking in sympathy, and Greene, forced too often to rub 
shoulders with crossbiters and cutpurses, was not without a 
fellow-feeling for the criminals he describes. The biography of 
the rogue told with sympathy and admiration becomes the pic 
aresque novel, and in the Black Book's Messenger, Laying open 
the Life and Death of Ned Browne, Greene definitely takes for his 
hero ' one of the most notable Cutpurses, Crosbiters, and Conny 
catchers that euer liued in England ', attempting that kind of ' 
novel of which Gil Bias is the final type. While Reynard the 
Fox and Owleglass may be in some sense regarded as picaresque 
rogues, yet David Rowland's translation of Lazarillo de Tormes in 
1567 really provided a new model for the imitation of English 
writers. For Lazarillo has much of that humorous subtlety which, 
attaining its full richness in the pages of Don Quixote, appears 
distinctive of the realistic Spanish novel, and is written with a 
sureness of touch and unity of design unknown to contemporary 



Deloney and the Elizabethan NoDel. xxv 

English fiction. But in spite of these merits, it is doubtful 
whether it had much influence on the development of the Eliza 
bethan novel of roguery. Chettle's Pierce Plainness appears to be 
the only direct imitation of its method, a "d_thft rp g1l ' gH ' r "^wls of 
Greene. Nash, and Deloney belong distinctly-to the English 
tradition of^the jpst-hnnk, alike in their vigour and directness as 
in their faults of construction. The Life and Death of Ned 
Browne is little more than a collection of conny-catching stories, 
told with zest and enjoyment, and put into the mouth of a high 
wayman before he is turned off at Tyburn, just as The Gentle 
Craft is a collection of jests and stories elaborated and fitted into 
a framework. 

Nas&syo^ Wilton is the most complete example of the Eliza-: 
betEan picaresque novel, and in writing it Nash owed little oij 
nothing to Lazarillo^ but much to contemporary realistic prose] 
and his own experience. For the material, his own travels and' 
adventures sufficed ; for the arrangement, it evolves itself from the 
autobiographical character of the novel, and is only the arrange 
ment of a number of stories and incidents that, like the Theseids_ 
mentioned by Aristotle, owe their only unity to the fact that they" 
happened within the experience of a single person. The * life ' of 
Jack Wilton is a string of breathless experiences huddled together 
with little or no regard to importance or grouping, and the real 
strength of Nash's method lies in its characterizations, its move 
ment and melodramatic power. Nash has infused his own vigour 
into the narrative, and by the heat of his own fury welded an 
unpromising material into something like unity. In language 
Jack Wilton is the complete antithesis of Lazarillo ; English in its 
vigorous crudity, where the Spaniard is good-humouredly ironic. 
The malicious reserve of Lazarillo's 'My father (whom God 
pardon)' was beyond the art of Nash, who plays the 'Lusty 
Juvenal ' amidst his gallery of grotesques, lashing and trouncing the 
puppets of his own creation with an unsparing hand, and while 
the full merit of his ' biting portraits ' must be allowed, it may be 
doubted whether the method of the satirist was that best adapted 
to the legitimate development of the novel. Thackeray calls 
himself the * showman ', and his characters the ' puppets ', artistic 
creations that seem, however, to work freely of themselves. Nash, 
however, has none of this aloofness ; he cannot stand aside and let 
his characters unfold themselves, but openly introduces them with 



xx vi Introduction. 

abuse, as that unfortunate 'bursten belly inkhorn orator called 
Vanderhulke . . . one that had a sulphurous big swollen large face, 
like a Saracen, eyes like two Kentish oysters, a mouth that opened 
as wide every time he spake, as one of those old knit trap doors, 
a beard as though it had been made of a birds nest pluckt in pieces, 
which consisteth of straw, hair and dust mixed together '. But 
while Nash lacked the sympathetic outlook that was needed for 
the development of the novel as the ' prose epic ', he by no means 
omitted that vein of extravagant sentiment which formed the staple 
of the romantic novel, and the introduction of the Earl of Surrey 
and Lady Geraldine into Jack Wilton served at once to flavour 
realism with the ' Arabian spiceries of sweet passions ' and to give 
a certain solidity to the novel by reason of the historical matter. 

Two main methods have been traced in the Elizabethan novel 
the realistic, derived from the jest-book and popular satire, and the 
romantic, derived from mediaeval romance, both being reinforced 
to some extent by foreign influence as it filtered through in the 
numerous translations and imitations of that age. But these two 
streams of Elizabethan development cannot be strictly shut off, 
the one from the other, and re^lism_anji_mmanticism are seen 
running side by side in such novels as Greene's Never Too Late, 
Nash'sy<76 Wilton, and Deloney's Thomas of Reading. While, 
however, the two methods are not mutually exclusive in the same 
novel, nevertheless the romantic episodes usually break clearly 
away from the realistic, and the alternation of the one with the 
other tends to faulty construction and incongruity in style. As a 
rule the Elizabethan novelist preferred the abnormal and dealt 
with the sublimations of sentiment or the very crudities of fact. 
Nash is equally violent in his description of a ' greasy ale-knight ', 
as in the alliterative raptures of the Earl of Surrey, and Greene 
only deserts the racy slang of the ' conny-catcher ' to pour out the 
full flowers of euphuism in a love scene. 

The exaggeration of Elizabethan romance has little charm for 
the modern reader, and Fenton's Tragical Discourses of Bandello 
prove how unreal the exaggeration of realism may become. What 
sixteenth-century fiction required was its direction toward the 
more normal phases of human life, and its riddance on the one 
hand of merely abstract sentiment and on the other of meaning 
less discordant detail. The romantic novel had sought its heroes 
and heroines in Arcadia, and found shadows and rhetoric ; the 



Deloney and the Elizabethan NorpeL xxvii 

realistic jest-book and novel had sought the stuff of life in taverns, 
and found hearty animals and some dirt. Romance required 
incident and reality, realism a saner ideal and sense of order. 
Both were defective inasmuch as they avoided the faithful de 
lineation of normal life, but it was realism on the whole which was 
more fruitful for English literature. Lyly's Euphues and Greene's 
Mamillia have an interest for the literary historian, but The Caveat 
to Common Cursitors and the Hundred Merry Tales have a present 
and human value in themselves, and while romance was satisfied 
with the constant repetition of the same platitudes and situations, 
if only in a sufficiently pleasing manner, the progress of realism, 
in the jest-book and satirical essay alike, was towards character 
ization and construction, that is to say, towards the English novel 
as we know it to-day. 

Riche, in his Farewell to the Militarie Profession (1581), had 
left on one side the exaggerations of romance and realism, and 
striven to a certain extent to represent in literature the more ordi 
nary life of the times. But it is in the novels of Thomas Delonev 
that we find the first consistent attempt at drawing material for 
fiction from the everyday life of everyday people! Familiar with 
local gossip and tradition, and with a mind eagerly absorbent of 
such printed literature as came within his reach, he found the 
sources of his stories anywhere, but their characterization and 
colour are the accurate reflection of Elizabethan life in Cheapside 
and Westminster, among the cobblers of Whitehall and the drapers 
of Candleweek Street. The difference in the subjects and method 
of his work from those of contemporary novelists is perhaps to be 
chiefly explained by the circumstances of his life and by the audience 
he addressed. Unlike Lodge or Nash or Greene, he belonged to no) 
circle of University wits ; Renaissance ambition had touched him 
I but little, and he aimed not at fine writing but profitable story 
Ltelling. The English writers Italianate would scarcely sink to the 
life of ' base mechanicals ', their proclivities and culture led them 
much rather to the unsubstantialities of Arcadia and the brothels 
of Southwark. 

While Greene wrote for the young gallants, * how young gentle 
men that aim at honour should leuel the end of their affections V 
and Petty for ' Gentle Readers, whom by my will I would haue 

1 Tullics Love, title-page. 



xx viii Introduction . 

only Gentlewomen V Deloney dedicated his novels to the ' famous 
Cloth Workers in England ' 2 or ' To the Master and Wardens of 
the worshipfull company of Cordwaynors ', 3 and wrote as an artisan 
for the jolly companions of his craft, with whom he had worked 
at his loom in Norwich or tramped the high roads of East Anglia. 
But he by no means breaks away altogether from the traditional 
separation of realism and romanticism. In Thomas of Reading 
the bourgeois history of the clothiers is interwoven with, although 
not blended with, the romantic life and love of the Duke of 
Normandy and the Fair Margaret, and the story of St. Hugh in the 
First Part of the Gentle Craft is a knight-errant romance of the 
most ordinary kind, preceding the hearty domestic story of Sir 
Simon Eyer. But these are his least successful work ; his hand is 
out when he deals in such bloodless abstractions as St. Hugh and 
St. Winifred, and Margaret is only real as the servant of Gray of 
Gloucester. The story of Crispine and Crispianus (Gentle Craft, /) 
owes its merits to the vein of healthy realism which breaks through 
the plot of a sentimental story, and Deloney's artistic mastery only 
finds full scope in the handling of such realistic themes of bour- 
geois life as the Historic of lacke of Newberie and the love affairs of 
Florence with her foreign suitors (Gentle Craft, /). It is here 
that the influence of the jest-book on the shaping of his novels is 
most apparent, betraying itself in the matter used, and the happy 
unrestraint of attitude. His use of the material of the jest-books 
can be amply illustrated, not only in the signal reconstruction of 
Long Meg of Westminster but also in the many comic episodes 
which he slenderly links together upon the thread of a personality, 
incidents such as the adventure of Dr. Burcot (Gentle Craft, If), 
the disappointment of Benedict (lacke of Newberie], and the 
deception of Sir William Ferris ( Thomas of Reading). Elizabethan 
novels, usually discursive and unformed, are apt to become even 
more shapeless when based upon materials such as these, but 
Deloney, while never aiming at the size and structure of the 
modern novel, none the less attains a clearness of construction 
and homogeneity of atmosphere which is missing in most contem 
porary fiction, for he writes straightforwardly from a simple point 
of view, fitting his stories into an appropriate framework, and jn- 
forming them with the same vivid life, so that the whole nczel is 

1 Pettys Palace, ' To the Gentle Gentlewomen Readers.' 

2 lacke of Newberie, p. 2. 3 Gentle Craft (77), p. 139. 



Deloney and the Elizabethan NoDel. xxix 

one in atmosphere, if not in connected incident a book like 
*7Me~oJ Newberie, for * all famous Cloth-Workers in England V or 
like The Gentle Craft, 'for the worshipfull company of Cord- 
waynors '. 2 Further, the single biographical aim ' to set to sight 
the long hidden History ' of the bourgeois heroes of the loom and 
the cobbling last removes much of the temptation to irrelevancy ; 
nor were Deloney's readers likely to be of that class which Lyly 
and Greene edified with endless digressions on nice points of 
morals and manners, while the introduction of historical matter 
gave a background and solidity to his narrative as a whole. Lodge 
had drawn on history in his feeble William Longbeard (1593), and 
Nash had introduced historical events and characters into the Life ) 
of lacke Wilton ; but Deloney, endowed with a democratic facility 
| for the fabulizing of history, could more successfully blend the 
\matters of fact and of fiction. His life as a travelling artisan 
had led him from town to town and county to county, and, chatting ' 
with fellow artisans and chance travellers picked up on the way, he i 
had gathered local tradition and history first hand from incidental \ 
gossip, and thus history was to him, even more than to other 
Elizabethans, a garner-house of stories, and the printed pages 
of Holinshed and Grafton only further material for weaving into 
pleasant romances. To folk tradition belongs a vivacity and colour 
unmatchable even * in the great Chroniclers ', and the vigorous per 
sonality of lacke of Newberie is the vivid figure of countryside 
gossip preserved to us by Deloney's literary skill, while Thomas of 
Reading is probably a blending of the history of Holinshed with 
a now lost Berkshire tradition. In the tales of Simon Eyer, 
Richard Casteler, and Master Peachey it is impossible to decide 
how much is taken from the printed page, how much from 
tradition, and how much is Deloney's own invention. Certainly 
he commonly took familiar phrases and customs, the origins of 
which had been forgotten, and wove around them his own stories 
of explanation, ' Tom Drum's entertainment ' 3 suggesting the 
rough courting of Mistress Farmer, and the quaint usages at 
Bosoms Inn 4 Cuthbert of Kendal's intrigue with the host's wife. 
The jest-book of itself tended towards characterization and biog^ 
raphy, but in dealing with the heroes of weaving and cobbling, 

1 p. 2, 1. 2. 2 p. 139, 1. a. 

8 Note on Sources of Gentle Craft (//), infra, p. 535. 
* Note on Sources of Thomas of Reading, i*\fra, p. 549. 



xxx Introduction. 

and elaborating the more or less commonly known circumstances 
of their lives, Deloney was bound to develop this tendency further, 
and the happy mingling of traditional history and the matter of 
the jest-book resulted in the creation of such characters of flesh 
and blood as Richard Casteler, Simon Eyer, and John Winchcombe, 
who, unlike the heroes of the early jest-books, really dominate the 
situation and occupy the real interest. 

Deloney's excellence lies in his faithful and sympathetic render^ 
ing of commonplace human life. Where he attempts the 
romanticism of subject and language fashionable in his time, he 
is as successful as his contemporaries in wearying the modern 

\ reader, but the straightforward pleasures of a healthy middle class 
he presents with a gusto and vivacity which is an ample apology 
for an occasional coarseness. He understood thoroughly the 
artisan class of whom he wrote ; his pity was for the ' poore people ' 
'who laboured to get their owne bread', 'whom,' as he quaintly says, 
1 God lightly blesseth with most children ' * ; and he gave a willing 
admiration to the master-workmen and successful merchants who 
paid a fair day's wages for a fair day's work, to lacke of Newberie 
who would not have his people ' pincht of their victualls ', and to 
Simon Eyer who remembered from prentice days his debt of 
' pudding-pies ' and ' feasted all the Prentices on Shrove Tuesday '. 
He describes with faithful enjoyment the life and love of the 
Elizabethan workshop, how the widow woos her man, or how the 
sparing Richard Casteler marries a Dutch maiden who ' could doe 
diuers pretty feates to get her owne liuing '. He tells us of that 

^ warm-blooded bourgeois life of Elizabethan times with a spirit 
and wealth of detail to be found in no other author, describing 
a phase of society which most contemporary literature chose to 
overlook contemptuously. His delight in telling his stories is 
that of a man who describes what he has enjoyed; his railing 
conversations between Long Meg and Gillian of the George, or 
Tom Drum and the cobblers of Pet worth, have all the point and 
good-humour of the dialogue of the market-place, while the 
description of how lacke of Newberie's servants were revenged on - 
Mistress Franks glorifies the content of the jest-book into excellent 
prose comedy. Nor is he less successful in dealing with more 
tragic material. It would be hard to overrate the art of that 
chapter 2 where Old Cole is murdered at his inn, and where 
1 p. 213, 11. i8-g 2 Thomas of Reading, chap. u. 



Deloney and the Elizabethan No^el. xxxi 

circumstance is made to follow on circumstance and so to 
culminate in inevitable catastrophe, but with a restraint and sure- 
ness unsurpassed by any work of more ambitious contemporary 
novelists. A masterpiece of bourgeois pathos, it may well be 
suggested * that Shakespeare was indebted to it in those scenes of 
Macbeth where a host and hostess similarly plot together to 
murder a guest, or where Lady Macbeth sees the visionary blood 
on her hand as Old Cole saw it on the hands of his hostess at the 
Crane. 

Deloney has no problems of life or conduct to discuss as his 
modern successors in fiction are apt to have, but simply holds 
1 the mirror up to nature ' without the interposition of himself or 
his views. Hence, however slightly his characters be sketched 
they are shown to us in a clear and transparent medium, and his/ 
worthies move freely and vividly in the pleasant atmosphere of 
their own occupations, honest craftsmen of the Elizabethan work 
shop or good housewives of the Elizabethan home. How popular 
his novels were may be judged from the long period in which they 
held the public estimation, often reprinted through the seven 
teenth century and surviving plentifully in chapbook form into 
the eighteenth. 2 'The Book of the Gentle Craft hath had 
a general acceptance of the Cordwainers, and the History of the 
Six Worthy Yeomen of the West, and Jack of Newbery the like from 
the weavers',, wrote Winstanley in 1668 in the preface to The 
Honor of the Merchant Taylors ; and Winstanley's own book, 
servilely founded on the novels he mentions, is only one specimen 
of a whole class of popular literature that sprang up in the 
tradition that Deloney created. But the spontaneity and vigour 
of the original were not to be repeated by meaner hands ; the 
novels of his imitators may be allowed to rest on the library 
shelves for the curious, but his own have a permanent literary 
value and deserved a recognition less belated. 

III. THE POETRY OF DELONEY. 

Deloney's novels seem to have been, more or less, experiments, 
entered upon in the last three years of his life. With the ex- 

1 By Professor Sir Walter Raleigh. 

2 e. g. The British Museum and the Bodleian together contain seven eighteenth- 
century chapbook versions of the Gentle Craft (7). 



xxxii Introduction. 

ception of the tracts relating to the Archbishop of Cologne, his 
earlier extant work is entirely in verse, and in contemporary 
opinion he stands forth, not so much as a novelist but as the 
'great Ballad-maker T.D.' Deloney was an artisan, seeking 
originally no doubt to increase a scanty wage by literary work, 
and to such a one the medium of the ballad was the easiest for 
reaching a wide and popular audience. Thus, with the exception 
of Canaans Calamitie (a more ambitious piece of work), his 
poetic faculty exercised itself entirely in the ballad style and 
metre, and his work is completely representative of the ballad 
activity of the later sixteenth century. 

The term * ballad ' in modern literature seems to be used 
loosely for nearly every kind of lyric, but more scientifically for 
those traditional poems which retain in part the conventions and 
spirit of an earlier poetic age, when literary composition was more 
communal than individual, and the emotional atmosphere more 
simple and epic. The true ballad, whether taken down from 
a twentieth-century tradition or found in a fifteenth-century 
manuscript, has distinguishing features of its own which mark it 
off from the poetry of more complex and sophisticated ages, and 
these peculiar features are fully explained by the circumstances 
of primitive composition. I The poet of modern civilization is 
a lonely Heine or prophetic Blake pouring forth bitterness or 
celestial intoxication from the height of his own egoism.^ Primitive 
I poetry was the voice of the people, more the rhythm of an 
elemental civilization than the expression of individual desires 
and convictions. The source of modern poetry is the individual 
soul brooding on ' things past, present, and to come ', the source 
of ancient poetry was the gathering of the people for work or play, 
who lightened communal labour at the oar or reinforced communal 
pleasure in the dance by rhythmic music and rhymes. Now 
a Byron or Shelley sings to a merely receptive audience ; then the 
people were audience and performer too and bore the burden 

Binnorie^ O Binnorie, 
or took up the alternate lines : 

She sat down below a thorn, 

Fine flowers in the valley ; 
And there she has her sweet babe born, 

And the green leaves they grow rarely. 

With the metres of Provence, the French ballata or round 



The Poetry of Deloney. xxxiii 

dance conquered Teutonic Europe, and the 'glad animal move 
ments ' of the ' carols ' demanded a tune to dance to, and a kind 
of poetry in which all could take part. Hence doubtless the form 
of both ballads and nursery rhymes. The formal peculiarities of 
the genuine folk-ballad can be catalogued with some preciseness, 
and among these may be noted the almost verbatim repetition of 
speeches and messages, the tendency to accentuate the last and 
weak syllable of a metrical line, the use of assonance, the spirited 
openings in medias res, the delight in bright elemental colours, and 
the use of magic numbers such as seven and three. 

But while the folk-ballad flourished in mediaeval England and 
owed so much of its dramatic intensity and lyrical spontaneity to 
the circumstances of its communal composition, the individual 
minstrel whose songs were his own property and who only sang 
them in return for some gratuity to an audience entirely passive 
must have existed from the earliest times. 

Men speke of romances of prys, 
Of Horn child and of Ypotys, 
Of Bevis and sir Gy, 

wrote Chaucer in his Sir Thopas^ his own delicate parody of the 
popular poesy of his age, and the minstrel, leaving aside the tragic 
themes of contemporary life which made the very stuff of the 
communal ballad, hawked round the country from alehouse to 
alehouse decrepit versions of sentimental French romance, striking 
up in the usual medicant key, 

Lythe and listen, gentlemen, 
A story I yow bitelle, 

and demanding perhaps a gratuity in pence or ale. Less 
often his wares would consist of love-lyrics such as Bytuene 
Mershe and Aueril, or of political songs such as those of Laurence 
Minot (c. 1350). Wherever men and women came together, for 
work or play, at the fairs arid markets, or travelling the great 
roads on business or on pilgrimage, the professional minstrel was 
sure to make one of the company to help while away the leisure 
hour or tedious journey. Chaucer's pilgrims amused themselves 
with their own stories, but the ordinary devotees of St. Thomas of 
Canterbury or Our Lady of Walsingham were not so self-sufficing. 
' When divers men and women will go thus,' William Thorpe told 
his examiners, ' they will ordain before to have with them both 

917.6 c 



xxxiv Introduction. 

men and women that can well sing wanton songs.' 1 Laurence 
Minot stands out as the first definite figure of the professional 
minstrel in mediaeval England, one who strikes a clear individual 
note, and, half poet, half journalist, clothes political feeling and 
contemporary events in the garb of popular metres. 

How Edward Je King came to Braband 
And tok homage of all j?e land 

How Edward at Hogges vnto land wan, 
And rade thurgh France or euer he blan. 

Intinerant minstrelsy was no less popular in Tudor than in 
mediaeval times, and with the invention of printing the oral ballad, 
whether of traditional or individual composition, began to be 
thrown into type and circulated in broadsides. But the sixteenth- 
century broadside versions of the older and true ballads are 
unfortunately by no means mere transcripts from tradition, but have 
usually passed through the hands of an editor with a literary 
method of his own, appealing to a different kind of audience. 
The folk-ballad, governed by the conditions of its composition, 
told the story in lyrical glimpses and tense dialogue, originally no 
doubt eked out by action and dancing, but the Elizabethan editor, 
with his eye on passive and not too intelligent listeners, aimed at 
a remorseless recounting of the whole story from beginning to 
end. Hence, instead of the opening in medias res of 

Hie upon Hielands, 

And low upon Tay, 
Bonnie George Campbell 

Rode out on a day, 

the Elizabethan ballad type begins with a long explanatory 
introduction. 

Both gentlemen, or yeomen bould, 

Or whatsoeuer you are, 
To haue a stately story tould 

Attention now prepare. 

It is a tale of Robin Hood, 

Which I to you will tell, 
Which being rightly vnderstood, 

I know will please you well. 

1 The Examination of William Thorpe (1407), in Arber's Garner. 



The Poetry of Deloney. xxxv 

This Robbin (so much talked on) 

Was once a man of fame, 
Instiled earle of Huntingdon, 

Lord Robert Hood by name. 

Similarly the old lyric narrative, such as, 

O ye've had a cruel mither, Willie, 

And I have had anither, 
But we shall sleep in Clyde's water 

Like sister and like brither, 

is replaced by prosaic explanation : 

And to his little daughter lane 

Fiue hundred pounds in gold, 
To be paid down on marriage-day, 

Which might not be controlled. 
But if the children chance to die 

Ere they to age should come, 
Their vncle should possess their wealth ; 

For so the will did run. 

Yet in spite of this change from an intense method of poetry to 
another, dangerously prosaic, a fair amount of genuine folk-poetry 
was often enclosed in the shapeless padding of the later editor. 
The Robin Hood Ballads as they appear in the broadsides of the 
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are excellent examples of the 
way in which the ancient habits of traditional poetry cling on in an 
age of professional balladists. Endless dilutions and accretions 
have reduced this popular epic to an average level of pedestrianism, 
but here and there the old literary methods strike out the old vigour 
from a page of dull narrative. 

Come thou hither to mee, thou lovely page, 

Come thou hither to mee ; 
For thou must post to Nottingham, 

As fast as thou can dree. 

In many cases, no doubt, the traditional ballad was only lightly 
touched and modernized, and where the editor was a versifier of 
some skill it is difficult to distinguish between the original and the 
later additions. While the history of the Robin Hood Ballads can 
be fairly well made out, from Langland's reference to them in the 
fourteenth century until their appearance in the various Gar 
lands of the seventeenth, the question of the originals of Come 
over the Borne^ Bessie, of Walsingham, and of many another 
popular Elizabethan poem remains entirely obscure. We can 

917-6 c 2 



xxxvi Introduction. 

only surmise that the printed ballads of the sixteenth century 
represent a small and edited portion of a large oral tradition, 
most of which has now perished unrecorded. 

The broad question of the relation of traditional poetry to the 
work of the individual ballad-writer suggests itself at once in 
connexion with the poems of Deloney. There can be no doubt 
that in many of his poems, and especially in those which seem 
most successful to the modern reader, he has either merely written 
down or closely imitated folk tradition. In lacke of Newberie he 
plainly indicates the communal origin of the song of Flodden 
Field : ' Wherefore in disgrace of the Scots, and in remembrance 
of the famous atchieued victory, the Commons of England made 
this Song : which to this day is not forgotten of many ' a ; and the 
two other traditional versions of the same song given in Child's 
Ballads conclusively prove that in this case at least Deloney was 
merely printing a traditional ballad. Similarly The Faire Flower 
of Northumberland (lacke of Newberie, p. 33) in motif and treat 
ment alike might be purely traditional, and Walsingham 2 (p. 365) 
is almost certainly built up on a traditional foundation. But 
lacking further evidence we can only draw strong inferences 
from style and matter, without reaching any absolutely definite 
conclusion. 

The great bulk of sixteenth-century ballad literature, how 
ever, is the lineal descendant, not of the communal ballad, but 
rather of the minstrel's songs of the Middle Ages, and plainly the 
individual work of the professional entertainer, catering for the 
amusement of the general public with matter drawn from all 
sources. While the communal ballad was the folk expression of 
Targe simple emotions, the ordinary Elizabethan ballad is journalism 
pure and simple, and Autolycus the ballad-hawker, eternally alive 
in the Winter's Tale, hawks round, not the Douglas Tragedy or 
the Death of the Earl of Murray, but How a usurer's wife was 
brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and * another 
ballad Of a fish that appeared vpon the coast on Wednesday the 
fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom aboue water, and sung 
this ballad against the hard hearts of maids '. A glance at the 
Roxburghe Ballads, the Shirburn Collection, or the Registers of the 
Stationers' Company, will show that Shakespeare has scarcely 
done more than 4 hold the mirror up to nature '. The following 

1 p. 25, 11. 34-6, and note. a See note thereon, infra, pp. 579-80. 



The Poetry of Deloney. xxxvii 

are representative titles of ballads registered with the Stationers' 
Company : 

A true relacon of the birth of Three Monsters in the Citty of 
Namen in Flaunders. 

The wofull complaynt of Ffraunce for the deathe of the late 
kinge Henry the Ffourth. 

A lamentacon of a Yonge man for the deathe of his Mother. 

How Maydes shulde penne the Dore 6r. 

A ballet intituled taken out of Ye XIII Chapter of Saynt Luke. 

Tydinges of a Huge and Ougly childe borne at Arneheim in 
Gelderland. 

A ballet against Swerynge. 

Thus it may be gathered the Elizabethan ballad was the 
vehicle for popular edification, instruction, and amusement, and 
supplied the vulgar with sermons, history, politics, sentiment, and 
the latest news. Of this multifarious activity Deloney is almost 
completely representative, combining in his work all the dif 
ferent functions of the sixteenth-century ballad-maker. As a 
modern newspaper reporter hurries his exclusive news into print, 
so Deloney registered A ioyfull songe of the Roiall Receauing of the 
queenes maiestie into her camp at Tilbery : the 8 and 9 of August 
1588, the very day after the event ; and as modern newspapers 
send broadcast over the land accounts of criminals, trials, 
inquests, and accidents, so Deloney circulated the Lamentation 
of Pages Wife of Plymouth, the Death and Execution of Fourteen 
most wicked Traitors, the Lamentation of Beccles, and probably 
many another news sheet of which no trace remains. The 
Elizabethan_appetite for history he satisfied with paraphrases 
from thg^hroniclesjrfjiolinsr^ qr^ Oaftqn ; hejouehed. on 
iiActi'n^s pf tf)f; Hay in fris hallarl nn fV>p Srarrify qf 

'y dealt with the religious and political question in Truth 
and Ignorance and Judith and Holofernes, and served up moral 
exhortations and advice in Repent, England, Repent and Salomons 
good houswife. Nor did he forget the business of mere amuse 
ment, but in the Kings daughter of France, Patient Grissel, and 
King Edward the third, and the faire Countesse of Salisbury, set 
forth the_pretty sentimental stories as dear_t n *h ft TCHzahftthan 
heart AS jp the jnediaeval. 

While Deloney JSJSQ completely representative of the sixteenth- 
century ballad-writers, from the very conditions which called forth 



I 



xxxviii Introduction . 

his work, it was impossible for him to maintain any constant level 
of excellence. Tlie_public was his master, and .. to please .it_he 
ransacked all the sources at his command the chroniclers, the 
stage, tradition, and contemporary history,_but he could not 
handle all these topics with the same degree of facility. Such 
Lyrics as the Weau&s- S&tigAn^fadtf #f Newb&iz^-vc- Cutbert's 
Countrey ligge in Thomas of Reading^ flowed easily and delight- 
fullyJrQm his pen, but in his narrative ballads .he seems often to 
have flagged, and perhaps. more especially in the Stran&c Histories, 
which may have been a volume hastily 'yarked up' for the 
printer, to supply immediate necessity. The great fault of the 
average Elizabethan ballad is lack of imagination, and in the 
f ballads ' taken from the chronicles ' Deloney has seldom as 
similated the story completely enough to reproduce it in an 
artistic or dramatic form. TT^nrp \\\* 



more than a metrical paraphrase of the prose, and refractory 
rhymes deliver him over to all sorts of temptations. Thus where 
Holinshed writes : ' Thomas Gurney . . . flieng vnto Marcels, 
three years after being knowne, taken and brought toward 
England was beheaded on the sea', Deloney renders the 
passage : 

Commandement was sent by one called Lea 
he should be beheaded forth with on the sea, 1 

inventing a fictitious name to solve the difficulty of rhyming, 
and where he describes the imprisonment of Edward II by his 
Queen, an epithet contradictory to the sense is his only escape 
from the same impasse : 

Our comely King, her husband deere, 
Subdued by strength as did appeare, 
By her was sent to prison stronge. 2 

Ballad-making to him was often merely a^icb fl - ni ' raj --p rnr - p - ss ; 
he used jwords aad-metre not to body forth a dramati^ ^tory, hot 
and incandescent in his mind, but to worry a narrative into the 
compass of a catch, and thus he does not escape at times a woful 
pedestrianism of style. 

The Saylers and the shipmen all, 

through foule excesse of wine, 
Were so disguisde that at the sea, 
they shewd themselues like swine. 3 

1 p. 410, 11. 77-8. 2 p. 402, 11. 3-5. 3 p. 387, 11. 46-9. 



The Poetry of Deloney. xxxix 

Three score and ten were dround in all, 

and none escaped death, 
But one poore Butcher which had swome 

himself quite out of breath. 1 

Nor is this pedestrianism entirely limited to the narrative ballads. 
In The Widdowes Solace a beautiful verse : 

'Twas neither Cressus treasure, 

nor Alexanders fame, 
Nor Solomon by wisdome, 

that could deaths fury tame. 
No Physicke might preserue them 

when Nature did decay : 
What man can hold for ever, 

the thing that will away ? 

is followed by this bathetic advice : 

If he were true and faithful!, 

and louing unto thee, 
Doubt not but trier's in England^ 

enough as good as he. 
But if that such affection, 

within his heart was none : 
Then giue God praise and glory, 

that he is dead and gone. 2 

Such alternations seem to show a certain unsureness of taste 
and feeling that was shared by other and much greater writers of 
the Elizabethan age, but there is an individual strain of bourgeois 
materialism in Deloney's work which recalls the same weakness in 
the powerful Hogarth. * O faulce and foule disloyall men ! ' cries 
Deloney of the Babington conspirators : 

what person would suppose, 
That clothes of veluet and of silke 
should hide such mortall foes? 3 

and Hogarth brings the Industrious Apprentice safely to the arms 
of his master's daughter and the Mayoral seat in the Guildhall. 

But Deloney must not be judged by his worst poems. His 
ballads on the stirring events of his time are comparable with 
those of Laurence Minot for a vigour and force that marks them 
for contemporary documents. As Minot wrote from the exultation 
of a fierce English heart : 

Whare er 56, Skottes of Saint Johnes toun? 
Ipe boste of jowre baner es betin all doune, 

1 p. 389,11. 117-20. 2 p. 331. 

3 p. 467, 11. 102-5. 



xl Introduction. 

so Deloney in a truer, greater cause could write even while the 
wrack of the great Armada was still strewing the northern seas : 

O Noble England, 

fall doune vpon thy knee : 
And praise thy God with thankfull hart 

which still maintaineth thee 
The forraine forces, 

that seekes thy vtter spoil : 
Shall then through his especiall grace 

be brought to shamefull foile. 
With mightie power 

they come vnto our coast : 
To ouer runne our country quite, 

they make their brags and boast. 
In strength of men 

they set their only stay : 
But we, vpon the Lord our God, 

will put our trust alway. 1 

The patriotism that saved Elizabeth's England lends a boldness 
and vigour to the Winning of Cales %x& his three Armada Ballads, 
/7and where he touches religion sincerity infuses his verse with the 
/ / energy of poetry, as in Truth and Ignorance : 

But many Kings and Prophets 
/ as I may say to thee : 
Haue wisht the light that you haue, 
and neuer could it see, 

or in Holofernes : 

Lo here behold how God prouides 

for them that in him trust : 
When earthly hope is all in vain, 

he takes vs from the dust. 

He writes with reaj__sympathy of the emotions and troubles of 
domesticjife, so that his paraphrase of Salomons good houswife, in 
the 31 of his Proverbes is completely delivered from the monotony 
of mere hack-work, and the Lamentation of Mr. Pages Wife 
becomes informed with a touching indignation. Where he deals 
with the topics of common artisan Ijfc, jriJJT 



through fy's novels, he writes with a singular freshness_ia. that 
happily_careless veinjhat is lacking in modern poetry. His more 
s1f>n^rjjmrs^ The Spanish Lgdies Low,, and 

Age and Youth, are distinguished by a delicacy of diction and a 

i P . 468. 



The Poetry of Deloney. xli 

I rare simplicity of feeling that has made them remembered in later 
times when their author's name was forgotten or ignored. 

Perhaps the chief literary influence moulding the ballad of the 
sixteenth century was exercised by the Mirrour for Magistrates. 
The tragic encyclopaedia of the Fall of Princes had eternal attrac 
tions for mediaeval readers, and the literary tradition merely took 
new form with the same popularity in the Elizabethan collection 
of doleful tragedies, related in the first person and clothed in 
long-drawn leisurely verse. Its influence is seen chiefly in the 
* Lamentation ' type of ballad, exemplified in Deloney's work by 
the Lamentation of Shores Wife and the Lamentation of Beccles, 
and in the lugubrious choice of historical topics illustrated by 
ballads such as The lamentable death of King lohn Of Edward 
the second, being poysoned ; and the Imprisonment of Queene Elenor. 
The Mirrour for Magistrates (1587) had previously treated many 
of the subjects of Deloney's ballads, 1 and Strange Histories may 
perhaps be regarded as a bourgeois imitation of the more aristo 
cratic prototype, even in its inclusion of the prose passage amongst 
the verse. 2 But while the balladist of necessity squeezed ' strange 
and lamentable ' histories into the compass of a common rhythm 
and bore in mind always that his audience wanted rhymes ' to the 
tune of Fortune ' or * Prince Arthur died at Ludlow ', authors like 
Daniel and Drayton could treat the same subject in much the same 
spirit in the larger and statelier stanzas of ten-syllabled verse. 
While Deloney^nbbledjiisjerses to the thin quavering of a. 

tune runningjhrpllgh his ViParl^ Draytpn gn<jjnani>1 unfold^ 

tragic themes in the lon marclvandj'ich cadences of the literary 
metres thatTrlacl developed with the school of Spenser. Canaans 
Calamitie is the evidence that Deloney, writing up history into 
ballads for the market-place and tavern-door, did not nevertheless 
escape altogether the literary ambitions of his age, and, not merely 
content with the metrical paraphrasing of dolorous passages from 
the chronicles, really aimed, once at least, at a poem of some size 
and construction, where the treatment of tragic history and the 
metrical arrangement should be definitely nobler in tradition. The 
stanza he chose was that of Shakespeare's popular Venus and 
Adonis ) and the subject, epic ; in the choice of the one he reflects 
the Renaissance desire for dignified form, in the choice of the 

1 e. g. King John's Death, Locrine, Albanact and Humber, Edward II. 

2 P- 415. 



xlii Introduction. 

other its desire for dignified matter. The ' little epic ' was 
a favourite variety of Elizabethan poetry, which lent scope for the 
skilful handling of metre, for description, action, and narrative, 
giving many of the opportunities of the epic without its difficulties 
of construction, a variety which is exemplified in Shakespeare's 
Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece, in Marlowe's Hero 
and Leander, and profusely in the works of Drayton and Daniel. 

In Canaans Calamitie Deloney leaves the simpler opportunities 
of the ballad metre and manages to attain in some degree to the 
dignity which marks the smaller epic, his first stanza recalling in 
the determination of its melancholy the opening verse of Milton's 
immature and mannered poem on The Passion \ 

Like to a Mourner clad in dolefull black, 
That sadly sits to heare a heauie tale : 

So must my pen proceed to shew the wrack, 
That did with terror Syon hill assaile. 

What time Jerusalem that Cittie faire, 

Was sieg'd and sackt by great Vespatians heire. 

Canaans Calamitie. 

For now to sorrow must I tune my song, 
And set my harp to notes of saddest woe, 
Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, 
Dangers, and snares and wrongs, and worse than so, 
Which he for us did freely undergo : 
Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight 
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight. 

The Passion. 

But Deloney's muse, though not only of the ale-house to which 
Nash relegated it, was not capable of filling a canvas with such 
a large historical piece as the destruction of Jerusalem. His 
/Stanzas are never entirely secure from the pedestrianism that 
marks his inferior ballads, and his diction lacks the strength to 
support an epic story. Hence he endeavours to escape from the 
larger tragic issues of his subject by sliding into the ' Lamentation ' 
point of view- 
God grant we may our hatefull sins forsake, 
And by the Jewes a Christian warning take 

by dropping easily into the narrative method of the poetical 
chronicler, and weakening the tragedy of a catastrophe by over 
emphasis of the pathetic elements. In common with many of the 
Elizabethan dramatists Deloney had the power of creating pathetic 



The Poetry of Deloney. xliii 

situations from the simplest and barest elements of life, and prob 
ably the episode of Miriam and her son, in spite of its extravagant 
subject and grotesque exaggeration of circumstance and feeling, is 
the best part of his ambitious poem. In its fantastic setting of 
discordant and unpleasing detail there is a simple directness of 
feeling in the entreaty of Miriam's son for food, which recalls the 
vivid dialogue of the murderous father and his son in The 
Yorkshire Tragedy 'O what will you do, father? I am your 
white boie.' ' Thou shalt be my red boie.' * Deloney from much 
the same situation creates the same kind of pathos : 

I am (deere Mother) hungry at the heart, 
And scalding thirst, makes me I cannot speake, 
I feele my strength decay in euery part, 
One bit of bread, for me good Mother breake, 
My lesson I haue learnd, where you did lay it, 
Then giue me some-what : you shall heere me say it. 2 

But this measure of success is an indication of his limitations. 
A story dealing with the more simple and elemental emotions he 
could throw into verse with success, and embody a fancy in 
a pleasant lyric. But probably the complex and graver emotions 
never came home to his heart nor hence the adequate means of 
their expression home to his mind, and he remains, when all is 
said and done, not so much the author of Canaans Calamitie as 
< the great Ballad-maker T.D.' 

1 sc. iv. 2 p. 434, 11. 505-10. 



The plealant Hlftorie 

OF 
I O H N W INCHCOMB, 

In his yonguer ycarcs called 



The famous and worthy Clothier of 

England . declaring his life and lone, 
together with his charitable deeds 
and great Hofpitalitie, 

And how hce fee continually fiue hundred poorc 

people at worke, to the great benefite ot 

the Common-wealth. 

Now the tenth time Imprinted,correfted and enlarged 
by T. D. 




Lo N D O N, 

Printed by H LowtfES 5 andaretobe fold by Ctuhfart 
in S- Bartbo/0wews,neev 



To all famous Cloth- 

Workers in England, I wish all 

happinesse of life, prosperity and 
brotherly affection. 

AMong all manuall Arts vsed in this Land, none is more famous 
for desert, or more beneficiall to the Commonwealth, than is 
the most necessary Art of Clothing. And therefore as the benefite 
there of is great, so are the professors of the same to be both loued 
and maintained. Many wise men therefore, hauing deepely 

10 considered the same, most bountifully haue bestowed their gifts 
for vpholding of so excellent a commoditie, which hath been, and 
yet is, the nourishing of many thousands of poor people. Where 
fore to you, most worthy Clothiers, do I dedicate this my rude 
worke, which hath raised out of the dust of forgetfulnesse a most 
famous and worthy man, whose name was lohn Winchcombe, alias 
lack of Newberie, of whose life and loue I haue briefely written, 
and in a plaine and humble manner, that it may be the better 
vnderstood of those for whose sake I took pains to compile it, that 
is, for the well minded Clothiers ; that heerein they may behold the 

ao great worship and credit which men of this trade haue in former 
time come vnto. If therefore it bee of you kindly accepted, I 
haue the end of my desire, and think my paines well recompenced : 
and finding your gentlenesse answering my hope, it shall moue mee 
shortly to set to your sight the long hidden History of Thomas of 
Redding, George of Glocester, Richard of Worcester, and William 
of Salisbury, with diuers others ; who were all most notable 
members in the Commonwealth of this Land, and men of great 
fame and dignity. In the meane space, I commend you all to the 
most high God, who euer increase, in all perfection and prosperous 

30 estate, the long honoured trade of English-Clothiers. 

Yours in all humble seruice, 

T. D. 



THE MOST PLEA- 

sant and delectable Historic of lohn 

Winchcombe, otherwise called lacke of 

Newberie : and first of his loue and 

pleasant life. 

CHAP. I. 

IN the daies of King Henrie the eight, that most noble and 
victorious Prince, in the beginning of his reigne, lohn Winch- 
comb^ a broad cloth Weauer, dwelt in Newberie, a towne in 
JB arks hire : who for that he was a man of a merry disposition, & 10 
honest conuersation, was wondrous wel-beloued of Rich and Poore, 
specially, because in euery place where hee came, hee would 
spend his money with the best, and was not at any time found 
a churle of his purse. Wherefore being so good a companion, 
hee was called of old and yongue lacke of Newberie : a man 
so generally well knowne in all his countrey for his good fellowship, 
that hee could goe in no place but he found acquaintance ; by 
meanes whereof, lacke could no sooner get a Crowne, but straight 
hee found meanes to spend it : yet had hee euer this care, that hee 
would alwaies keepe himselfe in comely and decent apparell : 20 
neyther at any time would hee bee ouercome in drinke, but so 
discreetly behaue himselfe with honest mirth, and pleasant conceits, 
that he was euery Gentlemans companion. 

After that lack had long led this pleasant life, beeing (though 
he were but poore) in good estimation : it was his Masters chance 
to dye, and his Dame to be a widow, who was a very comely 
ancient woman, and of reasonable wealth. Wherefore she, hauing 
a good opinion of her man John, committed vnto his gouernement 
the guiding of all her worke-folkes for the space of three yeares 
together : In which time shee found him so carefull and diligent, 30 
that all things came forward and prospered woundrous well. No 
man- ould entice him from his businesse all the weeke, by all the. 
intreaty they could vse : Insomuch that in the end some of the 
wild youths of the town began to deride and scoffe at him. 

Doubtlesse (quoth one) I thinke some female spirit hath 
inchaunted lacke to his treadles, and coniured him within the 
compasse of his Loome, that he can stirre no further. 

You say true (quoth lacke} and if you haue the leasure to stay till 
the Charme be done, the space of sixe dayes and fiue nights, you 
shall finde me ready to put on my holy-day-apparell, and on Sunday 40 

B 2 



The pleasant Historie 



morning for your paines I will giue you a pot of Ale ouer against 
the Maypole. 

Nay (quoth another) He lay my life, that as the Salamander can 
not Hue without the fire, so lack cannot Hue without the smel of 
his Dames smock. 

(And I maruell (quoth lacke) that you being of the nature of 
a Herring (which so soon as he is taken out of the Sea, presently 
dyes) can Hue so long with your nose out of the pot. 

Nay lacke, leaue thy iesting (quoth another) and goe along with 
to vs, thou shalt not stay a iot. 

And because I will not stay ; nor make you a Iyer (quoth lacke) 
He keepe me here still : and so farewell. 

Thus then they departed : and after they had for halfe a score 
times tryed him to this intent, and saw he would not bee ledde by 
their lure, they left him to his owne will. Neuerthelesse, euery 
Sunday in the afternoone, and euery Holy-day, lacke would keep 
them company, and be as merry as a Pye, and hauing still good store 
of money in his purse, one or other would euer be borrowing of 
him, but neuer could he get pennie of it againe : which when 
20 lacke perceiued, he would neuer after carry aboue twelue pence at 
once in his purse : and that being spent, he would straight returne 
home merrily, taking his leaue of the company in this sort. 

My masters, I thanke you, its time to packe home, 
For he that wants money is counted a mome: 
And twelue pence a Sunday being spent in good cheare, 
To fifty two shillings amounts in the yeare ; 
Enough for a Crafts-man that Hues by his hands : 
And he that exceeds it, shall purchase no lands. 
For that I spend this day, lie work hard to morrow. 
30 For woe is that partie that seeketh to borrow. 
My money doth make me full merry to be ; 
And without my money none careth for me : 
Therefore wanting money, what should I doe heere ? 
But hast home, and thanke you for all my good cheere ? 

Thus was lackes good gouernement and discretion noted of the 
best and substantiallest men of the Towne : so that it wrought his 
great commendations, and his Dame thought her selfe not a little 
blest to haue such a seruant, that was so obedient vnto her, and 
so carefull for her profite : for shee had neuer a Prentise that 
40 yeelded her more obedience than he did, or was more dutifull : so 
that by his good example, hee did as much good as by his diligent 
labour and painfull trauel : which his singular vertue being noted 
by the widow, shee beganne to cast a very good countenance to 
her man lohn, and to vse very much talk with him in priuate : and 
first by way of communication, she would tell vnto him what suters 
she had, as also the great offers they made her, what gifts they 
sent her, and the great affection they bare her, crauing his opinion 
in the matter. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 5 

When lacke found the fauour to be his Dames Secretarie, he 
thought it an extraordinary kindnesse : and ghessing by the yarne 
it would proue a good web, beganne to question with his dame 
in this sort. Although it becommeth not mee your seruant to pry 
into your secrets, nor to bee busie about matters of your loue : 
yet for so much as it hath pleased you to vse conference with me 
in those causes, I pray you let me intreat you to know their names 
that be your sutors, and of what profession they be. 

Marry lohn (sayth she) that you shall, and I pray thee take 
a cushion and sit downe by me. 10 

Dame (quoth he) I thanke you : but there is no reason I should 
sit on a cushion till I haue deserued it. 

If thou hast not thou mightest haue done (said she) : but some 
Souldiers neuer finde fauour. 

lohn replied, that maketh me indeed to want fauour : for I neuer 
durst try maydens because they seeme coy, nor wiues for feare of 
their husbands, nor widowes doubting their disdainfulnes. 

Tush lohn (quoth she) he that feares and doubts womankinde, 
cannot be counted mankinde : and take this for a principle, All 
things are not as they seeme. But let us leaue this, and proceed 20 
to our former matter. My first sutor dwels at Wallingford, by 
trade a Tanner, a man of good wealth, and his name is Crafts, 
of comely personage and very good behauiour, a widower, wel 
thought of among his neighbours : he hath proper land, a faire 
house well furnished, and neuer a childe in the world, and hee 
loues me passing well. 

Why then Dame (quoth lohn) you were best to haue him. 

Is that your opinion (quoth shee) ? now trust mee, so it is not 
mine : for I finde two speciall reasons to the contrary : the one 
is, that he being ouerworne in yeares, makes me ouerloth to loue 30 
him : and the other, that I know one neerer hand. 

Beleeue me dame (quoth lack) I perceiue store is no sore, & 
proffered ware is worse by ten in the hundred than that which is 
sought : but I pray who is your second sutor ? 

lohn (quoth she) it may seeme immodesty in me to bewray my 
louers secrets : yet seeing thy discretion, and being perswaded of 
thy secrecy, I will shew thee : the other is a man of middle yeares, 
but yet a Batchellor, by occupation a Taylor, and dwelling at 
Hungerford : by report a very good husband, such a one as hath 
crownes good store, and to mee he professes much good will : for 40 
his person, he may please any woman. 

I dame (quoth lohn) because he pleaseth you. 

Not so (said she) for my eyes are vnpartiall ludges in that case : 
and albeit my opinion may be contrary to others, if his Art deceiue 
not my eye-sight, hee is worthy of a good wife, both for his person 
and conditions. 

Then trust mee Dame (quoth lohn) for so much as you are 
without doubt of your selfe that you will proue a good wife, and 



The pleasant Historie 



so well perswaded of him, I should thinke you could make no 
better a choice. 

Truly lohn (quoth shee) there be also two reasons that moue 
mee not to like of him : the one, that being so large a ranger, he 
would at home be a stranger : and the other, that I like better of 
one neerer hand. 

Who is that (quoth lacke] ? 

(Saith she) the third Suter is the Parson of Spinhom-land, who 
hath a proper liuing, he is of holy conuersation and good estima- 
10 tion, whose affection to me is great. 

No doubt Dame (quoth lohn) you may doe wondrous well with 
him, where you shall haue no care but to serue GOD, and to make 
ready his meate. 

O lohn (quoth she) the flesh and the spirit agrees not : for he 
will bee so bent to his booke, that he will haue little minde of his 
bed : for one moneths studying for a Sermon, will make him forget 
his wife a whole yeare. 

Truly Dame (quoth lohn) I must needs speak in his behalfe 
and the rather, for that he is a man of the Church, and your 
ao neere neighbour,to whom (as I guesse) you beare y e best affection : 
I doe not thinke that he will bee so much bound to his booke, or 
subiect to the spirit, but that he will remember a woman at home 
or abroad. 

Well lohn (quoth she) I wis my minde is not that way : for I 
like better of one neerer hand. 

No maruell (quoth lacke] you are so peremptory, seeing you 
haue so much choice : but I pray ye Dame (quoth he) let me know 
this fortunate man that is so highly placed in your fauour? 

lohn (quoth shee) they are worthy to know nothing, that 
30 cannot keepe something : that man (I tell thee) must goe name- 
lesse : for he is Lord of my loue, and King of my desires : there 
is neyther Tanner, Taylor, nor Parson may compare with him, his 
presence is a preseruatiue to my health, his sweete smiles my 
hearts solace, and his words heauenly musicke to my eares. 

Why then Dame (quoth lohn) for your bodies health, your hearts 
ioy, and your eares delight, delay not the time, but entertaine him 
with a kisse, make his bed next yours, and chop vp the match in 
the morning. 

Well (quoth shee) I perceiue thy consent is quickly got to any, 

40 hauing no care how I am matcht so I be matcht : I wis, I wis I 

\ could not let thee goe so lightly, being loth that any one should 

haue thee, except I could loue her as well as my selfe. 

I thanke you for your kindnesse and good will, good Dame 

(quoth hee) but it is not wisedome for a yongue man that can 

scantly keepe himselfe, to take a wife : therefore I hold it the best 

way to leade a single life : for I haue heard say, that many sor- 

rowes follow marriage, especially where want remains : and beside, 

it is a hard matter to finde a constant woman : for as yongue 



Of lacke of Newberie. j 

maides are fickle, so are old women iealous : the one a griefe too 
common, the other a torment intolerable. 

What lohn (quoth she) consider that maidens ficklenesse 
proceedes of vaine fancies, but old womens iealousie of super- 
abounding loue : and therefore the more to bee borne withall. 

But Dame (quoth hee) many are iealous without cause : for is it 
sufficient for their mistrusting natures to take exceptions at a 
shadow, at a word, at a looke, at a smile, nay at the twinkle of an 
eye, which neither man nor woman is able to expell ? I knew 
a woman that was ready to hang her selfe, for seeing but her hus- 10 
bands shirt hang on a hedge with her maides smocke. 

I grant that this fury may haunt some (quoth shee) yet there bee 
many other that complaine not without great cause. 

Why, is there any cause that should moue iealousie (quoth Iohn)l 
I by S. Mary is there (quoth she) : for would it not grieue a woman 
(being one euery way able to delight her husband) to see him for 
sake her, despise and contemne her, being neuer so merry as when 
he is in other company, sporting abroad from morning till noone, 
from noone till night, and when he comes to bed, if hee turnes to 
his wife, it is in such solemnesse, and wearisome drowsie lamenesse, 20 
that it brings rather lothsomnesse than any delight ? can you then 
blame a woman in this case to be angry and displeased ? He tell 
you what, among brute beasts it is a griefe intolerable : for I heard 
my Grandame tell, that the Bel-weather ofherflocke fancying one 
of the Eawes aboue the rest, and seeing Gratis the Sheepheard 
abusing her in abominable sort (subuerting the law of Nature) 
could by no meanes beare that abuse ; but watching opportunity 
for reuenge, on a time found the said Shepheard sleeping in the 
field, and suddenly ranne against him in such violent sort, that by 
the force of his wreathen homes, he beat the braines out of the 3 
Shepheards head and slew him. If then a Sheepe could not en 
dure that injury, thinke not that women are so sheepish to suffer it. 
Beleeue mee (quoth lohn) if euery horne-maker should be so 
plagued by a horned beast, there should bee lesse homes made in 
Newbery by many in a yeare. But Dame (quoth hee) to make an 
end of this prattle, because it is an argument too deepe to be dis 
cussed between you and I, you shall heare me sing an old song, 
and so we will depart to supper. 

A maiden faire I dare not wed, 

For feare to haue Acteons head. 40 

A maiden blacke is often proude : 

A maiden little "will be loud. 

A maiden that is high of growth, 

They say is subiect vnto sloath. 

Thus faire or foule, little or tall, 

Some faults remaine among them all: 

But of all the faults that be, 

None is so bad as iealousie. 



8 The pleasant Historic 

For iealousie is fierce and fell. 
And burnes as hot as fire in hell: 
It breedes suspicion without cause, 
And breaks the bonds of reasons lawes. 
To none it is a greater foe, 
Than vnto those where it doth grow. 
And God keepe me both day and night, 
from that fell, fond and ougly spright : 
For why ? of all the plagues that be, 
10 The secret plague is iealousie. 

Therefore I wish all women kinde, 
Neuer to beare a iealous minde. 

Well said lohn (quoth she) thy song is not so sure, but thy voice 
is as sweete : but seeing the time agrees with our stomackes, 
though loth, yet will we giue ouer for this time, and betake our 
selues to our suppers. Then calling the rest of her seruants, they 
fell to their meate merrily, and after supper, the Goodwife went 
abroad for her recreation, to walke a while with one of her 
neighbours. And in the meane space lohn got him vp into his 
20 chamber, and there began to meditate on this matter, bethinking 
with himselfe what hee were best to doe : for well hee perceiued 
that his Dames affection was great towards him : knowing there 
fore the womans disposition, and withall, that her estate was 
reasonable good, and considering beside, that he should finde a 
house ready furnished, seruants ready taught, and all other things 
for his trade necessary, hee thought it best not to let slip that good 
occasion, lest he should neuer come to the like. But againe, 
when hee considered her yeares to be vnfitting to his youth, and 
that she that sometime had been his Dame, would (perhaps) 
30 disdaine to bee gouerned by him that had been her poore seruant, 
and that it would prooue but a bad bargaine, doubting many 
inconueniencies that might grow thereby, hee therefore resolued 
to be silent, rather than to proceed further : wherefore he got him 
straight to bed, and the next morning settled himselfe close to his 
businesse. 

His Dame comming home, and hearing that her man was gone to 

bed, tooke that night but small rest, and early in the morning 

hearing him vp at his worke, merrily singing, shee by and by arose, 

and in seemely sort attyring her selfe, shee came into the workeshop, 

40 and sate her downe to make quills. 

(Quoth lohn) Good morrow Dame, how doe you to day ? 

God a mercy John (quoth shee) euen as well as I may : for I 
was sore troubled in my Dreames. Mee thought two Doues 
walked together in a corne field, the one (as it were) in commu 
nication with the other, without regard of picking vp any thing to 
sustaine themselues : and after they had with many nods spent 
some time to their content, they both fell hard with their prety bills 



Of lacke of Newberie. g 

to pecke vp the scattered come, left by the weary Reapers hand. 
At length (finding themselues satisfied) it chanced another Pigion 
to light in that place, with whom one of the first Pigions at length 
kept company : and after, returning to the place where she left her 
first companion, perceiued hee was not there : shee kindely 
searching vp and downe the high stubble to finde him, lights at 
length on a Hogge fast asleepe, wherewith mee thought, the poore 
Doue was so dismaid, that presently shee fell downe in a trance. 
I seeing her legges faile, and her wings quiuer, yeelding her selfe 
to death, moued with pity ranne vnto her, and thinking to take 10 
vp the Pigion, mee thought, I had in my hands my owne heart, 
wherein mee thought an arrow stucke so deep, that the bloud 
trickled downe the shaft, and lay vpon the feathers like the siluer 
pearled deaw on the greene grasse, which made me to weepe 
most bitterly. But presently, mee thought there came one to 
mee crowned like a Queene, who told me my heart would dye 
in time, except I got some of that sleeping Hogs grease to heale 
the wounds thereof. Whereupon I ranne in all haste to the Hog 
with my heart bleeding in my hand, who (mee thought) grunted 
at mee in most churlish sort, and vanisht out of my sight. 20 
Whereupon comming straite home, mee thought, I found this Hog 
rustling among the Loonies, wherewith I presently awaked, 
sodainely after midnight, being all in a sweate and very ill : and I 
am sure you could not choose but heare mee groane. 

Trust mee Dame, I heard you not (quoth lohn) I was so sound 
asleepe. 

And thus (quoth shee) a woman may dye in the night before 
you will haue the care to see what she ailes, or aske what she 
lackes. But truly lohn (quoth she) all is one : for if thou 
shouldest haue come, thou couldest not haue got in, because my 30 
chamber door was lockt : but while I Hue this shall teach mee wit : 
for henceforth I will haue no other locke but a latch, till I am 
marryed. 

Then Dame (quoth he) I perceiue though you be curious in 
your choice, yet at length you will marry. 

I truely (quoth shee) so thou wilt not hinder me. 

Who I (quoth lohn) ? on my faith Dame, not for a hundred 
pounds, but rather will further you to the vttermost of my power. 

Indeede (quoth shee) thou hast no reason to shew any 
discourtesie to me in that matter, although some of our neighbours 40 
do not stick to say, that I am sure to thee already. 

If it were so (quoth lohn) there is no cause to deny it, or to bee 
ashamed thereof, knowing my selfe farre vnworthy of so high a 
fauour. 

Well, let this talk rest (quoth shee) and take^ there thy quils, for 
it is time for mee to goe to market. 

Thus the matter rested for two or three dayes, in which space 
shee daily deuised which way shee might obtaine her desire, which 



io The pleasant Historic 

was to marry her man. Many things came in her head, and 
sundry sleights in her minde, but none of them did fit her fancy, 
so that she became wondrous sad, and as ciuill as the nine Sibbels ; 
and in this melancholy humour continued three weekes or a 
moneth, till at last it was her lucke vpon a Bartholomew day 
(hauing a Fayre in the towne) to spie her man lohn giue a paire 
of Gloues to a proper maide for a Fayring, which the maiden with 
a bashfull modesty kindly accepted, and requited it with a kisse : 
which kindled in her an inward iealousie : but notwithstanding 
io very discreetly shee couered it, and closely past along vnspied of 
her man or the maid. 

Shee had not gone farre, but she met with one of her sutors, 
namely the Taylor, who was very fine and briske in his apparell, 
and needes hee would bestow the wine vpon the Widow : and after 
some faint deniall, meeting with a Gossip of hers, to the Tauerne 
they went, which was more courtesie than the Taylor could euer 
get of her before, shewing her selfe very pleasant and merry ; and 
finding her in such a pleasing humour, the Taylor after a new 
quart of wine, renewed his old sute : the Widow with patience 
20 heard him, and gently answered, that in respect of his great good 
will long time borne vnto her, as also in regard of his gentlenesse, 
cost, and curtesie at that present bestowed, she would not flatly 
deny him. Therefore (quoth shee) seeing this is not a place to 
conclude of such matters, if I may intreate you to come to my 
poore house on thursday next, you shall be heartily welcome, and 
be further satisfied of my minde : and thus preferred to a touch of 
her lips, hee payed the shot and departed. 

The Taylor was scant out of sight, when she met with the 
Tanner : who albeit he was aged, yet lustily hee saluted her, and 
30 to the wine she must, there was no nay. The Widow seeing his 
importunacy, calls her gossip, and along they walked together. 
The old man called for wine plenty, and the best cheere in the 
house : and in an hearty manner hee bids the Widow welcome. 
They had not sitten long, but in comes a noise of Musitians in 
tawny coates, who (putting off their caps) asked if they would 
haue any musicke. The Widow answered no, they were merry 
enough. 

Tut (quoth the old man) let vs heare good fellowes what you 
can doe, and play mee The beginning of the World. 
40 Alas (quoth the widow) you had more need to hearken to yee 
ending of the world. 

Why Widow (quoth hee) I tell thee the beginning of the world 
was the begetting of Children : and if you finde mee faulty in that 
occupation, turne mee out of thy bed for a bungler, and then send 
for the Sexton. 

Hee had no sooner spoken the word, but the Parson of Speen 
with his corner cap, popt in at the doore, who seeing the Widow 
sitting at the table, craued pardon, and came in. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 1 1 

(Quoth shee) for want of the Sexton, heere is the Priest if you 
need him. 

Marry (quoth the Tanner) in good time, for by this meanes wee 
neede not goe farre to be married. 

Sir (quoth the Parson) I shall doe my best in conuenient place. 

Wherein (quoth the Tanner) ? 

To wed her my selfe (quoth the Parson). 

Nay soft (said the Widow) one Swallow makes not a Summer, 
nor one meeting a marriage : as I lighted on you vnlookt for, so 
came I hither vnprouided for the purpose. 10 

I trust (quoth the Tanner) you came not without your eyes to 
see, your tongue to speake, your eares to heare, your hands to 
feele, nor your legs to goe. 

I brought my eyes (quoth she) to discerne colours, my tongue 
to say No to questions I like not, my hands to thrust from mee 
the things that I loue not, my eares to iudge twixt flattery and 
friendship, & my feet to run from such as would wrong mee. 

Why then (quoth the Parson) by your gentle abiding in this 
place, it is euident that here are none but those you like & loue. 

God forbid I should hate my friends (quoth the widow) whom 20 
I take all these in this place to bee. 

But there bee diuers sorts of loues (quoth the Parson). 

You say truth (quoth the Widow) : I loue your selfe for your 
profession, and my friend the Tanner, for his curtesie and kind- 
nesse, and the rest for their good company. 

Yet (quoth the Parson) for the explaining of your loue, I pray 
you drinke to them you loue best in the company. 

Why (quoth the Tanner) haue you any hope in her loue ? 

Beleeue me (saith the Parson), as much as another. 

Why then Parson sit downe (said the Tanner) : for you that 30 
are equall with mee in desire, shall surely be halfe with mee 
in the shotte : and so Widow, on Gods name fulfill the Parsons 
request. 

Seeing (quoth the Widow) you are so pleasantly bent, if my 
courtesie might not breede contention between you, and that 
I may haue your fauour to shew my fancy, I will fulfill your 
request. 

(Quoth the Parson) I am pleased howsoeuer it bee. 

And I (quoth the Tanner). 

Why then (quoth shee) with this cup of Claret wine and Sugar, 40 
I heartily drinke to the Minstrels boy. 

Why, is it he you loue best (quoth the Parson) ? 

I haue reason (said shee) to like and loue them best, that will 
bee least offended with my doings. 

Nay, Widow (quoth they) wee meant you should drinke to him 
whom you loued best in the way of marriage. 

(Quoth the Widow) you should haue said so at first : but to tell 
you my opinion, it is small discretion for a woman to disclose her 



1 2 The pleasant Historic 

secret affection in an open assembly : therefore, if to that purpose 
you spake, let mee intreat you both to come home to my house 
on Thursday next, where you shall bee heartily welcome, and 
there be fully resolued of my minde : and so, with thankes at this 
time, He take my leaue. 

The shot being paid, and the Musitians pleased, they all de 
parted, the Tanner to Wallingford, the Parson to Speen, and the 
widow to her own house : where in her wonted solemnes shee 
settled her selfe to her businesse. 

10 Against Thursday shee drest her house fine and braue, and set 
her selfe in her best apparell : the Taylor nothing forgetting his 
promise, sent to the Widow a good fat Pigge, and a Goose. The 
Parson being as mindfull as hee, sent to her house a couple of fat 
Rabbets and a Capon : and the Tanner came himselfe, and 
brought a good shoulder of Mutton, and halfe a dozen Chickens, 
beside hee brought a good gallon of Sacke, and halfe a pound of 
the best Sugar. The Widow receiuing this good meate, set her 
maide to dresse it incontinent, and when dinner time drew neere, 
the Table was couered, and euery other thing prouided in con- 

20 uenient and comely sort. 

At length the guests being come, the Widow bade them all 
heartily welcome. The Priest and the Tanner seeing the Taylor, 
mused what hee made there : the Taylor on the other side, 
maruelled as much at their presence. Thus looking strangely 
one at another, at length the Widow came out of the Kitchen, in 
a faire traine gowne stucke full of siluer pinnes, a fine white Cap 
on her head, with cuts of curious needle worke vnder the same, 
and an Apron before her as white as the driuen snow : then very 
modestly making curtsie to them all, she requested them to sit 

30 downe. But they straining courtesie the one with the other, the 
Widow with a smiling countenance tooke the Parson by the hand, 
saying, Sir, as you stand highest in the Church, so it is meete you 
should sit highest at the Table : and therefore I pray you sit 
downe there on the bench side. And Sir (said shee to the 
Tanner) as age is to bee honoured before youth for their ex 
perience, so are they to sit aboue Bachelers for their grauity : and 
so shee set him downe on this side the Table, ouer against the 
Parson. Then comming to the Taylor, she said, Batcheler, 
though your lot bee the last, your welcome is equall with the first, 

40 and seeing your place points out it selfe, I pray you take a cushion 
and sit downe. And now (quoth she) to make the boord equall, 
and because it hath been an old saying, that three things are to 
small purpose, if the fourth be away : if so it may stand with your 
fauour, I will call in a Gossip of mine to supply this voide place. 
With a good will (quoth they). 

With that shee brought in an old woman with scant euer a good 
tooth in her head, and placed her right against the Batcheler. 
Then was the meate brought to the boord in due order by the 



Of lacke of Newberie. 1 3 

Widowes seruants, her man lohn being chiefest seruitor. The 
Widow sate downe at the Tables end, betweene the Parson and 
the Tanner, who in very good sort carued meate for them all, her 
man lohn waiting on the Table. 

After they had sitten awhile, and well refreshed themselues, the 
Widow, taking a Chrystal glasse fild with Claret Wine, drunke 
vnto the whole company, and bade them welcome. The Parson 
pledged her, and so did all the rest in due order : but still in their 
drinking, the cup past ouer the poore old womans Nose ; insomuch 
that at length the old woman (in a merry vaine) spake thus vnto 10 
the company : I haue had much good meate among you, but as 
for the drinke I can nothing commend it. 

Alas, good Gossip (quoth the Widow) I perceiue no man hath 
drunke to thee yet. 

No truly (quoth the old woman) : for Churchmen haue so much 
minde of yongue Rabbets, old men such ioy in young Chickens, 
and Batchelers in Pigs flesh take such delight, that an old Sow, 
a tough Henne, or a gray Cony are not accepted : and so it 
is seen by mee, else I should haue beene better remembred. 

Well old woman (quoth the Parson) take here the legge of 20 
a Capon to stop thy mouth. 

Now by S. Anne, I dare not (quoth she). 

No, wherefore (said the Parson) ? 

Marry, for feare lest you should goe home with a crutch (quoth 
shee). 

The Taylor said, then taste here a peece of a Goose. 

Now God forbid (said the old woman) let Goose goe to his 
kinde : you haue a yongue stomacke, eate it your selfe, and much 
good may it doe your heart, sweet yongue man. 

The old woman lackes most of her teeth (quoth the Tanner) : 30 
and therefore a peece of a tender Chicke is fittest for her. 

If I did lacke as many of my teeth (quoth the old woman) as 
you lacke points of good husbandry, I doubt I should starue before 
it were long. 

At this the Widow laught heartily, and the men were striken 
into such a dumpe, that they had not a word to say. 

Dinner being ended, the Widow with the rest rose from the 
Table, and after they had sitten a prety while merrily talking, the 
Widow called her man lohn to bring her a bowle of fresh Ale, 
which he did. Then said the Widow : My masters, now for your 40 
courtesie and cost I heartily thanke you all, and in requitall of all 
your fauour, loue and good will, I drinke to you, giuing you free 
liberty when you please to depart. 

At these words her sutors looked so sowerly one vpon another, 
as if they had beene newly champing of Crabs. Which when the 
Taylor heard, shaking vp himselfe in his new russet lerkin, and 
setting his Hat on one side, hee began to speake thus. I trust 
sweet Widow (quoth hee) you remember to what end my comming 



14 The pleasant Historic 

was hither to day : I haue long time beene a sutor vnto you, and 
this day you promised to giue mee a direct answer. 

Tis true (quoth shee) and so I haue : for your loue I giue you 
thankes, and when you please you may depart. 

Shall I not haue you (said the Taylor) ? 

Alas (quoth the Widow), you come too late. 

Good friend (quoth the Tanner) it is manners for yongue men 

to let their elders bee serued before them : to what end should 

I be here if the Widow should haue thee ? a flat deniall is meete 

Jo for a sawcy sutor : but what saiest thou to me, faire Widow (quoth 

the Tanner ?) 

Sir (said shee) because you are so sharpe set, I would wish you 
as soon as you can to wed. 

Appoint the time your selfe (quoth the Tanner). 

Euen as soone (quoth shee) as you can get a wife, and hope not 
after mee, for I am already promised. 

Now Tanner, you may take your place with the Taylor (quoth 
the Parson) : for indeede the Widow is for no man but my selfe. 

Master Parson (quoth shee) many haue runne neer the goale, 
ao and yet haue lost the game, and I cannot helpe it though your 
hope be in vaine : besides, Parsons are but newly suffered to haue 
wiues, and for my part I will haue none of the first head. 

What (quoth the Taylor) is your merriment growne to this 
reckoning ? I neuer spent a Pig and a Goose to so bad a purpose 
before : I promise you, when I came in, I verily thought, that you 
were inuited by the Widow to make her and I sure together, and 
that this iolly Tanner was brought to be a witnesse to the contract, 
and the old woman fetcht in for the same purpose, else I would 
neuer haue put vp so many dry bobs at her hands. 
30 And surely (quoth the Tanner) I knowing thee to bee a Taylor, 
did assuredly thinke, that thou wast appointed to come and take 
measure for our wedding apparell. 

But now wee are all deceiued (quoth the Parson) : and therefore 
as we came fooles, so we may depart hence like asses. 

That is as you interpret the matter (said the Widow) : for I euer 
doubting that a concluding answer would breede a iarre in the 
end among you euery one, I thought it better to be done at one 
instant, and in mine owne house, than at sundry times, and in 
common Tauernes : and as for the meate you sent, as it was vn- 
40 requested of mee, so had you your part thereof, and if you thinke 
good to take home the remainder, prepare your wallets and you 
shall haue it. 

Nay Widow (quoth they) although wee haue lost our labours, we 
haue not altogether lost our manners : that which you haue, keepe ; 
and GOD send to vs better lucke, and to you your hearts desire. 
And with that they departed. 

The Widow being glad shee was thus rid of her guests, when 
her man lohn with all the rest sate at supper, she sitting in 



Of lacke of Newberie. 1 5 

a Chaire by, spake thus vnto them. Well my masters, you 
saw, that this day your poore Dame had her choice of husbands, 
if shee had listed to marry, and such as would haue loued and 
maintained her like a woman. 

Tis true (quoth John) and I pray God you haue not withstood 
your best fortune. 

Trust mee (quoth she) I know not, but if I haue, I may thank 
mine owne foolish fancy. 

Thus it past on from Bartholmewtide^ till it was neere Christmas, 
at what time the weather was so wonderfull cold, that all the run- 10 
ning Riuers round about the Towne were frozen very thicke. The 
Widow being very loth any longer to lye without company, in 
a cold winters night made a great fire, and sent for her man John, 
hauing also prepared a Chaire and a cushion, shee made him sit 
downe therein, and sending for a pinte of good Sacke, they both 
went to supper. 

In the end, bed time comming on, she caused her maid in a 
merriment to plucke off his hose and shooes, and caused him to 
be laid in his masters best bed, standing in the best Chamber, 
hung round about with very faire curtaines. lohn being thus pre- ao 
ferred, thought himselfe a Gentleman, and lying soft, after his hard 
labour and a good supper, quickly fell asleepe. 

About midnight, the Widow being cold on her feet, crept into 
her mans bed to warme them. lohn feeling one lift vp the cloathes, 
asked who was there ? O good lohn it is I (quoth the Widow) ; 
the night is so extreme cold, and my Chamber walles so thin, that 
I am like to bee starued in my bed, wherefore rather than I would 
any way hazzard my health, I thought it much better to come hither 
and try your courtesie, to haue a little roome beside you. 

lohn being a kind yongue man, would not say her nay, and so 30 
they spent the rest of the night both together in one bed. In the 
morning betime she arose vp and made her selfe readie, and wild 
her man lohn to run and fetch her a linke with all speede : for 
(quoth shee) I haue earnest businesse to doe this morning. Her 
man did so. Which done, shee made him to carry the Linke 
before her, vntill she came to Saint Bartholmewes Chappell, where 
Sir lohn the Priest with the Clark and Sexton, stood waiting for 
her. 

lohn (quoth she) turne into the Chappell : for before I goe fur 
ther, I will make my prayers to S. Bartholmew, so shall I speed 40 
the better in my businesse. 

When they were come in, the Priest according to his order, 
came to her, and asked where the Bridegroome was ? 

(Quoth she) I thought he had been here before me. Sir (quoth 
she) I will sit downe and say ouer my Beades, and by that time 
hee will come. 

lohn mused at this matter, to see that his Dame should so sud 
denly be married, and he hearing nothing thereof before. The 



1 6 The pleasant Historie 

Widow rising from her prayers, the Priest told her that the Bride- 
groome was not yet come. 

Is it true (quoth the Widow) ? I promise you I will stay no 
longer for him, if hee were as good as George a Green : and 
therefore dispatch (quoth she) and marry mee to my man John. 

Why Dame (quoth he) you do but iest. 

I trow, lohn (quoth shee) I iest not : for so I meane it shall 
bee, and stand not strangely, but remember that you did promise 
mee on your faith, not to hinder mee when I came to the Church 
10 to be married, but rather to set it forward : therfore set your link 
aside, and giue mee your hand : for none but you shall be my 
husband. 

lohn seeing no remedy, consented, because hee saw the matter 
could not otherwise bee amended ; and married they were 
presently. 

When they were come home, lohn entertained his Dame with 
a kisse, which the other seruants seeing, thought him somewhat 
sawcy. The Widow caused the best cheare in the house to bee 
set on the Table, and to breakfast they went, causing her new 
ao husband to be set in a chaire at the tables end, with a faire 
napkin laid on his trencher : then shee called out the rest of her 
seruants, willing them to sit downe and take part of their good 
cheare. They wondring to see their fellow lohn sit at the tables 
end in their old masters chaire, began heartily to smile, and 
openly to laugh at the matter, especially because their Dame so 
kindly sate by his side : which shee perceiuing, asked if that were 
all the manners they could shew before their master ? I tell you 
(quoth shee) he is my husband : for this morning we were married, 
and therefore hence forward looke you acknowledge your duety 
30 towards him. 

The folkes looked one vpon another, maruelling at this strange 
newes. Which when lohn perceiued, he said : My masters, muse 
not at all : for although by Gods prouidence, and your Dames 
fauour, I am preferred from being your fellow to be your master, 
I am not thereby so much puft vp in pride, that any way I will 
forget my former estate : Notwithstanding, seeing I am now to 
hold the place of a master, it shall be wisedome in you to forget 
what I was, and to take mee as I am, and in doing your diligence, 
you shall haue no cause to repent that God made me your 
40 master. 

The seruants hearing this, as also knowing his good gouern- 
ment before time, past their yeares with him in dutifull manner. 

The next day, the report was ouer all the Towne, that lacke of 
Newberie had married his Dame : so that when the woman walked 
abroad, euery one bade God giue her ioy : some said that she was 
matcht to her sorrow, saying, that so lusty a yongue man as hee, 
would neuer loue her being so ancient. Whereupon the woman 
made answer, that shee would take him downe in his wedding 



Of lacke of Newberie. 1 7 

shooes, and would try his patience in the prime of his lustinesse : 
whereunto, many of her Gossips did likewise encourage her. 
Euery day therefore for the space of a moneth after shee was 
married, it was her ordinary custome, to goe forth in the morning 
among her Gossips and acquaintance to make merry, and not to 
returne home till night, without any regard of her houshold. 
Of which, at her comming home her husband did very oftentimes 
admonish her in very gentle sort, shewing what great incon- 
uenience would grow thereby : the which sometime shee would 
take in gentle part, and sometime in disdaine, saying. 10 

I am now in very good case, that hee that was my seruant but 
the other day, will now bee my master : this it is for a woman to 
make her foote her head. The day hath beene, when I might 
haue gone forth when I would, and come in againe when it had 
pleased mee without controulement, and now I must be subiect 
to euery lackes checke. I am sure (quoth she) that by my 
gadding abroad, and carelesse spending, I waste no goods of 
thine. I, pittying thy pouerty, made thee a man, and master of 
the house, but not to the end I would become thy slaue. 
I scorne, I tell thee true, that such a yongueling as thy selfe, 20 
should correct my conceit, and giue mee instructions, as if I were 
not able to guide my selfe : but yfaith, yfaith, you shall not vse 
me like a babe nor bridle me like an Asse : and seeing my 
going abroad grieues thee, where I haue gone forth one day, 
I will goe abroad three ; and for one houre, I will stay flue. 

Well (quoth her husband) I trust you will be better aduised : 
and with that hee went from her about his businesse, leauing her 
sweating in her fustian furies. 

Thus the time past on, till on a certaine day she had been 
abroad in her wonted manner, and staying forth very late, hee 30 
shut the doores and went to bed. About midnight shee comes 
to the doore, and knockes to come in : to whom hee looking out 
of the window, answered in this sort : 

What ? is it you that keepes such a knocking ? I pray you get 
hence, and request the Constable to prouide you a bed, for this 
night you shall haue no lodging here. 

I hope (quoth shee) you will not shut mee out of doores like 
a dogge, or let me lye in the streetes like a Strumpet. 

Whether like a dogge or drab (quoth hee) all is one to mee, 
knowing no reason, but that as you haue staled out all day for 4 o 
your delight, so you may lye forth all night for my pleasure. 
Both birds and beastes at the nights approach repaire to their 
rest, and obserue a conuenient time to returne to their habitation. 
Looke but vpon the poore Spider, the Frog, the Flye, and euery 
other silly Worme, and you shall see all these obserue time to re 
turne to their home : and if you, being a woman, will not doe the 
like, content your selfe to beare the brunt of your owne folly : and 
so farewell. 

917.6 c 



1 8 The pleasant Historic 

The woman hearing this, made pittious mone, and in very 
humble sort intreated him to let her in, and to pardon this offence, 
and while shee liued vowde neuer to doe the like. Her husband 
at length being moued with pitty towards her, slipt on his shooes, 
and came downe in his shirt: the doore being opened, in she 
went quaking, and as he was about to locke it againe, in very 
sorrowfull manner she said, Alacke husband, what hap haue I ? my 
wedding Ring was euen now in my hand, and I haue let it fall 
about the doore : good sweet lohn come forth with the candle, 
10 and helpe me to seeke it. 

The man incontinent did so, and while hee sought for that 
which was not there to bee found, shee whipt into the house, and 
quickly clapping to the doore, she lockt her husband out. He 
stood calling with the candle in his hand to come in, but she 
made as if shee heard not. Anon shee went vp into her chamber, 
and carried the key with her : but when he saw she would not 
answer, hee presently began to knocke as lowd as hee could at 
the doore. At last she thrust her head out at the window, saying : 
Who is there ? 

ao Tis I (quoth lohn) what meane you by this ? I pray you come 
downe and open the doore that I may come in. 

What sir (quoth shee) is it you ? haue you nothing to doe but 
dance about the streetes at this time of night, and like a Spright 
of the Buttery hunt after Crickets, are you so note that the house 
cannot hold you ? 

Nay, I pray thee sweet heart (quoth he) doe not gybe no 
longer, but let mee in. 

O sir, remember (quoth shee) how you stood euen now at the 
window, like a ludge on the Bench, and in taunting sort kept mee 
30 out of mine owne house. How now lacke, am I euen with you ? 
What, lohn my man, were you so lusty to locke your Dame out of 
doores? Sirra, remember you bade mee go to the Constable to 
get lodging, now you haue leisure to try if his wife will preferre 
you to a bed. You sir sawce, that made me stand in the cold, 
till my feet did freeze, and my teeth chatter, while you stood 
preaching of birds and beasts, telling me a tale of Spiders, Flies, 
and Frogs : goe trye now if any of them will bee so friendly to let 
thee haue lodging. Why go you not man ? feare not to speake 
with them ; for I am sure you shall finde them at home : thinke not 
40 they are such ill husbands as you, to be abroad at this time of night. 

With this lohns patience was greatly mooued, insomuch, that 
hee deepely swore, that if shee would not let him in, hee would 
breake downe the doore. 

Why lohn (quoth shee) you neede not be so hote, your cloathing 
is not so warme, and because I thinke this will be a warning for 
you against another time, how you shut mee out of my house, 
catch, there is the key, come in at thy pleasure, and looke thou goe 
to bed to thy fellowes, for with mee thou shalt not lye to night. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 1 9 

With that shee clapt to the casement, and got her to bedde, lock 
ing the chamber doore fast. Her husband that knew it was in 
vaine to seeke to come into her chamber, and being no longer able 
to indure the cold, got him a place among his premises, and 
there slept soundly. In the morning his wife rose betime, and 
merrily made him a Cawdle, and bringing it vp to his bed side, 
asked him how he did ? 

(Quoth lohri) troubled with a shrew, who the longer shee Hues, 
the worse shee is : and as the people of Illyris kill men with their 
lookes, so she kills her husbands heart with vntoward conditions. 10 
But trust mee wife (quoth hee) seeing I finde you of such crooked 
qualities, that (like the Spider) ye turne the sweete flowers of good 
counsell into venemous poyson, from henceforth I will leaue you 
to your owne wilfulnesse, and neither vexe my mind, nor trouble 
my selfe to restraine you : the which if I had wisely done last 
night, I had kept the house in quiet, and my selfe from cold. 

Husband (quoth shee) thinke that women are like starlings, that 
will burst their gall before they will yeeld to the Fowler : or like 
the Fish Scolopendra, that cannot be toucht without danger. 
Notwithstanding, as the hard steele doth yeeld to the hammers 20 
stroke, being vsed to his kinde, so will women to their husbands, 
where they are not too much crost. And seeing ye haue sworne 
to giue me my will, I vow likewise that my wilfulnesse shall not 
offend you. I tell you husband, the noble nature of a woman is 
such, that for their louing friends they will not sticke (like the 
Pellican) to pierce their owne hearts to doe them good. And 
therefore forgiuing each other all iniuries past, hauing also tride 
one anothers patience, let vs quench these burning coales of 
contention, with the sweete iuyce of a faithfull kisse, and shaking 
hands, bequeath all our anger to the eating vp of this Cawdle. 30 

Her husband courteously consented : and after this time, they 
liued long together, in most godly, louing and kind sort, till in the 
end she dyed, leauing her husband wondrous wealthy. 



CHAP. II. 

Of lacke of Newberie his great wealth, and number of 
seruants: and also how hee brought the Queene 
Katharine two hundred and fifty men prepared for 
the warre at his owne cost against the king of Scots 
at Fhden field. 

NOw lack of Newberie being a widower, had the choice of 40 
many wiues, mens daughters of good credit, & widowes of 
great wealth. Notwithstanding he bent his only like to one of his 

c 2 



2O The pleasant Historic 

owne seruants, whom he had tried in the guiding of his house a 
year or two : and knowing her carefulnesse in her businesse, 
faithfull in her dealing, an excellent good huswife, thought it better 
to haue her with nothing, than some other with much treasure. 
And beside as her qualities were good, so was she of very comely 
personage, of a sweet fauour, and faire complexion. In the end, 
hee opened his minde vnto her, and craued her good will. The 
maid (though shee took this motion kindly) said, shee would do 
nothing without consent of her parents. Whereupon a Letter was 
*o writ to her father, being a poore man dwelling at Alesburie in 
Buckingamshire : who being ioyfull of his daughters good fortune, 
speedily came to Newberie, where of her master he was friendly 
entertained : who after he had made him good cheare, shewed 
him all his seruants at worke, and euery office in his house. 

Within one roome being large and long, 

There stood two hundred Loomes full strong : 

Two hundred men the truth is so, 

Wrought in these Loomes all in a row. 

By euery one a pretty boy, 
ao Safe making quils with mickle ioy ; 

And in another place hard by, 

An hundred women merily, 

Were carding hard with ioyfull cheere, 

Who singing sate with voices cleere. 

And in a chamber close beside, 

Two hundred maidens did abide, 

In petticoates of Stammell red, 

And milke-white kerchers on their head: 

Their smocke-sleeues like to winter snow, 
30 That on the Westerne mountaines flow, 

And each sleeue with a silken band, 

Was featly tied at the hand. 

These pretty maids did neuer lin, 

But in that place all day did spin : 

And spinning so with voices meet, 

Like Nightingals they sung full sweet. 

Then to another roome came they, 

Where children were in poore aray : 

And euery one sate picking wool, 
40 The finest from the course to cull: 

The number was seuen score and ten t 

The children of poore silly men: 

And these their labours to requite, 

Had euery one a penny at night, 

Beside their meat and drinke all day, 

Which was to them a wondrous stay. 

Within another place likewise, 

Full ffty proper men he spies, 



Of lacke of Newberie. 2 I 

And these were Shearemen euery one, 
Whose skill and cunning there was showne : 
And hard by them there did remaine, 
Full fourscore Rowers taking paine. 
A Dye-house likewise had he then, 
Wherein he kept full forty men : 
And likewise in his fulling Mill, 
Full twenty persons kept he still. 
Each weeke ten good fat oxen he 

Spent in his house for certaintie : 10 

Beside good butter, cheese, and fish, 
And many another wholesome dish. 
He kept a Butcher all the yeere, 
A Brewer eke for Ale and Beere : 
A Baker for to bake his Bread, 
Which stood his hushold in good stead. 
Fiue Cookes within his kitchin great, 
Were all the yeare to dresse his meat. 
Sixe scullian boyes vnto their hands, 

To make cleane dishes, pots, and pans, 20 

Beside poore children that did stay, 
To turne the broaches euery day. 
The old. man that did see this sight, 
Was much amazed, as well he might: 
This was a gallant Cloathier sure, 
Whose fame for euer shall endure. 

When the old man had scene this great houshold and family, 
then was he brought into the Ware-houses, some being fild with 
wool, some with flockes, some with woad and madder, and some 
with broadcloathes and kersies ready dyed and drest, beside a 3 
great number of others, some strecht on the Tenters, some hang 
ing on poles, and a great many more lying wet in other places. 
Sir (quoth the old man) I wis che zee you bee bominable rich, and 
cham content you shall haue my daughter, and Gods blessing and 
mine light on you both. 

But Father (quoth lacke of Newberie) what will you bestow with 
her? 

Marry heare you (quoth the old man) I vaith cham but a poore 
man, but I thong God, cham of good exclamation among my 
neighbours, and they will as zoone take my vice for any thing as a 4 
richer mans : thicke I will bestow, you shall haue with a good will, 
because che heare very good condemnation of you in euery place, 
therefore chil giue you twenty Nobles and a weaning Calfe, and 
when I dye and my wife, you shall haue the reuelation of all my 
goods. 

When lacke heard his offer, he was straight content, making 
more reckoning of the womans modesty, than her Fathers money. 



22 The pleasant Historic 

So the marriage day being appointed, all things was prepared 
meete for the wedding, and royall cheere ordained, most of the 
Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen thereabout, were inuited there 
unto : the Bride being attyred in a gowne of sheepes russet, and 
a kertle of fine woosted, her head attyred with a billiment of gold, 
and her haire as yeallow as gold, hanging downe behinde her, 
which was curiously combed and pleated, according to the manner 
in those dayes : shee was led to Church betweene two sweete 
boyes, with Bride-laces & Rosemary tied about their silken sleeues : 

10 the one of them was sonne to Sir Thomas Parry , the other to 
Sir Francis Hungerford. Then was there a fair Bride-cup of 
siluer and gilt carried before her, wherein was a goodly branch of 
Rosemary gilded very faire, hung about with silken Ribands of all 
colours : next was there a noyse of Musicians that played all the 
way before her : after her came all the chiefest maydens of the 
Country, some bearing great Bride Cakes, and some Garlands of 
wheate finely gilded, and so she past vnto the Church. 

It is needlesse for mee to make any mention here of the Bride- 
groome, who being a man so well beloued, wanted no company, 

ao and those of the best sort, beside diuers Marchant strangers of the 
Stillyard, that came from London to the Wedding. The marriage 
being solemnized, home they came in order as before, and to 
dinner they went, where was no want of good cheare, no lacke of 
melody : Rennish Wine at this wedding was as plentifull as Beere 
or Ale : for the Marchants had sent thither ten Tunnes of the 
best in the Stillyard. 

This wedding endured ten dayes, to the great reliefe of the 
poore that dwelt all about : and in the end, the Brides Father and 
Mother came to pay their Daughters portion : which when the 

30 Bridegroome had receiued, hee gaue them great thankes : Not 
withstanding he would not suffer them yet to depart, and against 
they should goe home, their sonne in law came vnto them, saying ; 
Father and Mother, all the thankes that my poore heart can yeeld, 
I giue you for your good will, cost, and courtesie, and while I Hue 
make bold to vse mee in any thing that I am able, and in requitall of 

, the gift you gaue me with your daughter, I giue you here twenty 
pound to bestow as you finde occasion, and for your losse of time, 
and charges riding vp and downe, I giue you here as much broad- 
cloath as shall make you a cloake, and my mother a holiday 

40 gowne, and when this is worne out, come to me and fetch 
more. 

my good zonne (quoth the old woman) Christs benizon bee 
with thee euermore : for to tell thee true, we had zold all our 
kine to make money for my daughters marriage, and this zeauen 
yeare we should not haue been able to buy more : Notwithstanding 
we should haue zold all that euer wee had, before my poore wench 
should haue lost her marriage. 

1 (quoth the old man) chud haue zold my coate from my backe, 



Of lacke of Newberie. 2 3 

and my bed from vnder mee, before my gyrle should haue gone 
without you. 

I thanke you good father and mother (said the Bride) and I pray 
God long to keepe you in health : then the Bride kneeled downe 
and did her duty to her parents, who weeping for very ioy, departed. 

Not long after this, it chanced while our noble king was making 
warre in France, that lames king of Scotland, falsly breaking his 
oath, inuaded England with a great Army, and did much hurt vpon 
the Borders : whereupon on the sudden, euery man was appointed 
according to his ability, to bee ready with his men and furniture, at 10 
an houres warning, on paine of death. lacke of Newberie was 
commanded by the Justices to set out sixe men, foure armed with 
Pikes, and two Caliuers, and to meete the Queen in Buckingham 
shire^ who was there raising a great power to goe against the 
faithlesse king of Scots. 

When lacke had receiued this charge, hee came home in all 
hast, & cut out a whole broadcloath for horsemens coates, and so 
much more as would make vp coates for the number of a hundred 
men : in short time hee had made ready fifty tall men well mounted 
in white coates, and red caps with yellow Feathers, Demilances in 20 
their hands, and fifty armed men on foote with Pikes, and fifty 
shotte in white coates also, euery man so expert in the handling of 
his weapon, as few better were found in the field. Himselfe like 
wise in complet armour on a goodly Barbed Horse, rode foremost 
of the company, with a Lance in his hand, and a faire plume of 
yellow Feathers in his crest, and in this sort he came before the 
lustices : who at the first approach did not a little wonder what 
he should be. 

At length when thee had discouered what hee was, the lustices 
and most of the Gentlemen gaue him great commendations for 30 
this his good and forward minde shewed in this action : but some 
other enuying hereat, gaue out words that hee shewed himselfe 
more prodigall than prudent, and more vaine-glorious than well 
aduised, seeing that the best Nobleman in the Country would 
scarce haue done so much : and no maruell (quoth they) for such 
a one would call to his remembrance, that the King had often 
occasions to vrge his subiects to such charges; and therefore 
would doe at one time as they might be able to doe at another : 
but lack of Newberie like the Stork in the Spring-time, thinks the 
highest Cedar too lowe for him to build his nest in, and ere the 40 
yeare be halfe done may be glad to haue his bed in a bush. 

These disdainfull speeches being at last brought to lacke of < 
Newberies eare, though it grieued him much, yet patiently put them J 
vp till time conuenient. Within a while after, all the souldiers of f ^ ^<*v 
Barkshire, Hampshire, and Wiltshire, were commanded to shew 
themselues before the Queene at Stonny Stratford, where her 
Grace, with many Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen were assembled, 
with tenne thousand men. Against lacke should goe to the Queene, 



24 The pleasant Historic 

he caused his face to bee smeared with bloud, and his white coate 
in like manner. 

When they were come before her Highnesse, she demanded 
(aboue all the rest) what those white coats were ? Whereupon, 
Sir Henry Englefield (who had the leading of the Barkshire men) 
made answer. 

May it please your Maiesty to vnderstand, that hee which rideth 
formost there, is called lacke of Newbery, and all those gallant 
men in white, are his owne seruants, who are maintained all the 
10 yeare by him : whom hee at his owne cost hath set out in this time 
of extremity, to serue the King against his vaunting Foe : and 
I assure your Maiesty, there is not, for the number, better souldiers 
in the field. 

Good sir Henry (quoth the Queene) bring the man to mee, that 
I may see him : which was done accordingly. Then lacke with 
all his men allighted, and humbly on their knees fell before the 
Queen. 

Her Grace said, Gentleman arise ; and putting forth her lilly 
white hand, gaue it him to kisse. 

20 Most gracious Queene (quoth hee) Gentleman I am none, nor the 
sonne of a Gentleman, but a poore Clothier, whose lands are his 
Loomes, hauing no other Rents but what I get from the backes 
of little sheepe : nor can I claime any cognisance but a wodden shut 
tle. Neverthelesse, most gratious Queene, these my poore seruants 
and my selfe, with life and goods, are ready at your Maiesties com 
mand, not onely to spend our blouds, but also to lose our Hues 
in defence of our King and Country. 

Welcome to mee lack of Newberie (said the Queene) though 
a Clothier by trade, yet a Gentleman by condition, and a faithfull 
30 subiect in heart : and if thou chance to haue any sute in Court, 
make account the Queene will bee thy friend, and would to God 
the King had many such Clothiers. But tell mee, how came thy 
white coate besmeared with bloud, and thy face so bescratcht ? 

May it please your Grace (quoth hee) to vnderstand, that it was 
my chance to meete with a monster, who like the people Cynomolgy^ 
had the proportion of a man, but headed like a dogge, the biting 
of whose teeth was like the poisoned teeth of a Crocodile, his 
breath like the Basilisks, killing afarre off. I vnderstand, his 
name was Enuie, who assailed mee inuisibly, like the wicked 
40 spirit of Mogunce, who flung stones at men, & could not bee scene : 
and so I come by my scratcht face, not knowing when it was done. 

What was the cause this monster should afflict thee aboue the 
rest of thy company, or other men in the field ? 

Although, most Souereigne Queen (quoth hee) this poysoned 
curre snarleth at many, and that few can escape the hurt of his 
wounding breath, yet at this time he bent his force against mee, 
not for any hurt I, did him, but because I surpast him in hearty 
affection to my Souereigne Lord, and with the poore Widow, offered 
all I had to serue my Prince and Country. 

/ 



Of lacke of Newberie. 2 5 

It were happy for England (said the Queene) if in euerie 
market Towne there were a lybbet to hang vp curres of that kinde, 
who like ^Esops dogge lying in the Manger, will doe no good him- "\ 
selfe, nor suffer such as would to doe any. 

This speech being ended, the Queene caused her Army to be 
set in order, and in warlike manner to march toward Flodden, 
where King lames had pitcht his field. But as they passed 
along with Drum and Trumpet, there came a Post from the 
valiant Earle of Surrey -, with tydings to her Grace, that now she 
might dismisse her Army, for that it had pleased God to grant the 10 
noble Earle victory ouer the Scotts : whom he had by his wisedome 
and valiancy vanquished in fight, and slaine their King in battell. 
Upon which newes, her Maiesty discharged her forces, and Joyfully 
tooke her iourney to London, with a pleasant countenance, praysing 
God for her famous victory, and yeelding thankes to all the noble 
Gentlemen and Souldiers for their readinesse in the action, giuing 
many gifts to the Nobilitie, and great rewards to the Souldiers : 
among whom, she nothing forgot lacke of Newbery, about whose 
necke she put a rich chaine of gold : at what time he with all the 
rest gaue a great shout, saying, God saue Katherine the noble 20 
Queen of England. 

Many Noble men of Scotland were taken prisoners at this battell, 
and many more slaine : so that there neuer came a greater foile to 
Scotland than this : for you shall vnderstand, that the Scottish 
King made full account to bee Lord of this Land, watching op 
portunity to bring to passe his faithlesse and trayterous practise : 
which was when our King was in France, at Turney, and Turwin : 
in regard of which warres the Scots vaunted there was none left in 
England, but shepheards and ploughmen who were not able to 
lead an Army, hauing no skill in martiall affaires. In consideration 30 
of which aduantage, hee inuaded the Countrey, boasting of victory 
before he had wonne : which was no small griefe to Queene 
Margaret, his wife, who was eldest sister to our noble King. 
Wherefore in disgrace of the Scots, and in remembrance of the 
famous atchieued victory, the Commons of England made this 
Song : which to this day is not forgotten of many. 



THE SONG. 

King lamie had made a vowe t 

keepe it well if he may : 
That he will be at louely London, 40 

vpon Saint lames his day. 

Vpon Saint lames his day at noon, 

at faire London will I be ; 
And all the Lords in merry Scotland, 

they shall dine there with me. 



26 The pleasant Historie 

Then bespake good Queene Margaret, 

the teares fell from her eies : 
Leaue off these wars most noble King, 

keepe your fidelity. 

The water runs swift and wondrous deep, 

from bottome vnto the brimme : 
My brother Henry hath men good enough, 

England is hard to winne. 

Away (quoth he) with this silly foole, 
jo in prison fast let her lie: 

For she is come of the English bloud, 
and for these words she shall dye. 

With that bespake Lord Thomas Howard, 
the Queenes Chamberlaine that day : 

If that you put Queen Margaret to death, 
Scotland shall rue it alway. 

Then in a rage King lamie did say, 

Away with this foolish Mome : 
He shall be hanged, and the other be burned, 
20 so soone as I come home. 

At Flodden Field the Scots came in, 
which made our Englishmen faine, 

At Bramstone-greene this battell was seene : 
there was King lamie slaine. 

Then presently the Scots did flie, 

their Cannons they left behinde, 
Their ensignes gay were won all away, 

our Souldiers did beate them blinde. 

To tell you plaine, twelue thousand were slaine, 
30 that to the fight did stand; 

And many prisoners tooke that day, 
the best in all Scotland. 

That day made many a fatherlesse childe, 

and many a widow poore ; 
And many a Scottish gay Lady 

sate weeping in her bowre. 

lacke with a feather was lapt all in leather, 

his boastings were all in vaine : 
He had such a chance with a new morrice dance, 
40 he neuer went home againe. 

27. won t6jj : worne 1626 



Of lacke of Newberie. 2 7 



CHAP. III. 

How lacke of Newberie went to receiue the King, as 
he went in progresse into Barkshire: and how he 
made him a banquet in his owne house. 

A Bout the tenth year of the kings reigne, his Grace made his 
^\progresse into Barkshire, against which time lack of Newbery 
cloathed 30. tall fellowes, being his houshold seruants, in blew 
coates, faced with Sarcenet, euery one hauing a good sword & 
buckler on his shoulder, himselfe in a plaine russet coate, a paire 
of white kersie breeches without welt or guard, and stockens of the to 
same peece sowed to his slops, which had a great codpeece, where 
on he stucke his pinnes : who knowing the King would come ouer 
a certain meadow, neere adioining to the Towne, got himselfe 
thither with all his men ; and repairing to a certaine Ant-hill, which 
was in the field, tooke vp his seat there, causing his men to stand 
round about the same with their swords drawne. 

The King comming neer the place with the rest of his Nobility, 
and seeing them stand with their drawne weapons, sent to know 
the cause. Garret King at Armes was the Messenger, who spake 
in this sort. Good fellowes, the Kings Maiesty would know to 20 
what end you stand here with your swords and bucklers prepared 
to fight. 

With that, lacke of Newbery started vp, and made this answer. 
Harrold (quoth he) returne to his Highnesse, it is poore lacke of 
Newbery, who being scant Marquesse of a Mole-hill, is chosen 
Prince of Ants : and here I stand with my weapons and Guard 
about mee, to defend and keep these my poore and painefull 
subiects, from the force of the idle Butterflies, their sworne 
enemies, lest they should disturbe this quiet Common-wealth, who 
this Summer season are making their Winters prouision. 30 

The messenger returning, told his Grace that it was one lacke 
of Newbery, that stood there with his men about him, to guard 
(as they say) a company of Ants, from the furious wrath of the 
Prince of Butterflies. With this newes the King heartily laught, 
saying : Indeed it is no maruell he stands so well prepared, con 
sidering what a terrible tyrant he hath to deale withall. Certainly 
my Lords (quoth hee) this seemes to be a pleasant fellow : and 
therefore we will send to talke with him. 

The messenger being sent, told lacke he must come speak with 
the King. (Quoth he) his Grace hath a horse and I am on foote ; 4 
therefore will him to come to mee : beside that, while I am away, 
our enemies might come and put my people in hazzard, as the 
Scots did England, while our King was in France. 

How dares the Lambe be so bold with the Lyon (quoth the 
Herald) ? 



28 T"/^ pleasant Historic 

'"* / 

Why (quoth hee) if there be a Lyon in the field, here is neuer 
a cocke to feare him : and tell his Maiesty, he might thinke me 
a very bad Gouernour, that would walke aside vpon pleasure, and 
leaue my people in perill. Herald (quoth hee) it is writen, He 
that hath a charge must looke to it, and so tell thy Lord my King. 

The Message being done, the King said : My Lords, seeing it 
will bee no other, wee will ride vp to the Emperour of Ants, that 
is so carefull in his gouernment. 

At the Kings approach, lack of Newbery and his seruants put 

10 vp all their weapons, and with a ioyfull cry flung vp their caps in 

token of victory. Why how now my masters (quoth the King) is 

your wars ended : Let mee see, where is the Lord Generall of this 

great Campe ? 

With that, lacke of Newbery with all his seruants fell on their 
knees, saying : God saue the King of England, whose sight hath 
put our foes to flight, and brought great peace to the poore 
labouring people. 

Trust mee (quoth our King) here bee pretty fellowes to fight 
against Butterflies: I must commend your courage, that dares 
20 withstand such mighty gyants. 

Most dread Soueraigne (quoth lacke] not long agoe, in my con 
ceit, I saw the most prouident Nation of the Ants, summoned 
their chiefe Peeres to a Parliament, which was held in the famous city 
Dry Dusty, the one and twentith day of September : whereas, by 
their wisedomes, I was chosen their King, at what time also many 
bills of complaint were brought in against diuers il members in 
the common-wealth : among whom, the Moule was attainted of 
high treason to their State : and therefore was banished for euer 
from their quiet Kingdome : so was the Grashopper and the 
30 Catterpiller, because they were not onely idle, but also liued vpon 
the labours of other men, amongst the rest, the Butterflie was very 
much misliked, but few durst say any thing to him, because of his 
golden apparell : who through sufferance grew so ambitious and 
malapert, that the poore Ant could no' sooner get an egge into 
her nest, but he would haue it away, and especially against Easter, 
which at length was misliked. This painted asse tooke snuffe in 
the nose, and assembled a great many other of his owne coate, by 
windie warres to roote this painefull people out of the land, that 
hee himselfe might bee seated aboue them all. (These were 
40 proud Butterflies, quoth the King.) Whereupon I with my men 
(quoth lack) prepared our selues to withstand them, till such time 
as your Maiesties royall presence put them to flight. 

Tush (said the King) thou must think that the force of flies is 
not great. 

Notwithstanding (quoth lacke) their gay gownes make poore 
men affraid. 

I perceiue (quoth Cardinall Wolsie) that you being a King of 
Ants doe carry a great grudge to the Butterflies. 



. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 2 9 

I (quoth lacke) wee bee as great foes, as the Foxe and the 
Snake are friends : for the one of them being subtle, loues the 
other for his craft : but now I intend to be no longer a Prince, 
because the maiesty of a King hath eclipst my glory : so that 
looking like the Peacocke on my blacke feet makes me abase my 
vaine-glorious feathers, and humbly yeeld vnto his Maiesty all my 
Souereigne rule and dignity, both of life and goods, casting my 
weapons at his feete, to doe any seruice wherein his Grace shall 
command me. 

God a mercy good lack (quoth the King) I haue often heard of 10 
thee, and this morning, I mean to visite thy house. 

Thus the King with great delight rode along vntill hee came 
to the Townes end, where a great multitude of people attended 
to see his Maiesty: where also Queen Katharine with all her 
traine met him. Thus with great reioycing of the Commons, 
the King and Queen passed along to this iolly Clothiers house, 
where the good wife of the house with threescore maidens 
attending on her, presented the King with a Bee-hiue, most richly 
gilt with gold, & all the Bees therein were also made of gold 
curiously by Art, and out of the top of the same Hiue, sprung 20 
a flourishing greene tree, which bore golden Apples, and at the 
roote thereof lay diuers Serpents, seeking to destroy it, whom 
Prudence and Fortitude trode vnder their feete, holding this 
inscription in their hands : 

Loe here presented to your Roiall sight. 
The figure of a flourishing Common-wealth : 
Where vertuous subiects labour with delight. 
And be ate the drones to death which Hue by stealth : 
Ambition, Enuie, Treason, loathsome serpents be, 
Which seeke the downefall of this fruitfull tree. 30 

But Lady Prudence with deep searching eye, 

Their ill intended purpose doth preuent, 

And noble Fortitude standing alwaies nye, 

Disperst their power prepared with bad intent. 

Thus are they foild that mount with meanes vnmeet, 
And so like slaues are troden vnder feet. \ 

SThe King fauourably accepted this Embleme, and receiuing it 
at the womens hands, willed Cardinal Wolsie to look thereon, 
commanding it should be sent to. Windsor Castle. This Car- 
dinall was at that time Lord Chancellor of England, and a 40 
wonderfull proud Prelate, by whose meanes great variance was 
set betwixt the King of England and the French King, the 
Emperour of Almaine, and diuers other Princes of Christendome, 
whereby the trafficke of those Merchants was vtterly forbidden, 
which bred a generall woe through England, especially among 
Clothiers : insomuch, that hauing no sale for their cloath, they 



30 The pleasant Historic 

were faine to put away many of their people which wrought for 
them, as hereafter more at large shall be declared. 

Then was his Maiesty brought into a great Hall, where foure 
long tables stood ready couered : and passing through that place, 
the King and Queene came into a faire and large Parlour, hung 
about with goodly Tapistry, where was a Table prepared for his 
Highnesse and the Queenes Grace. All the floore where the 
King sate was couered with broad cloathes in stead- of greene 
rushes : these were choice peeces of the finest wooll, of an Azure 

10 colour, valued at an hundred pound a cloath, which afterward 
was giuen to his Maiesty. The King being set with the chiefest 
of the Councell about him, after a delicate dinner, a sumptous 
banquet was brought in, serued all in glasse : the description wherof 
were too long for mee to write, and you to read. The great Hall 
was also filled with Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen, who were 
attended by no other but the seruants of the house. The Ladies 
of Honour and Gentlewomen of the Court were all seated in 
another Parlour by themselues : at whose table the maidens 
of the house did waite in decent sort. The Seruing-men by them- 

ao selues, and the Pages & footmen by themselues, vpon whom the 
prentices did attend most diligently. During the Kings abiding 
in this place, there was no want of delicates : Rhenish wine, 
Claret wine & Sacke, was as plentifull as small Ale. Thus from 
the highest to the lowest, they were serued in such sort, as no 
discontent was found any way, so that great commendations re- 
downded vnto the goodman of the house. 

The Lord Cardinall that of late found himselfe galde by the 
Allegory of the Ants, spake in this wise to the King. If it should 
please your Highnesse (quoth he)* but to note the vain-glory of 

30 these Artificers, you should finde no small cause of dislike in many 
of their actions. For an instance, the fellow of this house, hee 
hath not stucke this day to vndoe himselfe, onely to become 
famous by receiuing of your Maiesty : like Herostratus the Shoo- 
maker that burned the Temple of Diana, onely to get himself 
a name, more than for any affection he beares to your Grace, as 
may well be proued by this : Let there be but a simple Subsidie 
leuied vpon them for the assistance of your Highnesse Warres, or 
any other waightie affaires of the Common-wealth and state of the 
Realme, though it bee not the twentieth part of their substance, 

40 they will so grudge and repine, that it is wonderfull : and like 
people desperate cry out, they bee quite vndone. 

My Lord Cardinall (quoth the Queen) (vnder correction of my 
Lord the King) I durst lay an hundred pound lack of Newbery 
was neuer of that minde, nor is not at this instant : if yee aske 
him, I warrant he will say so. My selfe also had a proofe thereof 
at the Scottish inuasion, at what time this man being seased but 
at sixe men, brought (at his owne cost) an hundred and fiftie into 
the field. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 3 i 

I would I had moe such subiects (said the King) and many of 
so good a minde. 

Ho, ho, Harry (quoth Will Sommers] then had not Empson and 
Dudley been chronicled for knaues, nor sent to the Tower for 
treason. 

But then they had not knowne the paine of imprisonment (quoth 
our King) who with their subtilty grieued many others. 

But their subtilty was such that it broke their neckes (quoth 
Will Sommers). 

Whereat the King and Queene laughing heartily, rose from the 10 
Table. By which time lacke of Newbery had caused all his folkes 
to goe to their worke, that his Grace and all the Nobility might 
see it : so indeed the Queen had requested. Then came his 
Highnesse where hee saw an hundred Loonies, standing in one 
roome, and two men working in euery one, who pleasantly sung 
on this sort. 

The Weauers Song. 

When Hercules did vse to spin, 

and Pallas wrought vpon the Loome, 
Our trade to flourish did begin, 20 

while Conscience went not selling Broome. 
Then loue and friendship did agree, 
To keep the band of amitie. 

When Princes sons kept sheepe in field, 

and Queenes made cakes of wheaten flowre, 
Then men to lucre did not yeeld, 
which brought good cheere in euery bower. 
Then loue and friendship did agree, 
To hold the bands of amitie. 

But when that Giants huge and hie, 30 

did fight with speares like Weauers beames, 
Then they in iron beds did lie, 
and brought poore men to hard extreames. 
Yet loue and friendship did agree, 
To hold the bands of amitie. 

Then Dauid tooke his sling and stone, 

not fearing great Goliahs strength, 
He pierst his braine, and broke the bone, 

though he were fifty foote of length. 

For loue and friendship, &c. 4 o 

But while the Greekes besieged Troy, 

Penelope apace did spin, 
And Weauers wrought with mickle toy, 
though little games were comming in. \ 
For loue and friendship, &c. 
21. Broomes. 1626 



3 2 The pleasant Historic 

Had Helen then sate carding wooll, 

(whose beauteous face did breed such strife] 

She had not beene sir Paris trull, 
nor caused so many lose their life. 
Yet we by loue did still agree, &<r. 

Or had King Priams wanton sonne 

beene making quills with sweet content. 
He had not then his friends vndone, 

when he to Greece a gadding went. 
10 For loue and friendship did 'agree, &c. 

The Cedar tree indures more stormes, 
than little shrubs that sprout not hie : 

The Weauer Hues more void of harmes, 
than Princes of great dignitie. 

While loue and friendship doth agree, 6r. 

The Shepheard sitting in the field, 

doth tune his pipe with hearts delight : 
When Princes march with speare and shield, 

the poore man soundly sleepes all night. 
20 While loue and friendship doth agree, 6<r. 

Yet this by proofe is daily tride, 

For Gods good gifts we are ingrate : 
And no man through the world so wide, 
Hues well contented with his state. 
No loue nor friendship we can see, 
to hold the bands of ami tie. 

Well sung good fellowes (said our King) : Light hearts and 
merry mindes Hue long without gray haires. 

But (quoth Will Sommers) seldome without red noses. 
3 o Well (said the King) there is a hundred angells to make cheere 
withall : and looke that euery yeare once you make a feast among 
your selues, and frankely (euery yeare) I giue you leaue to fetch 
foure Buckes out of Dunington Parke, without any mans let or 
controulement. 

O I beseech your Grace (quoth Will Sommers} let it be with 
a condition. 

What is that (said our King) ? 

My Liege (quoth hee) that although the Keeper will haue the 
skins, that they may giue their wiues the homes. 
40 Goe to (said the Queene) thy head is fuller of knauery, than thy 
purse is of crownes. 

The poore workemen humbly thanked his Maiesty for his 
bountifull liberality: and euer since, it hath beene a custome 
among the Weauers, euery yeare presently after Bartholmewtide, 
in a remembrance of the Kings fauour, to meet together, and 
make a merry feast. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 3 3 

His Maiesty came next among the spinsters and carders, who 
were merrily a working : whereat Will Sommers fell into a great 
laughter. 

What ailes the foole to laugh (said the King) ? 

Marry (quoth Will Sommers) to see these maidens get their 
liuing as Buls doe eate their meate. 

How is that (said the Queen) ? 

By going still backward (quoth Will Sommers) : and I will lay 
a wager, that they that practise so well being maides to goe back 
ward, will quickly learne ere long to fall backward. 10 

But sirra (said the Cardinall) thou didst fall forward when thou 
brokest thy face in master Kingsmills seller. 

But you my Lord sate forward (quoth Will Sommers) when you 
sate in the stockes at Sir Amie Paulets. Whereat there was 
greater laughing than before. 

The King and Queene, and all the Nobility needfully beheld 
these women, who for the most part were very faire and comely 
creatures, and were all attired alike from top to toe. Then (after 
due reuerence) the maidens in dulcet manner chaunted out this 
Song, two of them singing the Ditty, and all the rest bearing the 20 
burden. 

The Maidens Song. 

// was a Knight in Scotland borne, 

follow my loue, leap ouer the strand: 
Was taken prisoner and left forlorne, 
euen by the good Earle of Northumberland. 

Then was he cast in prison strong, 

follow my loue, leap ouer the strand : 
Where he could not walke nor lye along, 

euen by the good Earle of Northumberland. 30 

And as in sorrow thus he lay, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
The Earles sweet Daughter walkt that way, 

and she the faire flower of Northumberland. 

And passing by, like an Angell bright, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
This prisoner had of her a sight, 

and she the faire flower of Northumberland. 

And lowd to her this knight did cry, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 40 

The salt teares standing in his eie, 
and she the faire flower of Northumberland. 



34 2"^ pleasant Historic 

Faire Lady (he said) take pitty on me, 
follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

And let me not in prison dye, 

and you the faire flower of Northumberland. 

Faire Sir, how should I take pitty on thee, 
follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

Thou being a foe to our Country, 
and I the faire flower of Northumberland. 

Faire Lady, I am no foe (he said] 
10 follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

Through thy sweete loue here was I staid, 
for thee the faire flower of Northumberland. 

Why shouldst thou come here for loue of me, 
follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

Hauing wife and children in thy Countrie, 
and I the faire flower of Northumberland. 

/ sweare by the blessed Trinitie, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
I haue no wife nor children I, 
20 nor dwelling at home in merry Scotland. 

If courteously you will set me free, 
follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

I vow that I will marry thee, 

so soone as I come in merry Scotland. 

Thou shalt be Lady of Castles and Towres, 
follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

And sit like a Queen in princely bowers, 
when I am at home in faire Scotland, 

Then parted hence this Lady gay, 
3 follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

And got her fathers ring away, 

to help this sad knight into faire Scotland. 

Likewise much gold she got by sleight, 
follow my loue, come ouer the strand : 

And all to help this forlorne knight, 

to wend from her father to faire Scotland. 

Two gallant steeds both good and able, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
She likewise tooke out of the stable, 
40 to ride with this knight into fair Scotland. 

And to the Taylor she sent this ring, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
The knight from prison forth to bring, 
to wend with her into faire Scotland. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 3 5 

This token set this prisoner free, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
Who straight went to this faire Lady, 

to wend with her into faire Scotland. 

A gallant steed he did bestride, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
And with the Lady away did ride, 

and she the faire flower of Northumberland. 

They rode till they came to a water cleere, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 10 

Good sir how should I follow you here, 

and I the faire flower of Northumberland. 

The water is rough and wonderfull deep, 
follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
And on my saddle I shall not keep, 

and I the faire flower of Northumberland. 

Feare not the foord, faire Lady (guoth he) 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
For long I cannot stay for thee, 
and thou the faire flower of Northumberland. 20 

The Lady prickt her wanton steed, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
And ouer the riuer sworn with speed, 

and she the faire flower of Northumberland. 

From top to toe all wet was she, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand : 
This haue I done for loue of thee, 
and I the faire flower of Northumberland. 

Thus rode she all one winters night, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand : 30 

Till Edenborow they saw in sight, 
the chiefest towne in all Scotland. 

Now chuse (quoth he) thou wanton flower, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
Whether thou wilt be my Paramour, 
or get thee home to Northumberland. 

For I haue wife and children flue, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
In Edenborow they be aliue, 

then get thee home to faire England. 40 

This fauour shalt thou haue to boote, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand : 
He haue thy horse, goe thou a foote, 

goe get thee home to Northumberland. 

D 2 



36 The pleasant Historic 

O false and faithlesse knight (quoth she] 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
And canst thou deale so bad with me, 

and I the faire flower of Northumberland ? 

Dishonour not a Ladies name, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand : 
But draw thy sword, and end my shame, 

and I the faire flower of Northumberland. 

He tooke her from her stately Steed, 
10 follow my loue, come ouer the strand : 

And left her there in extreme need, 

and she the faire flower of Northumberland. 

Then sate she downe full heauily, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
At length two knights came riding by, 

two gallant knights of faire England. 

She fell downe humbly on her knee, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
Saying, courteous Knights take pitty on me, 
20 and I the faire flower of Northumberland. 

/ haue offended my father deere, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 
And by a false knight that brought me here, 

from the good Earle of Northumberland. 

They tooke her vp behinde him then, 

follow my loue, come ouer the strand : 
And brought her to her fathers againe, 

and he the good Earle of Northumberland. 

All you faire maidens be warned by me, 
30 follow my loue, come ouer the strand: 

Scots were neuer true, nor neuer will be, 
to Lord, nor Lady, nor faire England. 

FINIS. 

After the Kings Maiesty and the Queene had heard this song 
sweetely sung by them, hee cast them a great reward : and so 
departing thence, went to the Fulling-mils, and Dye-house, where 
a great many were also hard at worke : and his Maiesty perceiuing 
what a great number of people were by this one man set on worke, 
both admired, and commended him, saying further, that no Trade 
40 in all the Land was so much to bee cherished and maintained as 
i this, which (quoth hee) may well be called, The life of the poore. 
And as the King returned from this place with intent to take horse 
and depart, there met him a great many of children in garments 



Of lacke of Newberie. 3 7 

of white silke, frienged with gold, their heads crowned with 
golden Bayes, and about their armes each one had a scarfe of 
green sarcenet fast tied, in their hands they bore siluer bowes, 
and vnder their girdles golden arrowes. 

The foremost of them represented Diana^ Goddesse of Chastity, 
who was attended on by a traine of beautifull Nymphes, and they 
presented to the King foure prisoners : 

The first, was, a sterne and grisly woman, carrying a frowning 
countenance, and her forehead full of wrinkles, her hayre as black 
as pitch, and her garments all bloudy, a great sword shee had in 10 
her hand all stained with purple gore : they called her name 
Bellona,) Goddesse of warres, who had three daughters : the first 
of them was a tall woman, so leane and ill-fauoured, that her 
cheeke bones were ready to start out of the skinne, of a pale and 
deadly colour : her eyes sunke into her head : her legges so feeble, 
that they could scantly carry the body ; all along her armes & hands 
through the skinne you might tell the sinewes, ioints and bones : 
her teeth were very strong and sharpe withall : she was so greedy, 
that shee was ready with her teeth to teare the skinne from her owne 
armes : her attyre was blacke, and all torne and ragged, she went 20 
barefooted, and her name was Famine. 

The second was a strong and lusty woman, with a looke pittilesse, \ 
and vnmercifull countenance : her garments were all made of Iron 
and Steele, and she carried in her hand a naked weapon, and she 
was called the Sword. 

The third was also a cruell creature, her eyes did sparkle like 
burning coales : her hayre was like a flame, and her garments like 
burning brasse : she was so hote, that none could stand neere 
her, and they called her name Fire. 

After this they retyred againe, and brought vnto his Highnesse 30 
two other Personages, their countenance was Princely and amiable, 
their attyre most rich and sumptuous : the one carried in his 
hand a golden Trumpet, and the other a Palme tree : and these were 
called Fame & Victorie, whom the Goddesse of Chastity charged 
to waite vpon this famous Prince for euer. This done, each childe 
after other with due reuerence, gaue vnto his Maiesty a sweete 
smelling Gilliflower, after the manner of the Persians, offering 
something in token of loyalty and obedience. 

The King and Queene beholding the sweete fauour and 
countenance of these children, demanded of lacke of Newberie 40 
whose children they were ? 

Who answered : It shall please your Highnesse to vnderstand, 
that these are the children of poore people, that doe get their 
liuing by picking of wooll, hauing scant a good meale once in 
a weeke. 

With that the King began to tell his Gilliflowers, whereby he 
found that there was 96. children. 

Certainely (said the Queene) I perceiue God giues as faire 



38 The pleasant Historie 

children to the poore as to the rich, and fairer many times : and 
though their dyet and keeping bee but simple, the blessing of God 
doth cherish them. Therefore (said the Queene) I will request to 
haue two of them to waite in my Chamber. 

Faire Katharine (said the King) thou and I haue iumpt in one 
opinion, in thinking these children fitter for the Court than the 
Countrey : whereupon he made choise of a dozen more, foure he 
ordained to be Pages to his royall Person, and the rest he sent to 
the Uniuersities, allotting to euery one a Gentlemans liuing. 
10 Diuers of the Noble-men did in like sort entertaine some of those 
children into their seruices, so that (in the end) not one was left 
to picke wooll, but were all so prouided for, that their Parents 
neuer needed to care for them : and God so blessed them, that 
each of them came to bee men of great account and authority in 
the Land, whose posterities remaine to this day worshipfull and 
famous. 

The King, Queene, and Nobles, being ready to depart, after 
great thankes and gifts giuen to lacke of Neivbery his Maiesty 
would haue made him Knight, but he meekely refused it, saying, 
20 I beseech your Grace let mee Hue a poore Clothier among my 
people, in whose maintenance I take more felicity, than in all the 
vaine titles of Gentility : for these are the labouring Ants whom 
I seeke to defend, and these be the Bees which I keepe : who 
labour in this life, nor for our selues, but for the glory of GOD, and 
to do seruice to our dread Souereigne. 

Thy Knighthood need be no hinderance of thy Faculty (quoth 
the King). 

O my dread Soueraigne (said lacke] honour and worship may 

bee compared to the Lake of Lcethe, which makes men forget 

30 themselues that taste thereof : and to the end I may still keepe in 

minde from whence I came, and what I am, I beseech your Grace 

let mee rest in my russet coate, a poore Clothier to my dying day. 

Seeing then (said the King) that a mans minde is a Kingdome 
to himselfe, I will leaue thee to the riches of thy owne content, and 
so farewell. 

The Queenes Maiesty taking her leaue of the good wife with 

a Princely kisse, gaue her in token of remembrance a most precious 

and rich Diamond set in gold, about the which was also curiously 

set sixe Rubies and sixe Emeralds in one peece, valued at nine 

40 hundred Markes : and so her Grace departed. 

But in this meane space, Will Sommers kept company among 
the maides, and betooke himselfe to spinning as they did, which 
among them was held as a forfeit of a gallon of wine, but William 
by no meanes would pay it, except they would take it out in kisses, 
rating euery kisse at a farthing. 

This paiment wee refuse for two causes (quoth the maides) : the 
one for that we esteeme not kisses at so base a rate ; and the 
other, because in so doing we should giue as much as you. 



'1 



Of lacke of Newberie. 3 g 

CHAP. IIII. 

How the maidens serued Will Sommers for his saw- 
cinesse. 

The madens consented together, seeing Will Sommers was so 
busie both with their worke and in his words, and would not pay his 
forfeiture, to serue him as he deserued : first therefore they bound 
him hands and feet, and set him vpright against a post, tying 
him there to : which hee tooke in ill part, notwithstanding he 
could not resist them. And because he let his tongue run at 
randome, they set a fair gagge in his mouth, such a one as he 10 
could not for his life put away : so that hee stood as one gaping for 
winde. Then one of them got a couple of dogs droppings, and 
putting them in a bagge, laid them in soke in a bason of water, 
while the rest turned downe the coller of his lerkin, and put an 
house-cloath about his necke in stead of a fine towell : then came 
the other maide with a bason and water in the same, and with the 
perfume in the pudding-bagge, flapt him about the face and lips, 
till he looked like a tawnie Moore, and with her hand washt him 
very orderly : the smell being somewhat strong, Will could by no 
meanes abide it, and for want of other language, cryed, Ah ha ha to 
ha. Faine hee would haue spet, and could not, so that hee was 
faine to swallow downe such licour as hee neuer tasted the like. 
When hee had a pretty while been washed in this sort, at the 
length he croucht downe vpon his knees, yeelding himselfe to their 
fauour : which the maidens perceiuing, pulled the gag out of his 
mouth. 

IJee had no sooner the liberty of his tongue, but that he curst 
and swore like a diuell : the maids that could scant stand for 
laughing, at last askt how hee liked his washing ? 

Gods ounds (quoth hee) I was neuer thus washt, nor euer met 30 
with such Barbers since I was borne : let mee goe (quoth he) and 
I will giue you whatsoeuer you will demand, wherewith hee cast 
them an English Crowne. 

Nay (quoth one of the Maides) you are yet but washt, but wee 
will shaue you ere yee goe. 

Sweete Maides (quoth hee) pardon my shauing, let it suffice that 
you haue washt mee : if I haue done a trespasse to your Trade, 
forgiue it mee, and I will neuer hereafter offend you. 

Tush (said the Maides) you haue made our wheeles cast their 
bands, and bruised the teeth of our cardes in such sort, as the 40 
offence may not bee remitted without great pennance. As for your 
gold, wee regard it not ; therefore as you are perfumed fit for the 
dogs, so wee enioine you this night to serue all our hogs, which 
pennance, if you will sweare with all speede to performe, wee will 
let you loose. 



40 The pleasant Historic 

(quoth Will) the huge Elephant was neuer more fearefull of 
the silly sheep, than I am of your displeasures : therefore let mee 
loose, and I will doe it with all diligence. 

Then they vnbound him, and brought him among a great com 
pany of Swine, which when Will had wel viewed ouer, he draue 
out of the yard all the Sowes : 

Why how now (quoth the Maides) what meane you by this ? 

Mary (quoth Will) these be all sowes, and my pennance is but 
to serue the hogs. 

10 Is it true (quoth they) haue you ouertaken vs in this sort ? Well, 
looke there be not one hog vnserued wee would aduise you. 

William Sommers stript vp his sleeues very orderly, and clapt 
an apron about his motly hosen, and taking a paile serued the hogs 
handsomely. When he had giuen them all meat, he said thus : 

My taske is duely done. 
My liberty is wonne, 
The hogs haue eate their crabs, 
Therefore farewell you drabs. 

Nay soft friend (quoth they) the veriest hog of all hath yet had 
20 nothing. 

Where the diuell is he (said Will) that I see him not ? 
Wrapt in a motley lerken (quoth they) take thy selfe by the nose, 
and thou shalt catch him by the snout. 

1 was neuer so very a hog (quoth he) but I would alway spare 
from my own belly to giue a woman. 

If thou doe not (say they) eate (like the prodigall Childe) with 
thy fellow hogs, we will so shaue thee, as thou shalt deerly repent 
thy disobedience. 

Hee seeing no remedy, committed himselfe to their mercy : and 
30 so they let him goe. When he came to the Court, he shewed to 
the King all his aduenture among the weauers maidens, wherat the 
King and Queene laughed heartily. 



CHAP. V. 

Of the pictures which lacke of Newbery had in his 
house, whereby he encouraged his seruants to seeke 
for fame and dignitie. 

IN a faire large Parlour which was wainscotted round about, 
lacke of Newbery had fifteene faire Pictures hanging, which 
were couered with Curtaines of greene silke, fringed with gold, 
40 which he would often shew to his friends and seruants. 

In the first was the Picture of a shepheard, before whom kneeled 
a great King named Viriat, who sometime gouerned thtoDeople of 
Portugal!. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 4 1 

See here (quoth lacke} the father a shepheard, the sonne a Soue- 
raigne. This man ruled in Portugal!, and made great warres 
against the Romanes, and after that inuaded Spaine, yet in the end 
was traiterously slaine. 

The next was the Portraiture of Agathocles, which for his surpass 
ing wisedome and manhood, was created King oiSidlia, and main 
tained battell against the people of Carthage. His father was 
a poore Potter, before whom he also kneeled. And it was the vse 
of this King, that whensoeuer he made a banquet, he would haue 
as well vessels of earth as of gold set vpon the Table, to the intent 10 
he might alwayes beare in minde the place of his beginning, his 
Fathers house and family. 

The third was the picture of Iphicrates an Athenian born, who 
vanquished the Lacedemonians in plaine and open battaile. This 
man was Captaine Generall to Artaxerxes, King of Persia, whose 
father was notwithstanding a Cobler, and there likewise pictured. 
Eumenes was also a famous Captaine to Alexander 'the great, whose 
father was no other than a Carter. 

The fourth was the similitude of Aelius Pertinax, sometime 
Emperour of Rome, yet was his father but a Weauer : and after- 20 
ward, to giue example to others of low condition to beare mindes 
of worthy men, he caused the shop to be beautified with Marble 
curiously cut, wherein his father before him was wont to get his 
liuing. 

The fift was the picture of Dioclesian, that so much adorned Rome 
with his magnificall and triumphant victories. This was a famous 
Emperour, although no other than the sonne of a Booke-binder. 

Valentinian stood the next, painted most artificially, who was 
also crowned Emperour, and was but the sonne of a poore Rope- 
maker : as in the same picture was expressed ; where his father was 30 
painted by him, vsing his trade. 

The seuenth was the Emperour Probus, whose father being 
a Gardener, was pictured by him holding a spade. 

The eighth picture was of Marcus Aurelius, whom euery age 
honoureth, he was so wise and prudent an Emperour ; yet was he 
but a Cloth-weauers son. 

The ninth was the Portraiture of the valiant Emperour Maxi- 
minus, the son of a Blacksmith, who was there painted as he was 
wont to worke at the Anuill. 

In the tenth table was painted the Emperour Gabianus, who at 4 
the first was but a poore shepheard. 

Next to this picture, was placed the pictures of two Popes of 
Rome, whose wisedome and learning aduanced them to that 
dignitie. The first was the liuely Counterfeit of Pope lohn the 
2 2 whose father was a Shoemaker : hee being elected Pope, 
encreased their rents and patrimonie greatly. 

The P Lher was the Picture of Pope Sixtus the fourth of that 
name, being a poore Marriners son. 



4 2 The pleasant Historic 

The thirteenth Picture was of Lamusius King of Lombardie, who 
was no better than the son of a common Strumpet : being painted 
like a naked childe walking in the water, and taking hold of the 
poynt of a Launce, by the which hee held fast, and saued him- 
selfe. The reason whereof, was this : After his lewde mother was 
deliuered of him, shee vnnaturally threw him into a deepe stinking 
Ditch, wherein was some water. By hap king Agilmond passed that 
way, and found this childe almost drowned ; who mouing him 
softly with the point of his Launce, the better to perceiue what hee 

10 was, the childe (though then newely borne) tooke hold thereof 
with one of his pretty hands, not suffering it to slide or slip away 
againe : which thing the King considering, being amazed at the 
strange force of this yongue little Infant, caused it to be taken vp, 
and carefully to be fostered. And because the place where hee 
found him was called Lama, hee named the childe Lamusius : who 
afterward grew to be so braue a man, and so much fauoured of 
Fortune, that in the end hee was crowned King of the Lombards, 
who liued there in honour, and in his succession after him, euen 
vntill the time of the vnfortunate King Albouina, when all came to 

20 ruine, subuersion and destruction. 

In the fourteenth picture Primislas King of Bohemia was most 
artificially drawne ; before whom there stood an Horse without 
Bridle or Saddle, in a field where Husband-men were at plough. 
The cause why this King was thus painted (quoth lacke) was this. 
At that time the King of the Bohemians died without issue, and 
great strife being amongst the Nobility for a new king, at length 
they all consented that a horse should bee let into the field, with 
out bridle or saddle, hauing all determined with most assured 
purpose to make him their king, before whom this horse rested : 

30 At what time it came to passe, that the horse first stayed himselfe 
before this Primislas, being a simple creature, who was then busie 
driuing the plough, they presently made him their Souereigne, 
who ordered himselfe and his kingdome very wisely. Hee 
ordained many good lawes, hee compassed the Citie of Prague 
with strong walles, besides many other things, meriting per- 
petuall laud and commendations. 

The fifteenth was the Picture of Theophrastus, a Philosopher, 
a counsellor of Kings, and companion of Nobles, who was but 
sonne of a Taylor. 

40 Seeing then my good seruants, that these men haue been 
aduanced to high estate and Princely dignities, by wisedome, 
learning and diligence, I would wish you to imitate the like 
vertues, that you might attaine the like honours : for which of 
you doth know what good fortune God hath in store for you ? 
there is none of you so poorely borne, but that men of baser birth 
haue come to great honours. The idle hand shall euer goe in 
a ragged garment, and the sloathfull Hue in reproach : but 
such as doe lead a vertuous life, and gouerne themselues dis- 



Of lacke of Newberie. 4 3 

erectly, shall of the best be esteemed, and spend their daies in 
credit. 



CHAP. VI. 

How all the Clothiers in England ioined together, & 
with one consent complained to the King of their 
great hindrance sustained for want of Traffique into 
other Countries, whereupon they could get no sale 
for their Cloath. 

BY meanes of the warres which our King had with other 
countries, many Merchant strangers were prohibited for 10 
comming to England, as also our owne Merchants (in like sort) 
were forbidden to haue dealings with France or the Low-countries : 
by meanes whereof the Clothiers had most of their cloath lying 
on their hands, and that which they sold was at so low a rate, 
that the money scantly paid for the wooll and workemanship. 
Whereupon they sought to ease themselues by abating the poore 
workemens wages. And when that did not preuaile, they turnd 
away many of their people, Weauers, Shearmen, Spinsters and 
Carders, so that where there was a hundred Looms kept in one 
towne, there was scant fifty : and hee that kept twenty put downe 20 
tenne. Many a poore man (for want of worke) was hereby vn- 
done, with his wife and children, and it made many a poore 
widow to sit with a hungry belly. This bred great woe in most 
places in England. In the end lack of Newberie intended (in 
the behalfe of the poore) to make a Supplication to the King : 
and to the end hee might do it the more effectually, hee sent 
Letters to all the chiefe cloathing townes in England to this 
effect. 

The Letter. 

WElbeloued friends and brethren, hauing a taste of the 30 
generall griefe, and feeling (in some measure) the ex- 
tremitie of these times, I fell into consideration by what meanes 
we might best expell these sorrowes, and recouer_jQui^Jbrmer 
commodity. 

When I had well thought hereon, I found that nothing was 
more needefull herein, than a faithfull vnity among our selues. 
This sore of necessity can no way be cured but by concord : for 
like as the flame consumes the candle, so men through discord 
waste themselues. The poore hate the rich, because they will 
not set them on worke ; and the rich hate the poore, because they 4 
seeme burdenous : so both are offended for want of gaine. When 
Belinus and Brennus were at strife, the Queen their mother in 



44 2"^ pleasant Historic 

their greatest fury perswaded them to peace, by vrging her 
conception of them in one wombe, and mutuall cherishing of 
them from their tender yeares : so let our Art of Cloathing, which 
like a kinde mother hath cherished vs with the excellency of her 
secrets, perswade vs to an vnity. Though our Occupation be de- 
caied, let vs not deale with it as men doe by their old shooes, 
which after they haue long borne them out of the myre, doe in 
the end fling them on the dunghill : or as the Husband-man 
doth by his Bees, who for their Honey burnes them. Deare 
10 friends, consider that our Trade will maintaine vs, if wee will 
vphold it: and there is "nothing base, but that which is basely 
vsed. 

Assemble therefore your selues together, and in euery towne 
tell the number of those that haue their liuing by meanes of this 
Trade, note it in a Bill, and send it to mee. And because sutes 
in Courts are like Winter nights, long and wearisome, let there 
be in each place a weekely collection made to defray charges : 
for I tell you, Noble mens Secretaries and cunning Lawyers haue 
slow tongues and deafe eares, which must bee daily noynted with 
20 the sweete oyle of Angells. Then let two honest discreet men 
bee chosen and sent out of euery towrie to meete mee at Black- 
well Hall in London on All Saints Eeue, and then we will present 
our humble petition to the King. Thus I bid you heartily 
farewell. 

Copies of this Letter being sealed, they were sent to all the 
cloathing Townes of England, and the Weauers both of linnen 
and woollen gladly receiued them : so that when all the Bills were 
brought together, there were found of the Clothiers, and those they 
maintained, threescore thousand and sixe hundred persons. 
30 Moreouer, euery cloathing Towne sending vp two men to London, 
they were found to bee an hundred and twelue persons, who in 
very humble sort fell downe before his Maiesty walking in 
S. lames his Parke, and deliuered to him their Petition. 

The King presently perusing it, asked if they were all 
Clothiers ? 

Who answered (as it were one man) in this sort : Wee are 
(most gracious king) all poore Clothiers, and your Maiesties faith- 
full subiects. 

My Lords (quoth the King) let these mens complaint bee 
40 thoroughly lookt into, and their griefs redressed : for I account 
them in the number of my best Common-wealths men. As the 
Clergy for the soule, the Souldier for defence of his countrey, the 
Lawyer to execute iustice, the Husband-man to feede the belly : 
so is the skilfull Clothier no lesse necessary for the cloathing of 
the backe, whom we may reckon among the chiefe Yeomen of 
our Land : and as the christall sight of the eye is tenderly to be 
kept from harmes because it giues the whole body light : so is the 
Clothiers whose cunning hand prouides garments to defend our 



Of lacke of Newberie. 45 

naked parts from the Winters nipping frost. Many more reasons 
there are, which may moue vs to redresse their griefes : but let 
it suffice that I command to haue it done. 

With that, his Grace deliuered the Petition to the Lord 
Chauncellor, and all the Clothiers cryed, God saue the King. 

But as the King was ready to depart, hee suddenly turned about, 
saying : I remember there is one lacke of Newberie, I muse hee 
had not his hand in this businesse, who profest himselfe to bee 
a defender of true Labourers. 

Then said the Duke of Sommerset : It may bee his purse is 10 
answerable for his person. (-^ r ^ 

Nay (quoth the Lord Cardinall) all his treasure is little enough 
to maintaine warres against the butterflies. ' '& , ^ 

With that lack shewed himselfe vnto the King, and priuately 
told his Grace of their griefe anew. 

To whom his Maiesty said : Giue thy attendance at the Councell 
Chamber, where thou shalt receiue an answer to thy content. And 
so his Highnes departed. 

Finally, it was agreed that the Marchants should freely traffique 
one with another, and that Proclamation therof should bee made 20 
as well on the other side the Sea, as in our Land : but it was 
long before this was effected, by reason the Cardinall being Lord 
Chancellor, put off the matter from time to time. 

And because the Clothiers thought it not best to depart before 
it was ended, they gaue their daily attendance at the Cardinalls 
house : but spent many dayes to no purpose : sometime they 
were answered, My Lord was busie, and could not be spoke with- 
all ; or else he was asleepe, & they durst not wake him : or at his 
study, and they would not disturbe him : or at his prayers, and they 
durst not displease him : and still one thing or other stood in the 30 
way to hinder them. At last, Patch the Cardinalls foole, being (by 
their often repaire thither) well acquainted with the Clothiers, came 
vnto them and said : What, haue you not spoken with my Lord yet ? 

No truly (quoth they) we heare say he is busie, and we stay till 
his grace bee at leasure. 

Is it true (said Patch) ? and with that in all haste he went out of 
the hall, and at last came in againe with a great bundle of straw 
on his backe. 

Why how now Patch (quoth the Gentlemen) what wilt thou doe 
with that straw ? 40 

Mary (quoth he) I will put it vnder these honest mens feete, 
lest they should freeze ere they finde my Lord at leasure. 

This made them all to laugh, and caused Patch to beare away his 
straw againe. Well, well, (quoth hee) if it cost you a groates 
worth of faggets at night, blame not me. 

Trust me (said lacke of Newbery) if my Lord Cardinalls father 
had beene no hastier in killing of Calues, than hee is in dispatch 
ing of poor mens sutes, I doubt he had neuer worne a Myter. 



46 "The pleasant Historic 

This he spake betwixt themselues softly, but yet not so softly, 
but that he was ouer-heard by a flattering Fellow that stood by, 
who made it knowne to some of the Gentlemen, and they straight 
certified the Cardinall therof. 

The Cardinall (who was of a very high spirit, and a loftie aspiring 
minde) was maruellously displeased at lacke of Newbery : where 
fore in his rage hee commanded and sent the Clothiers all to 
prison, because the one of them should not sue for the others 
releasement. Foure dayes lay these men in the Marshalsey^ till 

10 at last they made their humble Petition to the King for their 
release : but some of the Cardinals friends kept it from the kings 
sight. Notwithstanding, the Duke of Sommerset, knowing thereof, 
spake with the Lord Cardinall about the matter, wishing hee 
would speedily release them, lest it breed him some displeasure : 
for you may perceiue (quoth the Duke) how highly the King 
esteemes men of that Faculty. 

Sir (quoth the Cardinall) I doubt not but to answer their im 
prisonment well enough, being perswaded that none would haue 
giuen me such a quip but an Heretike : and I dare warrant you 

20 were this lacke of Newbery well examined, hee would bee found 
to bee infected with Luthers spirit, against whom our King hath 
of late written a most learned Booke, in respect whereof, the 
Popes holinesse hath intitled his Maiesty Defender of the Faith : 
therefore I tell you such fellowes are fitter to be faggots for fire, 
than Fathers of Families : notwithstanding (at your Graces re 
quest) I will release them. 

Accordingly the Cardinall sent for the Clothiers afore him to 
White hall, his new built house by Westminster, and there bestow 
ing his blessing vpon them, said : Though you haue offended mee 

30 I pardon you ; for as Steuen forgaue his enemies that stoned him, 
and our Sauiour those sinfull men that crucified him, so do I for- 
giue you that high trespasse committed in disgrace of my birth : 
for herein doe men come neerest vnto God, in shewing mercy and 
compassion. But see hereafter you offend no more. Touching 
your sute it is granted, and to morrow shall be published through 
London. 

This being said they departed : and according to the Cardinalls 
words, their businesse was ended. The Stillyard Marchants ioyfull 
hereof, made the Clothiers a great banquet. After which, each 

40 man departed home, carrying tydings of their good successe ; so 
that within short space, Clothing was againe very good, and poore 
men as well set on worke as before. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 47 

CHAP. VII. 

How a yongue Italian Marchant comming to lack of 
Newberies house, was greatly inamoured of one of his 
maidens, and how he was serued. 



Atfong other seruants which lacke of Newbery kept, there was 
in his house threescore maidens, which euery Sunday waited 
on his wife to Church and home againe, who had diuers offices. 
Among other, two were appointed to keepe the beames and 
waights, to waigh out wooll to the Carders and Spinsters, and to 
receiue it in againe by waight. One of them was a comely maiden, 10 
faire and louely, borne of wealthy Parents, and brought vp in good 
qualities, her name was lone : so it was, that a yongue wealthy 
Italian Marchant, comming oft from London thither to bargaine for 
cloath (for at that time Clothiers most commonly had their cloath 
bespoken, and halfe paid for afore hand). This Master Benedicke 
fell greatly inamoured of this maiden : and therefore offered much 
courtesie to her, bestowing many gifts on her, which she receiued 
thankefully : and albeit his outward countenance shewed his 
inward affection, yet lone would take no knowledge thereof. Halfe 
the day sometime would hee sit by her, as shee was waighing 20 
wooll, often sighing and sobbing to himselfe, yet saying nothing, 
as if he had been tonguelesse, like the men of CoromandcB ; and the 
leather to speake, for that hee could speak but bad English. lone 
on the other side that well perceiued his passions, did as it were 
triumph ouer him, as one that were bondslaue to her beauty, and 
although shee knew well enough before that shee was faire, yet 
did shee neuer so highly esteeme of her selfe as at this present : so 
that when she heard him either sigh, or sob, or groane, shee would 
turne her face in a carelesse sort, as if she had been borne (like 
the woman of Taproband] without eares. 30 

When Master Bennedicke saw shee made no reckoning of his 
sorrowes, at length hee blabored out this broken English, and 
spake to her in this sort. Metressa fone, be me tra and fa, mee 
loue you wod all mine hart, and if you no shall loue me again, me 
know mee shall die, sweet Mistresse loue a me, & be me fa and tra 
you sal lack noting. First ; me wil giue you de silke for make 
you a Frog : Second, de fin fin Camree for make you ruffes ; and 
the turd shal be for make fin handkercher, for wipe your nose. 

Shee mistaking his speech, began to be collericke, wishing him 
to keepe that bodkin to picke his teeth. 4 o 

Ho ho Metresse lone (quoth hee) be Got, you be angry. Oh 
Metresse lone, bee no chafe with you friene for noting. 

Good sir (quoth she) keepe your friendship for them that cares 
for it, and fixe your loue on those that can like you, as for mee 
J tell you plain, I am not minded to marry. 



48 The pleasant Historic 

Oh tis no matter for marrye, if you will come in my chamber, 
beshit my bed, and let mee kisse you. 

The Maide though she were very much displeased, yet at these 
words, shee could not forbeare laughing for her life. 

Ah ah Metresse lone : mee is very glad to see you merrie, holde 
your hand I say, and there is foure Crowne because you laugh on 
mee. 

I pray you Sir keepe your Crownes, for I need them not. 

Yes be Got you shal haue them Metresse lone, to keepe in 
10 a pox for you. 

Shee that could not well vnderstand his broken language, mis- 
tooke his meaning in many things : & therfore wild him not to 
trouble her any more. Notwithstanding such was his loue toward 
her, that he could not forbeare her company, but made many 
iournies thither for her sake. And as a certaine spring in Arcadia 
makes men to starue that drinke of it : so did poore Bennedicke, 
feeding his fancy on her beauty : for when he was in London, he 
did nothing but sorrow, wishing he had wings like the monsters of 
Tartaria, that he might fly to and fro at his pleasure. When any 
20 of his friends did tell her of his ardent affection toward her, shee 
wisht them to rub him with the sweat of a Mule, to asswage his 
amorous passion, or to fetch him some of the water in Boetia, to 
coole & extinguish the heate of his affection : for (quoth she) let 
him neuer hope to be helpt by me. 

Well (quoth they) before he saw thy alluring face, he was a man 
reasonable and wise, but is now a starke foole, being by thy beauty 
bereft of wit, as if hee had drunk of the riuer Cea, & like bewitching 
Circes thou hast certainely transformed him from a man to an 
Asse. There are stones in Pontus (quoth they) that the deeper 
30 they be laid in the water, the fiercer they burn : vnto the which 
fond Louers may fitly be compared, who the more they are 
denyed, the hotter is their desire: but seeing it is so, that he 
can find no fauour at your hand, wee will shew him what you 
haue said, and eyther draw him from his dumpes, or leaue him 
to his owne will. 

Then spake one of the Weauers that dwelt in the Towne, and 
was a kinsman to this maide, I muse (quoth he) that master 
Bennedicke will not bee perswaded, but like the Moath, will play with 
the flame that will scortch his wings. Mee thinkes, hee should for- 
40 beare to loue, or learne to speake, or else woo such as can answer 
him in his language : for I tell you, that lone my kinswoman, is no 
taste for an Italian. 

These speeches were told to Bennedicke with no small addition. 
When our yongue marchant heard the matter so plaine, he vowed 
to be reuenged of the Weauer, and to see if hee could finde any 
more friendship of his wife : therefore dissembling his sorrow and 
couering his griefe, with speede hee tooke his iourney to Newberie, 
and pleasantly saluted Mistresse lone : and hauing his purse full 



Of lacke of Newberie. 49 

of crownes, he was very liberall to the workefolkes, especially to 
lones kinsman, insomuch that hee got his fauour many times to 
goe forth with him, promising him very largely to doe great matters, 
and to lend him a hundred pound, wishing him to bee a seruant no 
longer, beside he liberally bestowed on his wife many gifts, and if 
she washt him but a band> he would giue her an Angell : if hee 
did but send her childe for a quart of Wine, hee would giue him 
a shilling for his paines. The which his courtesie changed the 
Weauers minde, saying he was a very honest Gentleman, and 
worthy to haue one farre better than his kinswoman. 10 

This pleased master Bennedick well to heare him say so, not 
withstanding he made light of the matter, and many times when 
the Weauer was at his Masters at worke, the Merchant would be 
at home with his wife, drinking and making merry. At length 
time bringing acquaintance, and often conference breeding familiar 
ity, master Bennedick began somewhat boldly to iest with Gillian, 
saying that her sight and sweet countenance, had quite reclaymed 
his loue from lone, and that she onely was the mistresse of his 
heart : and if she would lend him her loue, he would giue her 
golde from Arabia, orient pearles from India, and make her 20 
bracelets of most precious Diamonds. Thy garments shall be of 
the finest silke that is made in Venice, and thy purse shall still be 
stuft with Angels. Tell me thy minde my loue, and kill mee not 
with vnkindnesse, as did thy scornefull kinswoman, whose disdaine 
had almost cost me my life. 

O master Bennedicke, thinke not the wiues of England can be 
won by rewards, or enticed with fayre words, as children are with 
Plums : it may be that you being merrily disposed, do speak this 
to try my constancy. Know then, that I esteeme more the honour 
of my good name, than the slyding wealth of the world. 30 

Master Bennedick hearing her say so, desired her, that con 
sidering it was loue that forced his tongue to bewray his hearts 
ardent affection, that yet she would be secret : and so for that time 
tooke his leaue. 

When hee was gone, the woman began to call her wits together, 
and to consider of her poore estate, and withall the better to note 
the comelinesse of her person, and the sweet fauour of her face : 
which when shee had well thought vpon, shee began to harbour 
new thoughts, and to entertain contrary affections, saying, Shall 
I content myselfe to be wrapt in sheepes russet that may swim in 40 
silks, & sit all day carding for a groat, that can haue crownes at my 
command ? No (quoth she) I will no more beare so base a minde, 
but take Fortunes fauours while they are to be had. The sweet 
Rose doth flourish but one moneth, nor Worn ens beauties but in 
yongue yeares. As the Winters frost consumes the Summer 
flowers, so doth old age banish pleasant delight. O glorious gold 
(quoth shee) how sweet is thy smell ? how pleasing is thy sight ? 
Thou subduest Princes, and ouerthrowest kingdomes, then how 

917.6 E 



50 The pleasant Historic 

should a silly woman withstand thy strength? Thus she rested 
meditating on preferment, purposing to hazzard her honesty to 
maintaine her selfe in brauerie : euen as occupiers corrupt their 
consciences to gather riches. 

Within a day or two master Bennedicke came to her againe, on 
whom she cast a smiling countenance : which hee perceiuing 
(according to his old custome) sent for Wine, and very merry they 
were. At last, in the middest of their cups, he cast out his former 
question : and after farther conference, she yeelded, and appointed 

10 a time when he should come to her : for which fauour, he gaue 
her halfe a dozen portigues. 

Within an houre or two after, entring into her owne conscience, 
bethinking how sinnefully she had sold her selfe to folly, began 
thus to expostulate. Good Lord (quoth shee) shall I breake that 
holy vowe which I made in marriage, and pollute this body of 
mine which the Lord hath sanctified ? Can I breake the com- 
mandement of my God, and not rest accursed ? or be a traytor to 
my husband, & suffer no shame ? I heard once my brother read 
in a book, that Bucephalus, Alexanders Steed, being a beast, 

20 would not be backt by any but the Emperour, and shall I consent 
to any but my husband ? Artemisa being a Heathen Lady, loued 
her husband so well, that shee drunke vp his ashes, and buried 
him in her owne bowels, and should I, being a Christian, cast my 
Husband out of my heart ? The Women of Rome were wont to 
crowne their Husbands heads with Bayes, in token of victorie, 
and shall I giue my husband homes in token of infamie? An 
Harlot is hated of all vertuous minded people, and shall I make 
my selfe a Whore ? O my God forgiue my sin (quoth shee) and 
cleanse my heart from these wicked imaginations. 

30 And as she was thus lamenting, her husband came home : at 
whose sight her teares were doubled, like vnto a riuer whose 
streame is encreased by showers of raine. Her husband seeing 
this, would needes know the cause of her sorrow : but a great 
while she would not shew him, casting manie a piteous looke vpon 
him, and shaking her head, at last she said, O my deare husband, 
I haue offended against God and thee, and made such a trespasse 
by my tongue, as hath cut a deepe scarre in my conscience, and 
wounded my heart with griefe like a Sword : like Penelope so haue 
I been wooed, but like Penelope I haue not answered. 

40 Why woman (quoth he) what is the matter ? If it be but the bare 
offence of thy tongue, why shouldest thou so grieue ? considering 
that womens tongues are like Lambs tayles, which seldome stand 
still : And the Wise man saith, Where much talke is, must needes 
be some offence. Womens beauties are fayre markes for wandring 
eyes to shoote at : but as euery Archer hits not the white, so euery 
Wooer winnes not his mistresse fauour. All Cities that are besiged 
are not sackt, nor all women to be mislikt that are loued. Why 
wife, I am perswaded thy faith is more firme, and thy constancie 



Of lacke of Newberie. 5 I 

greater to withstand Louers alarums, than that any other but my 
selfe should obtaine the fortresse of thy heart. 

O sweet husband (quoth she) we see the strongest Tower, at 
length falleth downe by the Canons force, though the Bullets be but 
Iron : then how can the weake Bulwarke of a Womans breast make 
resistance, when the hot Canons of deepe perswading wordes are 
shotte off with golden Bullets, and euery one as big as a Portigue ? 

If it be so wife, I may think my selfe in a good case, and 
you to be a very honest woman. As Mars and Venus danc't naked 
together in a Net, so I doubt, you and some knaue haue played 10 
naked together in a bed : but in faith thou queane, I will send 
thee to salute thy friends without a Nose : and as thou hast sold 
thy honesty, so will I sell thy company. 

Sweete Husband, though I haue promised, I haue performed 
nothing : euery bargain is not effected, and therefore as ludas 
brought again the thirty siluer plates, for the which he betrayed his 
Master : so repenting my folly, lie cast him againe his gold, for 
which I should haue wronged my Husband. 

Tell me (quoth her husband) what he is. 

It is master Bennedicke (quoth shee) which for my loue haue left 20 
the loue of our kinswoman, and hath vowed himselfe for euer to 
Hue my seruant. 

O dissembling Italian (quoth hee) I will be reuenged on him for 
this wrong. I know that any fauour from lone our kinswoman, will 
make him runne like vnto a man bitten with a mad dogge : therefore 
be ruled by mee, and thou shalt see me dresse him in his kinde. 

The woman was very well pleased, saying, hee would be there 
that night. 

All this works well with me (quoth her husband) and to supper 
will I inuite lone my kinswoman, and in the mean space make vp 30 
the bed in the Parlour very decently. 

So the goodman went forth, and got a sleepy drench from the 
Poticaries, the which he gaue to a yongue Sow, which hee had in 
his yard, and in the euening layde her downe in the bed in the 
Parlour, drawing the Curtaines round about. 

Supper time beeing come, master Bennedicke gaue his atten 
dance, looking for no other company but the good wife : Not 
withstanding at the last mistresse lone came in with her kinsman, 
and sate downe to supper with him. 

Master Bennedicke musing at their sudden approach, yet neuer- 40 
thelesse glad of mistresse Tones company, past the supper time 
with many pleasant conceits, lone shewing her selfe that night 
more pleasant in his company than at any time before : wherefore 
he gaue the good man great thankes. 

Good master Bennedicke, little doe you think how I haue 
trauelled in your behalfe to my kinswoman, and very much adoe 
I had to bring the peeuish Wench into any good liking of your 
loue : notwithstanding by my very great diligence and per- 

E 2 



52 The pleasant Historic 

swasions, I haue at length won her good will to come hither, little 
thinking to finde you here, or any such good cheere to entertain 
her : all which I see is fallen out for your profite. But trust me, 
all the world cannot now alter her minde, nor turne her loue from 
you : In regard whereof, shee hath promised me to lye this night 
in my house, for the great desire she hath of your good company : 
and in requitall of all your great courtesies shewed to me, I am 
very well content to bring you to her bed. Marry this you must 
consider, and so she bad me tell you, that you should come to 
10 bed with as little noyse as you could, and tumble nothing that 
you find, for feare of her best gowne and her hat, which she will 
lay hard by the bed side, next her best partlet, and in so doing, 
you may haue company with her all night, but say nothing in any 
case till you be a bed : 

O (quoth he) Mater Ian, be Got Mater fan, me wil not spoile 
her clothes for a towsand pound, ah me loue metres lone more 
than my wife. 

Well, supper being done, they rose from the table. Master 
Bennedick im bracing mistresse lone, thankt her for her great 
20 curtesie and company, and then the good man and he walkt 
into the Towne, and lone hyed her home to her masters, knowing 
nothing of the intended iest. Master Bennedicke thought euery 
houre twaine, till the Sun was downe, and that he were a bed 
with his beloued. At last he had his wish, and home hee came 
to his friends house. 

Then said lohn, master Bennedick you must not in any case 
haue a candle when you go into the chamber, for then my kins 
woman will be angry, and darke places fits best Louers desires. 

O Mater Ian (quoth he) its no such matter for light, mee 
30 shall find Metres lone well enough in the darke. 

And entring in the parlour, groping about, hee felt a gowne and 
hat. O Metres lone (quoth hee) heere is your gowne and hat, 
me shal no hurt for a tousand poun. 

Then kneeling downe by the bed side, insteade of mistresse 
lone, he saluted the sow in this sort. O my loue and my delight, 
it is thy faire face that hath wounded my heart, thy gray sparkling 
eyes, and thy Lilly white hands, with the comely proportion of thy 
pretty body, that made mee in seeking thee to forget my selfe, & 
to find thy fauour, lose my owne freedom : but now is the time 
4 o come wherein I shall reape the fruits of a plentifull haruest. Now 
my deare, from thy sweet mouth let mee sucke the hony balme of 
thy breath, and with my hand stroke those Rosie cheekes of 
thine, wherein I haue tooke such pleasure, Com with thy 
pretty lips and entertaine me into thy bed with one gentle kisse : 
Why speakest thou not my sweete heart, and stretch out thy 
Alabaster armes to infold thy faithfull friend? Why should ill 
pleasing sleepe close vp the chrystall windowes of thy body so 
fast, and bereaue thee of thy fiue Lordly attendants wherewith 



Of lacke of Newberie. 5 3 

thou wast wont to salute thy friends ? let it not offend thy gentle 
eares that I thus talk to thee. If thou hast vowed not to speake, 
I will not break it : and if thou wilt command me to bee silent, 
I will be dumbe : but thou needest not feare to speak thy minde, 
seeing the cloudy night concealeth euery thing. 

By this time master Bennedicke was vnready, and slipt into bed, 
where the Sowe lay swathed in a sheete, and her head bound in 
a great linnen cloth : As soone as he was laid, he began to 
embrace his new bedfellow, and laying his lips somewhat neer her 
snout, hee felt her draw her breath very short. i 

Why how now loue (quoth he) be you sick, be Got mistris lone 
your breat be very strong : haue you no cacke a bed ? 

The Sow feeling her selfe disturbed, began to grunt and keep 
a great stirre : whereat master Benedick (like a mad man) ran out 
of the bed, crying, de deuil de deuil. The good man of the house 
(being purposely prouided) came rushing in with halfe a dozen of 
his neighbours, asking what was the matter. 

Got ound (quoth Benedicke] here be de great deuil cry hoh, 
hoh, hoh, bee Gossen I tinke you play the knave wid me, and 
me wil be reuenge be Got. 20 

Sir (quoth hee) I knowing you loued mutton, thought porke 
nothing vnfit : & therefore prouided you a whole Sow, and as you 
like this entertainment, spend Portegues. Walke, walk, Barke- 
shire maides will be no Italians strumpets, nor the wiues of 
Newbery their bauds. 

Barkeshire dog (quoth Benedick] owle face shack hang dou 
and dy veife, haue it not be for me loue to sweete Metresse lone, 
I will no come in your houz : but farewell tell I cash you, be Goz 
bode, I make your hog nose bud. 

The good man and his neighbours laught aloud, away went 30 
master Benedick y and for very shame departed from Newbery 
before day. 

CHAP. VIII. 

How lacke of Newberie keeping a very good house, 
both for his seruants and reliefe of the poore, won 
great credite thereby: and how one of his wiues 
gossips found fault therewith. 

GOod morrow good Gossip : now by my truly I am glad to 
see you in health. I pray you how doth master Winch- 
combe ? What neuer a great belly yet ? now fie : by my fa your 40 
husband is waxt idle. 

Trust mee Gossip (saith mistresse Winchcombe) a great belly 
comes sooner than a new coate : but you must consider we haue 
not beene long married : But truely gossip you are welcome : 



54 The pleasant Historic 

I pray you to sit downe, and we will haue a morsell of something 
by and by. 

Nay truely gossip, I cannot stay (quoth shee) in troth I must 
be gone : for I did but euen step in to see how you did. 

You shall not chuse but stay a while (quoth mistresse Winch- 
comb] : and with that a faire napkin was laide vpon the little 
table in the Parlour, hard by the fire side, whereon was set 
a good cold Capon, with a great deale of other good cheere, with 
ale and wine plentie. 

10 I pray you good Gossip eate, and I beshrew you if you spare 
(quoth the one). 

I thanke you hartily good Gossip (saith the other). But good 
gossip I pray you tell me : doth your husband loue you well, and 
make much of you ? 

Yes truly, I thanke God (quoth shee). 

Now by my troth (said the other) it were a shame for him if he 
should not : for though 1 say it before your face, though he had 
little with you, you were worthy to be as good a mans wife as his. 

Trust me, I would not change my John for my lord Marquesse 
20 (quoth shee) a woman can be but well, for I Hue at hearts ease, & 
haue all things at will, & truly he will not see me lack any thing. 

Mary Gods blessing on his hart (quoth her Gossip) it is a good 
hearing: but I pray you tell me, 1 heard say, your husband is 
chosen for our Burgesse in the Parliament house, is it true ? 

Yes verily (quoth his wife) : I wis it is against his will : for it will 
be no small charges vnto him. 

Tush woman, what talke you of that ? thankes be to God, there 
is neuer a Gentleman in all Barkshire that is better able to beare 
it. But heare you, gossip, shall I bee so bold to aske you one 
30 question more ? 

Yes, with all my heart (quoth she). 

I heard say that your husband would now put you in your hood 
and silke gowne, I pray you is it true ? 

Yes in truth (quoth mistresse Winchcombe] but far against my 
minde Gossip : my french-hood is bought already, and my silke 
gowne is a making : likewise the Goldsmith hath brought home 
my chaine and bracelets : but I assure you gossip, if you will 
beleeue me, I had rather goe an hundred miles, than weare them : 
for I shall bee so ashamed that I shall not looke vpon any of my 
40 neighbours for blushing. 

And why, I pray you? (quoth her Gossip) I tell you deare 
woman, you neede not bee any thing abashed or blush at the matter, 
especially seeing your husbands estate is able to maintaine it : now 
trust mee truly, I am of opinion you will become it singular well. 

Alas (quoth mistresse Winchcombe) hauing neuer beene vsed to 
such attyre, I shall not know where I am, nor how to behaue my 
selfe in it : and beside, my complexion is so black e, that I shall 
carry but an ill fauoured countenance vnder a hood. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 5 5 

Now, without doubt (quoth her Gossip) you are to blame to say 
so : beshrew my heart if I speak it to flatter, you are a very faire 
and well fauoured yongue woman, as any is in Newberie. And 
neuer feare your behauiour in your hood : for I tell you true, as 
old and withred as I am my selfe, I could become a hood well 
enough, and behaue my selfe as well in such attyre, as any other 
whatsoeuer, and I would not learne of neuer a one of them all : 
what woman, I haue been a pretty wench in my dayes, and seene 
some fashions. Therefore you neede not to feare, seeing both 
your beauty and comely personage deserues no lesse than a french- 10 
hood : and be of good comfort. At the first (possible) folkes will 
gaze something at you : but bee not you abashed for that, it is 
better they should wonder at your good fortune, than lament at 
your misery : but when they haue seene you two or three times in 
that attyre, they will afterward little respect it : for euery new thing at 
the first seemes rare, but being once a little vsed, it growes common. 

Surely Gossip you say true, (quoth shee) and I am but a foole 
to bee so bashfull : it is no shame to vse Gods gifts for our credits, 
and well might my husband thinke me vnworthy to haue them, if 
I would not weare them : and though I say it, my hoode is a faire 20 
one, as any woman weares in this Country, and my gold chaine 
and bracelets are none of the worst sort, and I will shew them you, 
because you shall giue your opinion vpon them : and therewithal! 
shee stept into her chamber and fetcht them forth. 

When her Gossip saw them, shee said, now beshrew my fingers 
but these are faire ones indeede. And when doe you meane to 
weare them Gossip ? 

At Whitsontide (quoth shee) if God spare mee life. 

I wish that well you may weare them (said her Gossip) and I 
would I were worthy to bee with you when you dresse your selfe, 30 
it should bee neuer the worse for you. I would order the matter 
so, that you should set euery thing about you in such sort, as 
neuer a Gentlewoman of them all should staine you. 

Mistris Winchcombe gaue her great thanks for her fauour, saying, 
that if she needed her helpe, she would be bold to send for her. 

Then began her Gossip to turne her tongue to another tune, and 
now to blame her for her great house keeping. And thus shee 
began : Gossip, you are but a yongue woman, and one that hath 
had no great experience of the World, in my opinion you are 
something too lauish in expences : pardon mee good Gossip, I 40 
speake but for good will ; and because I loue you, I am the more 
bold to admonish you : I tell you plaine, were I the mistresse of 
such a house, hauing such large allowance as you haue, I would 
saue 20. pound a yeare that you spend to no purpose. 

Which way might' that bee (quoth Mistris Winchcombe ?) indeed 
I confesse I am but a greene huswife, and one that hath had but 
small triall in the World, therefore I would bee very glad to learne 
any thing that were for my husbands profit and my commoditie. 



56 The pleasant Historic 

Then listen to mee (quoth shee) : You feede your folkes with the 
best of the beefe, and the finest of the wheate, which in my 
opinion is a great ouersight : neither doe I heare of any Knight in 
this countrie that doth it. And to say the truth, how were they 
able to beare that port which they doe, if they saued it not by some 
meanes ? Come thither, and I warrant you that you shall see but 
browne bread on the boord : if it bee wheate and rye mingled 
together, it is a great matter, and the bread highly commended : 
but most commonly they eate eyther barly bread, or rye mingled 

10 with pease, and such like course graine : which is doubtlesse but 
of small price, and there is no other bread allowed, except at their 
owne boord. And in like manner for their meate : it is well 
knowne, that neckes and points of beefe is their ordinarie fare : 
which because it is commonly leane, they seeth therewith now and 
then a peece of bacon or porke, whereby they make their pottage 
fat, and therewith driues out the rest with more content. And 
thus must you learne to doe. And beside that, the midriffes of the 
Oxen, and the cheekes, the sheepes heads, and the gathers, which 
you giue away at your gate, might serue them wel enough : which 

30 would bee a great sparing to your other meate, and by this meanes 
you would saue in the yeare much mony, whereby you might the 
better maintaine your hoode and silke gowne. Againe, you serue 
your folkes with such superfluities, that they spoile in a manner as 
much as they eate : beleeue mee were I their Dame, they should 
haue things more sparingly, and then they would thinke it more 
dainty. 

Trust mee Gossip (quoth Mistresse Winchcombe) I know your 
wordes in many things to bee true : for my folkes are so corne fed, 
that wee haue much adoo to please them in their dyet : one doth 

30 say this is too salt, and another saith this is too grosse, this is too 
fresh, and that too fat, and twenty faults they will finde at their 
meales : I warrant you they make such parings of their cheese, and 
keepe such chipping of their bread, that their very ortes would 
serue two or three honest folkes to their dinner. 

And from whence I pray you proceedes that (quoth her Gossip) 
but of too much plentie? but yfaith were they my seruants, I 
would make them glad of the worst crummes they cast away, and 
thereupon I drink to you, and I thank you for my good cheere 
with all my heart. 

40 Much good may it do you good gossip (said mistresse Winch- 
comb] : and I pray you when you come this way, let vs see you. 
That you shall verily (quoth she) and so away she went. 
After this, mistresse Winchcombe tooke occasion to giue her 
folks shorter commons, and courser meate than they were wont 
\ \\ to haue : which at length being come to the good mans eare, hee 

I was very much offended therewith, saying: I will not haue my 

j people thus pincht of their victualls. Empty platters makes greedy 
stomackes, and where scarcity is kept, hunger is nourished : and 

!**>* o r VUV, 



Of lacke of New&erie. 5 7 

therefore wife as you loue mee, let mee haue no more of this 
doings. 

Husband (quoth shee) I would they should haue enough : but 
it is sinne to suffer, and a shame to see the spoile they make : I 
could bee very well content to giue them their bellies full, and 
that which is sufficient, but it grieues mee, to tell you true, to see 
how coy they are, and the small care they haue in wasting of 
things : and I assure you, the whole Towne cries shame of it, and 
it hath bred mee no small discredit for looking no better to it. 
Trust mee no more, if I was not chekt in my owne house about 10 
this matter, when my eares did burne to heare what was spoken. 

Who was it that chekt thee, I pray thee tell mee ? was it not 
your old gossip, dame dainty, mistresse trip and goe ? I beleeue 
it was. 

Why man if it were she, you know shee hath beene an old 
house-keeper, and one that hath known the World, and that shee 
told mee was for good will. 

Wife (quoth hee) I would not haue thee to meddle with such 
light braind huswiues, and so I haue told thee a good many 
times, and yet I cannot get you to leaue her company. 20 

Leaue her company ? why husband, so long as she is an honest 
woman, why should I leaue her company ? She neuer gaue me 
hurtfull counsell in all her life, but hath alwaies been ready to 
tell mee things for my profit, though you take it not so. Leaue 
her company ? I am no gyrle I would you should well know, to 
bee taught what company I should keepe : I keepe none but 
honest company, I warrant you. Leaue her company ketha? 
Alas poore soule, this reward shee hath for her good will. I wis, 
I wis, she is more your friend, than you are your owne. 

Well, let her bee what shee will (said her husband) : but if shee 30 
come any more in my house, she were as good no. And there 
fore take this for a warning I would aduise you : and so away he 
went. 



CHAP. IX. 

How a Draper in London, who owed lacke ot Newbery 
much mony, became bankrout, whom lack of New- 
bery found carrying a porters basket on his neck, 
and how he set him vp againe at his owne cost, which 
Draper afterward became an Alderman of London. 

THere was one Randoll Pert a Draper, dwelling in Waiting- 40 
streete, that owedfacfo of Newbery flue hundred pounds at one 
time, who in the end fell greatly to decay, in so much that hee 
was cast in prison, and his wife with her poore children turned 
out of doores. All his creditors except Winchcombe had a share 



58 The pleasant Historie 

of his goods, neuer releasing him out of prison, so long as he had 
one peny to satisfie them. But when this tidings was brought to 
lack of Newberies eare, his friends counselled him to lay his 
action against him. 

Nay (quoth he) if hee be not able to pay me when he is at 
liberty, he will neuer be able to pay mee in prison : and therefore 
it were as good for me to forbear my mony without troubling him, 
as to adde more sorrow to his grieued heart, and be neuer the 
neerer. Misery is troden down by many, and once brought low, 
10 they are seldome or neuer relieued : therefore he shall rest for me 
vntoucht, and I would to God he were cleare of all other mens 
debts, so that I gaue him mine to begin the world againe. 

Thus lay the poore Draper a long time in prison, in which space, 
his Wife which before for daintinesse would not foule her fingers, 
nor turne her head aside, for feare of hurting the set of her 
neckenger, was glad to goe about and wash buckes at the Thames 
side, and to be a chare-woman in rich mens houses, her soft 
hand was now hardened with scouring, and in steade of gold 
rings vpon her lilly fingers, they were now fild with chaps, 
20 prouoked by the sharpe lee, and other drudgeries. 

At last, Master Winchcombe being (as you heard) chosen against 
the Parliament a Burgesse for the towne viNewberie, and comming 
vp to London for the same purpose, when hee was alighted at his 
Inne, hee left one of his men there, to get a Porter to bring his 
trunke vp to the place of his lodging. Poore RandollPert, which 
lately before was come out of prison, hauing no other meanes 
of maintenance, became a Porter to carry burthens from one place 
to another, hauing an old ragged doublet, and a torne paire of 
breeches, with his hose out at the heeles, and a paire of old 
>o broken slip shooes on his feete, a rope about his middle in stead 
of a girdle, and on his head an old greasie cap, which had so 
many holes in it, that his haire started through it : who assoone 
as hee heard one call for a Porter, made answer straight : heere 
master, what is it that you would haue carried ? 

Mary (quoth hee) I would haue this Trunke borne to the spread 
Eagle at luiebridge. 

You shall Master (quoth hee) but what will you giue mee for 
my paines ? 

I will giue thee two pence. 

40 A penny more and I will carry it (said the Porter) : and so being 
agreed, away he went with his burthen, till he came to the spread 
Eagle doore, where on a sudden espying Master Winchcombe 
standing, he cast downe the Trunke, and ran away as hard as euer 
hee could. 

Master Winchcombe wondring what hee meant thereby, caused 
his man to runne after him, and so fetch him againe : but when 
hee saw one pursue him, hee ranne then the faster ; and in 
running, here hee lost one of his slip shooes, and then another ; 



Of lacke of Newberie. 5 9 

euer looking behinde him, like a man pursued with a deadly 
weapon, fearing euery twinkling of an eye to bee thrust thorow. 
At last his breech, being tide but with one point, what with the 
haste hee made, and the weakenesse of the thong, fell about his 
heeles : which so shackled him, that downe hee fell in the streete 
all along, sweating and blowing, being quite worne out of breath : 
and so by this meanes the Seruing-man ouertooke him, and taking 
him by the sleeue, being as windlesse as the other, stood blowing 
and puffing a great while ere they could speake one to another. 

Sirrah (quoth the Seruing man) you must come to my Master, TO 
you haue broken his Trunke all to peeces, by letting it fall. 

O for Gods sake (quoth hee) let me goe, for Christs sake let 
mee goe, or else Master Winchcombe of Newbery will arrest mee, 
and then I am vndone for euer. 

Now by this time lacke of Newbery had caused his Trunke to 
bee carried into the house, and then he walked along to know 
what the matter was : and when he heard the Porter say that he 
would arrest him, hee wondred greatly, and hauing quite forgot 
Perts fauour, being so greatly changed by imprisonment and 
pouerty, hee said, Wherefore should I arrest thee ? tell me good 20 
fellow : for my owne part I know no reason for it. 

O Sir (quoth hee) I would to God I knew none neyther. 

Then asking him what his name was : the poore man falling 
downe on his knees, said : Good Master Winchcombe beare with 
me and caste mee not into prison : my name is Pert, and I do 
not deny but that I owe you fiue hundred pound : yet for the 
loue of God take pitty vpon mee. 

When Master Winchcombe heard this, hee wondred greatly at 
the man, and did as much pitty his misery, though as yet hee 
made it not known, saying : Passion of my heart man, them wilt 3 
neuer pay mee thus : neuer thinke being a Porter to pay fiue 
hundred pound debt. But this hath your prodigality brought you j 
to, your thriftlesse neglecting of your businesse, that set more by 
your pleasure than your profit. Then looking better vpon him, 
he said : What, neuer a shooe to thy foote, hose to thy legge, 
band to thy necke, nor cap to thy head ? O Pert, this is strange : 
but wilt thou be an honest man, & giue me a bil of thy hand for 
my money ? 

Yes sir, with all my hart (quoth Pert). 

Then come to the Scriueners (quoth he) and dispatch it, and 4 
I will not trouble thee. 

Now when they were come thither, with a great many following 
them at their heeles, master Winchcombe said: Hearest thou 
Scriuener ? this fellow must giue me a bill of his hand for fiue 
hundred pounds, I pray thee make it as it should bee. 

The Scriuener looking vpon the poore man, and seeing him in 
that case, said to master Winchcombe : Sir, you were better to let 
it bee a Bond, and haue some sureties bound with him. 



60 The pleasant Historic 

Why Scriuener (quoth hee) doest thou thinke this is not 
a sufficient man of himselfe for fiue hundred pound ? 

Truely Sir (said the Scriuener) if you thinke him so, you and 
I are of two mindes : 

He tell thee what (quoth Master Winchcombe) were it not that 
wee are all mortall, I would take his word assoone as his Bill or 
Bond ; the honesty of a man is all. 

And wee in London (quoth the Scriuener) doe trust Bonds farre 
better than honesty. But Sir, when must this money bee paid ? 
10 Marry Scriuener, when this man is Sheriffe of London. 

At that word the Scriuener and the people standing by laughed 
heartily, saying : In truth Sir, make no more adoo but forgiue it 
him : as good to doe the one as the other. 

Nay, beleeue mee (quoth hee) not so : therefore doe as I bid 
you. 

Whereupon the Scriuener made the Bill to be paid when Randoll 
Pert was Sheriffe of London, and thereunto set his owne hand for 
a witnesse, and twenty persons more that stood by, set to their 
hands likewise. 

20 Then hee asked Pert what he should haue for carrying his 
trunk. 

Sir (quoth hee) I should haue three pence, but seeing I finde 
you so kinde, I will take but two pence at this time. 

Thankes good Pert (quoth he) but for thy three pence, there is 
three shillings : and looke thou come to mee to morrow morning 
betimes. 

The poore man did so, at what time master Winchcombe had 
prouided him out of Burchin-lane, a faire sute of apparell, Mar- 
chant like, with a faire blacke cloak, and all other things fit to the 
30 same : then hee tooke him a shop in Canweek streete, and furnisht 
the same shop with a thousand pounds worth of cloath : by which 
meanes, and other fauours that master Winchcombe did him, hee 
grew againe into great credit, and in the end became so wealthy, 
that while master Winchcombe liued hee was chosen Sheriffe, at 
what time he payed fiue hundred pounds euery penny, and after 
dyed an Alderman of the Citie. 



CHAP. X. 

How lacke of Newberies seruants were reuenged of 
their Dames tattling Gossip. 

40 \ 7Pon a time it came to passe, when master Winchcombe was 

y farre from home, and his wife gone abroad : That mistris 

many better, dame tittle, tattle, Gossip pintpot, according to her 

old custome, came to mistris Winchcombes house, perfectly knowing 



Of lacke of Newberie. 6 1 

of the good mans absence, and little thinking the good wife was 
from home : where knocking at the gate, Tweedle stept out and 
askt who was there ? where hastily opening the wicket, he sud- 
dainely discouered the full proportion of this foule beast, who 
demanded if their mistris were within. 

What mistres Franke (quoth hee) in faith welcome : how haue 
you done a great while ? I pray you come in. 

Nay, I cannot stay (quoth shee). Notwithstanding, I did call to 
speake a word or two with your mistris, I pray you tell her that 
I am here. 10 

So I will (quoth hee) so soone as she comes in. 

Then said the woman, What is she abroad ? why then farewell 
good Tiveedle. 

Why what haste, what haste, mistris Franks, (quoth he) I pray 
you stay and drink ere you goe. I hope a cuppe of new Sacke will 
do your old belly no hurt : 

What (quoth shee) haue you new Sacke already ? Now by my 
honesty I drunke none this yeare, and therefore I doe not greatly 
care if I take a taste before I goe : and with that shee went into 
the wine-cellar with Tweedle, where first hee set before her a peece 20 
of powdred beefe as greene as a leeke : And then going into the 
kitchen, he brought her a peece of rested beefe hote from the spit. 

Now certaine of the maidens of the house, and some of the 
yongue men, who had long before determined to bee reuenged of 
this pratling huswife : came into the Cellar one after another, one 
of them bringing a great peece of a gammon of Bacon in his hand : 
and euery one bad mistris Franke welcome : and first one drunke 
to her, and then another, and so the third, the fourth, and the 
fift : so that mistresse Frankes braines waxt as mellow as a Pippin 
at Michaelmas, and so light, that sitting in the Cellar, she thought 30 
the world ran round. They seeing her to fall into merry humours, 
whetted her on in merriment as much as they could, saying, 
Mistresse Franke, spare not I pray you, but thinke your selfe as 
welcome as any woman in all Newberie, for we haue cause to loue 
you, because you loue our Mistresse so well. 

Now by my troth (quoth shee) lisping in her speech (her tongue 
waxing somewhat too big for her mouth) I loue your Mistresse 
well indeed, as if shee were mine owne daughter. 

Nay but heare you (quoth they) she begins not to deale well 
with vs now. 40 

No my Lambs (quoth shee) why so ? 

Because (quoth they) she seeks to barre vs of our allowance, 
telling our Master, that hee spends too much in house-keeping. 

Nay then (quoth shee) your Mistresse is both an Asse, and 
a Foole : and though shee go in her Hood, what care I ? she is 
but a girle to mee : Twittle twattle, I know what I know : Go too, 
drinke to mee. Well Tweedle, I drinke to thee with all my heart : 
why thou horeson, when wilt thou bee married ? O that I were 



62 The pleasant Historic 

a yongue wench for thy sake : but tis no matter, though I be but 
a poore woman, I am a true woman. Hang dogs, I haue dwelt 
in this towne these thirty winters. 

Why then (quoth they) you haue dwelt heere longer than our 
Master. 

Your Master (quoth shee) ? I knew your Master a boy, when he 
was calld lacke of Newberie, I lacke, I knew him calld plaine 
lacke : and your Mistresse, now shee is rich, and I am poore, but 
its no matter, I knew her a draggle tayle girle, marke yee ? 
10 But now (quoth they) shee takes vpon her lustily, and hath quite 
forgot what shee was. 

Tush, what will you haue of a greene thing (quoth shee) ? Heere 
I drinke to you, so long as she goes where she list a gossipping : 
and its no matter, little said is soone amended : But heare you my 
masters, though mistresse Winchcombe goe in her Hood, I am as 
good as shee, I care not who tell it her : I spend not my husbands 
money in Cherries and Codlings, go too, go too, I know what 
I say well enough : I thanke God I am not drunke : Mistresse 
Winchcomb, mistresse? No, Nan Winchcombe, I will call her 
20 name, plaine Nan : what, I was a woman when she was sir- 
reuerence a paltry girle, though now shee goes in her Hood and 
Chaine of Gold : what care I for her ? I am her elder, and I know 
more of her trickes : nay I warrant you, I know what I say, tis 
no matter, laugh at me and spare not, I am not drunke I warrant : 
and with that being scant able to holde open her eyes, she be- 
ganne to nodde, and to spill the Wine out of the Glasse : which 
they perceyuing, let her alone, going out of the Cellar till shee was 
sound asleepe, and in the meane space they deuised how to finish 
this peece of knauery. 

30 At last they all consented to lay her forth at the backe side of 
the house, halfe a mile off, euen at the foote of a Style, that who- 
soeuer came next ouer, might finde her : notwithstanding, Tweedle 
stayed hard by to see the end of this Action. At last comes 
a notable Clowne from Greeneham, taking his way to Newbery : 
who comming hastily ouer the Style, stumbled at the woman, and 
fell down cleane ouer her. But in his starting vp, seeing it was 
a woman, cryed out, Alas, alas. 

How now, what is the matter (quoth Tweedle] ? 

O (quoth hee) here lies a dead woman. 

40 A dead woman (quoth Tweedle] thats not so I trow, and with 
that hee tumbled her about : 

Bones of me (quoth Tweedle) tis a drunken woman, and one of 
the Towne undoubtedly : in troth it is a great pitty she should 
lye here. 

Why doe you know her (quoth the Clowne) ? 

No not I (quoth Tweedle) neuerthelesse, I will giue thee halfe 
a groate, and take her in thy Basket, and carry her throughout 
the Towne, and see if any body know her. 



Of lacke of Newberie. 6 3 

Then said the other, let me see the money, and I will : For by 
the Masse, che earnd not halfe a groat this great while. 

There it is (quoth Tweedle] : then the fellow put her in his 
Basket, and so lifted her vpon his back. 

Now by the Masse shee stinkes vilely of Drinke, or Wine, or 
some thing. But tell me, What shall I say when I come into the 
Towne (quoth he) ? 

First (quoth Tweedle] I would haue thee so soone as euer thou 
canst get to the Townes end, with a lusty voyce to cry, O yes, and 
then say, Who knowes this woman, who ? And though possible * 
some will say, I know her, and I know her ; yet doe not thou set 
her downe till thou commest to the Market Crosse, and there vse 
the like wordes : and if any be so friendly, to tell thee where shee 
dwels, then iust before her doore cry so againe : and if thou 
performe this brauely, I will giue thee halfe a groat more. 

Master Tweedle (quoth he) I knowe you well enough, you dwell 
with Master Winchcombe, doe you not ? Ifaith if I doe it not in 
the nicke, giue mee neuer a penny : 

And so away hee went, till hee came to the Townes end, and 
there he cryes out as boldly as any Bayliffes man, O yes, who ao 
knowes this woman, who ? 

Then said the drunken woman in the Basket, her head falling 
first on one side, and then on the other side, Who co mee, who ? 

Then said he againe, Who knowes this woman, who ? 

Who co mee, who ? (quoth shee) and looke how oft he spoke 
the one, shee spoke the other : saying still, Who co me, who co 
me, who ? Whereat all the people in the streete fell into such 
a laughter, that the teares ranne downe againe. 

At last one made answere, saying : Good fellow, shee dwels in 
the North brooke street^ a little beyond Master Winchcombes. 30 

The fellow hearing that, goes downe thither in all haste, and 
there in the hearing of a hundred people, cryes, Who knowes this 
woman, who? 

Whereat her husband comes out, saying : Marry that doe I too 
well, God helpe mee. 

Then said the Clowne, If you know her, take her : for I knowe 
her not but for a drunken beast. 

And as her husband tooke her out of the Basket, she gaue him 
a sound boxe on the eare, saying, What you Queanes, do you 
mocke mee ? and so was carried in. 40 

But the next day, when her braine was quiet, and her head 
cleered of these foggy vapours, she was so ashamed of her selfe, 
that shee went not forth of her doores a long time after : and if 
any body did say vnto her, Who co me, who ? shee would be so 
mad and furious, that shee would be ready to draw her knife and 
sticke them, and scold, as if she stroue for the best game at the 
cucking stoole. Moreouer, her pratling to mistresse Winchcombes 
folks of their mistresse, made her on the other side to fall out 



64 The pleasant Historic 

with her, in such sort, that shee troubled them no more, eyther 
with her company or her counsell. 



CHAP. XI. 

How one of lacke of Newberies maides 
became a Ladie. 

A" the winning of Morlesse in France, the noble Earle of 
Surrey being at that time Lord high Admirall of England, 
made many Knights : among the rest was Sir George Rigley, 
brother to Sir Edward Rigley, and sundry other, whose valours 
10 farre surpassed their wealth : so that when peace bred a scarcitie 
in their purse, and that their credits grew weake in the Citie, they 
were enforced to ride into the Country, where at their friends 
houses they might haue fauourable welcome, without coyne or 
grudging. 

Among the rest, lacke of Newberie that kept a table for all 
commers, was neuer lightly without many such guestes : where 
they were sure to haue both welcome and good cheare, and their 
mirth no lesse pleasing than their meate was plenty. Sir George 
hauing lyen long at boord in this braue Yeomans house, at length 
20 fell in liking of one of his maidens, who was as fair as she was 
fond. This lusty wench hee so allured with hope of marriage, 
that at length she yeelded him her loue, and therewithall bent her 
whole study to worke his content : but in the end, shee so much 
contented him, that it wrought altogether her owne discontent : 
to become high, she laid her selfe so low, that the Knight 
suddenly fell ouer her, which fall became the rising of her belley. 
But when this wanton perceiued her selfe to be with childe, she 
made her moane vnto the Knight in this manner. 

Ah Sir George, now is the time to perform e your promise, or to 
30 make me a spectacle of infamy to the whole world for euer : in 
the one you shal discharge the duety of a true knight, but in the 
other shew your selfe a most periured person. Small honour will 
it bee to boast in the spoyle of poore maydens, whose innocencie 
all good Knights ought much rather to defend. 

Why thou lewd paltry thing (quoth he) commest thou to father 
thy bastard vpon me ? Away ye dunghill carrion, away : Heare 
you good huswife, get you among your companions, and lay your 
litter where you list : for if you trouble mee any more, by heauen 
I sweare, thou shalt dearely abide it : and so bending his browes 
40 like the angry god of war, he went his wayes, leauing the childe- 
breeding wench to the hazzard of her fortune, eyther good or bad. 

This poore mayden seeing her selfe for her kindnesse thus cast 
off, shedde many teares of sorrow for her sinne, inueighing, with 



Of lacke of Newberie. 6 5 

many bitter groanes, against the vnconstancie of loue alluring 
men. But in the end, when shee saw no other remedy, shee 
made her case knowne vnto her mistresse : who after she had 
giuen her many bitter checks and tants, threatning to turne her 
out of doores, shee opened the matter to her husband. 

So soone as he heard thereof, hee made no more to doe, but 
presently poasted to London after Sir George, and found him at 
my Lord Admirals. What, master Winchcombe (quoth he) you 
are heartily welcome to London, and I thanke you for my good 
cheere. I pray you how doth your good wife, and all our friends 10 
in Barkshire ? 

All well and merry, I thanke you good Sir George (quoth hee) : 
I left them in health, and I hope they doe so continue. And 
trust me sir (quoth he) hauing earnest occasion to come vp to 
talke with a bad debtor, in my iourney it was my chance to light 
in company of a gallant widow: a Gentlewoman shee is, of 
wondrous good wealth, whom griesely death hath bereft of a 
kinde husband, making her a widow, ere she had been halfe 
a yeare a wife : her land, Sir George, is as well worth a hundred 
pound a yeare as one penny, being as faire and comely a creature, 20 
as any of her degree in our whole countrey : Now sir, this is the 
worst, by the reason that she doubts her selfe to be with childe, 
she hath vowed not to marry these twelue moneths : but because 
I wish you well, and the Gentlewoman no hurt, I came of purpose 
from my businesse to tell you thereof: Now Sir George, if you 
thinke her a fit wife for you, ride to her, wooe her, winne her, and 
wedde her. 

I thanke you good master Winchcombe (quoth he) for your 
fauour euer toward me, and gladly would I see this yongue widow 
if I wist where. 30 

She dwelleth not halfe a mile from my house (quoth master 
Winchcombe) and I can send for her at any time if you please. 

Sir George hearing this, thought it was not best to come there, 
fearing loane would father a childe vpon him, and therefore 
answered, hee had no leisure to come from my Lord : But (quoth 
he) would I might see her in London, on the condition it cost 
me twenty nobles. 

Tush sir George (quoth Master Winchcombe) delayes in loue are 
dangerous, and he that will wooe a widow, must take time by the 
forelocke, and suffer none other to steppe before him, lest hee 40 
leape without the widowes loue. Notwithstanding, seeing now 
I haue told you of it, I will take my Gelding and get me home : 
if I heare of her comming to London, I will send you word, or 
perhaps come my selfe : till when, adiew good Sir George. 

Thus parted master Winchcombe from the Knight : and being 
come home, in short time he got a fair Taffety gowne, and a 
French hood for his mayde, saying : Come ye drabbe, I must be 
fayne to couer a foule fault with a fayre garment, yet all will not 

917-6 F 



66 The pleasant Historic 

hide your great belly : but if I finde meanes to make you a Lady, 
what will you say then ? 

O Master (quoth shee) I shall be bound while I Hue to pray 
for you. 

Come then minion (quoth her mistresse) and put you on this 
gowne and french hood : for seeing you haue lien with a Knight, 
you must needs be a Gentlewoman. 

The mayde did so : and being thus attyred, shee was set on 
a fayre Gelding, and a couple of men sent with her vp to London : 
10 and being well instructed by her master and dame what she 
should doe, she tooke her iourny to the Citie in the Tearme 
time, and lodged at the Bell in the Strand : and mistresse Loue- 
lesse must be her name, for so her Master had warned her to call 
her selfe : Neyther did the men that wayted on her, know the 
contrary; for master Winchcombe had borrowed them of their 
Maister, to wayte vpon a friend of his to London, because hee 
could not spare any of his owne seruants at that time : notwith 
standing, they were appointed for the Gentlewomans credite, to 
say they were her owne men. This being done, master Winch- 
20 combe sent Sir George a letter, that the Gentlewoman which he 
told him of, was now in London, lying at the Bell in the Strand, 
hauing great businesse at the Tearme. 

With which newes Sir Georges heart was on fire, till such time 
as he might speake with her : three or foure times went he thither, 
and still she would not be spoken withall, the which close keeping 
of her selfe, made him the more earnest in his suite. 

At length hee watcht her so narrowly, that finding her going 
forth in an euening, hee followed her, shee hauing one man 
before, and another behinde : carrying a verie stately gate in the 
30 streete, it droue him into the greater liking of her, being the more 
vrged to vtter his minde. And suddenly stepping before her, hee 
thus saluted her, Gentlewoman, God saue you, I haue often beene 
at your lodging, and could neuer finde you at leasure. 

Why sir (quoth shee) (counterfeiting her naturall speech) haue 
you any businesse with me ? 

Yes faire Widow (quoth hee) as you are a clyent to the law, so 

am I a sutor for your loue : and may I finde you so fauourable 

to let mee pleade my owne case at the barre of your beauty, 

I doubt not but to vnfold so true a tale, as I trust will cause you 

4 o to giue sentence on my side. 

You are a merry Gentleman (quoth shee) : but for my owne 
part, I know you not ; neuerthelesse, in a case of loue, I will bee 
no let to your sute, though perhaps I helpe you little therein. 
And therefore Sir, if it please you to giue attendance at my 
lodging, vpon my returne from the Temple ', you shall know more 
of my minde, and so they parted. 

Sir George receiuing hereby some hope of good happe, stayed 
for his deare at her lodging doore : whom at her comming shee 



Of lacke of Newberie* 67 

friendly greeted, saying, Surely Sir, your diligence is more than 
the profit you shall get thereby : but I pray you how shall I call 
your name ? 

George Rigley (quoth hee) I am called, and for some small 
deserts I was knighted in France. 

Why then Sir George (quoth shee) I haue done you too much 
wrong to make you thus dance attendance on my worthlesse 
person. But let mee bee so bold to request you to tell mee, how 
you came to know mee : for my owne part I cannot remember 
that euer I saw you before. I0 

Mistris Louelesse (said Sir George) I am well acquainted with 
a good neighbour of yours, called Master Winchcombe, who is my 
very good friend, and to say the truth, you were commended vnto 
mee by him. 

Truly sir George (said shee) you are so much the better welcome : 
Neuerthelesse, I haue made a vowe not to loue any man for this 
twelue moneths space. And therefore Sir, till then I would wish 
you to trouble your selfe no further in this matter till that time 
be expired : and then if I finde you bee not intangled to any 
other, and that by triall I finde out the truth of your loue, for 20 
Master Winchcombs sake your welcome shall be as good as any 
other Gentlemans whatsoeuer. 

Sir George hauing receiued this answer, was wonderous woe, 
cursing the day that euer he meddled with loane, whose time of 
deliuerance would come long before a twelue Moneth were 
expired, to his vtter shame, and ouerthrow of his good fortune : 
for by that meanes should hee haue Master Winchcombe his 
enemy, and therewithall the losse of this faire Gentlewoman. 
Wherefore to preuent this mischiefe, hee sent a Letter in all 
haste to Master Winchcombe, requesting him most earnestly to 30 
come vp to London, by whose perswasion hee hoped straight to 
finish the marriage. Master Winchcombe fulfilled his request, 
and then presently was the marriage solemnized at the Tower of 
London, in presence of many Gentlemen of Sir Georges friends. 
But when hee found it was loane whom he had gotten with childe, 
hee fretted and fumed, stampt, and star'd like a diuell. 

Why (quoth M. Winchcombe} what needs all this ? Came you 
to my table to make my maide your strumpet ? had you no mans 
house to dishonour but mine? Sir, I would you should well 
know, that I account the poorest wench in my house too good to 40 
bee your whore, were you ten knights: and seeing you tooke 
pleasure to make her your wanton, take it no scorne to make her 
your wife : and vse her well too, or you shall heare of it. And 
hold thee loane (quoth hee) there is a hundred pounds for thee : 
And let him not say thou earnest to him a begger. 

Sir George seeing this, and withall casting in his minde what 
friend Master Winchcombe might bee to him, taking his wife by 
the hand, gaue her a louing kisse, and Master Winchcombe great 

F 2 



68 lacke of Newberie. 



thankes. Whereupon hee willed him for two yeares space to take 
his dyet and his Ladies at his house : which the Knight accepting, 
rode straight with his wife to Newberie. 

Then did the Mistris make curtsie to the Maide, saying : You 
are welcome Madam, giuing her the vpper hand in all places. 
And thus they liued afterward in great ioy : and our 
King hearing how lacke had matcht Sir George, 
laughing heartily thereat, gaue him a 

liuing for euer, the better to 
i o maintaine my Lady 

his Wife. 



FINIS. 



The Gentle Craft. 

DISCOURSE 

Containing many matters of Delight, very 
pleafant to be read : 

Shewing what famous men have been SHOO- 

MAKERS in time paft in this Lafcd > with 
their worthy deeds and great Hofpitalicy. 

Set forth with Pi&ureJ, and variety of Wit and Mirth. 

Declaring the caufe why it is called the GENTLE 
CRAFT: and alfo how the Proverb firft grew. 

A Sboomatyrs Son ts a Prince horn. T. D. 



With gentlenefle judge you, 
At nothing here grudge you 5 

The.merry Shoomakers delight in good fport. 
What here is prefentcd, 
Be therewith contented ; 

And as you do like ir 3 (b give your report. 



euro invidiam* 



10 K DON, Printed for John SJtfffbrct, and are to be fold at his 
houfe in Saint Brides Church-yard. 1 6 4 8. 



To all the good Yeomen of the 
GENTLE CRAFT. 



YOu that the Gentle Craft professe, list to my words both 
more and lesse ; 
And I shall tell you many things, of worthy and renowned 

Kings, 
And diuers Lords and Knights also, that were Shoomakers long 

a goe; 

Some of them in their distresse, delighted in this businesse ; 
And some, for whom great wait was laid, did saue their Hues 

by this same trade : 
Other some, in sport and game, delighted much to learne the 

same. 
No other Trade in all the Land, they thought so fit vnto their 

hand; 
For euermore they stil did find that shoomakers bore a gallant 10 

mind: 
Men they were of high conceit, the which wrought many a merry 

feat; 
Stout of courage were they still, and in their weapons had great 

skill, 

Trauellers by sea and land, each Country guise to vnderstand. 
Wrong they wrought not any man, with reason all things did 

they scan: 
Good houses keept they euermore, releeuing both the sicke and 

poore. 
In law no mony would they spend, their quarrels friendly would 

they end. 
No malice did they beare to any, but shew'd great fauour vnto 

many; 
Offences soone they would forgiue, they would not in contention 

Hue; 
Thus in ioy they spent their dayes, with pleasant songs and 

roundelayes, 
And God did blesse them with content ; sufficient for them He 20 

sent; 

And neuer yet did any know, a Shoemaker abegging goe: 
Kind are they one to another, vsing each stranger as his brother. 
Thus liu'd Shoomakers of old, as ancient Writers haue it told : 
And thus Shoomakers still would be, so fame from them shall 

neuer flee. 



To all courteous Readers, health. 

HOw Saint Hugh was son vnto the renowned king of Powis, 
a noble Brittaine borne, who in the prime of his yeares 
loued the faire virgin Winifred, who was the only daughter of 
DonwallO) which was the last king that euer reigned in Tegina, 
which is now called Flint-shire. But she refusing all offers of 
loue, was only pleased with a religious life. Her father was sent 
to Rome, and died ; whose Lady left her life long before. This 
Virgin therefore, forsook her fathers Princely Palace in Pont Varry, 

jo and made her whole abiding in the most sweet pleasent valley of 
Sichnaunt, and liued there solitarily and carelesse of all company 
or comfort. It chanced that in Summers heat, this faire Virgin 
being greatly distressed for lack of drink, and not knowing where 
to get any, there sprang vp suddenly a Christall stream of most 
sweet and pleasant water out of the hard ground, whereof this 
Virgin did daily drink: vnto the which God himselfe gaue so 
great a vertue, that many people, hauing beene washed therein, 
were healed of diuers and sundry infirmities wherewith they were 
borne. Moreouer, round about this Well where this Virgin did 

20 vse to walke, did grow a kind of Mosse which is of a most sweet 
sauour, and the colour thereof is as fresh in Winter as in Summer, 
so that lying thereon, you would suppose yourselfe to be on a bed 
of Down perfumed with most precious odours. 

And what of all this ; Marry, read the booke and you shall 
know ; but read nothing except you read all. And why so ? 1 
Because the begining shews not the middle, and the middle shews* 
not the latter end. 

And so farewell. 



The pleasant History of S. Hugh-, and first 
of all, his most constant loue to 
. the faire Virgin Winifred. 



Onquering and most imperious Loue, hauing seized on the 

_ heart of young Sir Hugh, all his wits were set on worke, how 
for to compasse the loue of the faire Virgin Winifred, whose dis 
dain was the chiefe cause of his care, hauing receiued many 
infinite sorrows for her sake : but as a streame of water being 
stopt, ouerfloweth the bank, so smothered desire doth burst out 
into a great flame of fire, which made this male-contented Louer 10 
to seeke some meanes to appease the strife of his contentious 
thoughts, whereupon he began to encourage himselfe : 

Tush Hugh, let not a few froward words of a woman dismay 
thee; for they loue to be intreated, and delight to be wooed, 
though they would make the world beleeue otherwise : for their 
denyals proceed more of nicenesse then niggardlinesse, refusing 
that they would fainest haue. What if sometimes Winifred frown 
on thee? yet her fauours may exceed her frowardnesse. The 
Sunne is sometimes ouercast with clouds so that his brightnesse 
is not seen. In wars the sorer the fight is, the greater is the glory 20 
of the victory ; and the harder a woman is to be won, the sweeter 
is her loue when it is obtained : wherefore He once againe try my 
fortune, and see what successe my sute shall find. 

On this resolution sir Hugh returned to Winifred, greeting her 
thus. Now faire Lady, hauing slept away the remembrance of 
your sharp answers ; I come againe in a new conceit, to reuiue an 
old sute, and to see if the change of the day will yeeld a change 
of dolours. 

Truly Sir Hugh (quoth shee) if with the change of the day you 
haue changed your opinion : your dolour will be driuen away well 3 
enough : but as touching your suite, it shall be needlesse to 
repeate it, because I am not willing to preferre it. 

Stay there (quoth Sir Hugh) I will preferre it, so that you will 
accept it. 

Now (quoth she) I will accept it, if you will preferre it, in sending 
it back to the place from whence it proceeded, and I would to 
God I could send you away as soone as your suite. 

Why then belike I am not welcome (said Sir Hugh). 

Yes (quoth shee) as welcome to me, as a storme to a distressed 
Mariner. I muse greatly that reason will not rule you, nor words 4 
win you from your wilfulnesse : if you were as weary to wooe as I 
am weary to heare you, I am perswaded that long since you would 



74 The pleasant History 

haue ceased your vain suite. You think by these perswasions to 
turn my opinion ; but as well you may think that you may quench 
fire with oyle : therefore I pray you, good Sir Hugh, be not so 
tedious vnto me, nor troublesome to your selfe. 

Come, come (quoth he) all this will not serue your turn, ponder 
with thy selfe Winifred, that thou art faire, O that thou wert as 
fauourable; thy beauty hath bound me to be thy seruant, and 
neuer to cease, till I see another obtaine thee, or my selfe be 
possessed of my hearts content. Thou art a Kings daughter, and 
10 I a Princes sonne, staine not the glory of true Nobility with the 
foule sin of obstinacy, but be thou as kind as thou art courtly, 
and gentle as thou art noble, and then shall our strife soone end. 

Winifred perceiuing that the further off she was to grant loue, 
the more eager he was to desire it, shifted him off thus : Sir, 
although your ouerhastinesse driue me into the greater doubtful- 
nesse, yet let me intreat you, if you loue me, to giue me one 
months respite to consider on this matter, and it may be that 
vpon my better deliberation it shall be pleasing vnto you, and not 
at all discontent me. 

20 Faire loue (quoth he) far be it from my heart to deny so kind 
a request ; I am content to stay a month from thy sight, were it 
two or three, vpon condition, that thou wouldest then grant me 
thy good will ; three months, although it be very long, yet it will 
come at last, and I could be content for that time to be dead for 
thy sake, insomuch that my life might be renewed by thy loue. 

Nay (quoth Winifred) stay three months and stay foreuer : by 

this a Maid may see how ready men are vpon a light occasion to 

take long daies, whose loues are like a Fernebush, soone set one 

fire, and soone consumed : and seeing it is so, in faith Sir Hugh, 

30 I doe meane to try you better before I trust you. 

Pardon me faire Winifred (said Sir Hugh) if my tongue doe 
outslip my wit : in truth I speak but to please thee, though to 
displease my selfe ; but I pray thee, let it not be three houres, 
nor three quarters of an houre, if thou wilt. 

Nay, nay (quoth she) your first word shall stand : after three 
months come to me a gaine, and then you shall know my mind 
to the full, and so good Sir Hugh be gone : but if I doe euer 
heare from thee, or see thee betwixt this time and the time prefixed, 
I will for euer hereafter blot thy name out of my booke of Re- 
40 membrances and neuer yeeld thee that courtisie which thou at this 
time so earnestly intreatest for. 

Sir Hugh vpon these words departed betwixt hope and dread, 
much like to a man committing a trespasse, that stayed for the 
sentence of life or death. 

O vnhappy man (quoth he) how hath my ouer slippery tongue 
lengthened the time of my sorrow ? She of her selfe most cour 
teously requested of me but one months stay, and I most willingly 
and vndiscreetly added thereto eight weeks more of misery, much 



of the Gentle Craft. 7 5 

like the Hind that hairing a knife giuen him to paire his nailes, 
did therewith murder himselfe. Now I could wish that the Sun 
had Eagles wings, swiftly to fly through the faire firmament, and 
finish six dayes in one dayes time. 

With that he began to count the dayes and houres that were in 
three months, falling (in a manner) to dispaire with himselfe when 
he found them so many in number : and therewithall melancholily 
and sadly he went to his Fathers house, where his brother Griffith 
found by his countenance the perfect map of a pensiue louer : 
whereupon he said vnto him. 10 

Why, how now brother ? Hath Winifreds faire beauty so greatly 
wounded you, as you cannot speak a merry word to your freind, 
but sit in a corner, as if you were tonguelesse like a Stork ? Tush 
brother, women are like shaddowes, for the more a man follows 
them, the faster they run away : but let a man turn his course, 
and then they will presently follow him. What, man ? pluck vp 
a good heart, for there are more women now, then liued in the 
time of our old father Adam. 

O (said Hugh) were there ten thousand times more then there 
are now, what were that to me, if Winifred be vnkinde ? Yet is 20 
she the oyle that still maintaines the lamp of my light, and without 
her there is nothing comfortable to my sight. 

Then (replyed Griffith) you are as much troubled in loue, as 
a Goat in an ague, and as blind as a Flie in October, that will 
stand still while a man cuts of his head, Come, goe ahunting with 
me, that will driue away your ouerfond conceits, and you shall see 
that these three months will come vpon you as a quarterday vpon 
a poore man that hath neuer a penney ready towards the payment 
of his rent. 



C H A P. I I. 30 

How beautiful Winifred being ouer-much superstitious, 
forsook her fathers wealth, and liued poorely by a 
springing Fountain, from whence no man could get 
her to go ; which Spring to this day is called Wini 
freds Well. 

\\TInifred, who had but of late yeeres with her own father 

VV receiued the Christian Faith, became so superstitious, that 

she thought the wealth of the world for euer would haue been an 

heauy burthen for her soule, and haue drawne her mind from the 

loue of her Maker ; wherefore forsaking all manner of earthly 40 

pomp, she liued a long time very poorely, hard by the side of 

a most pleasant, springing Well ; from which place neither her 

friends by intreaty, nor her foes by violence could bring her ; which 

13. Stork] 1648 and all copies stock; but see Note. 



76 The pleasant History 

Sir Hugh hearing, he went thither immediately after vnto her, 
which was the time limited by them both, and rinding her mind 
altogether altered, he wondered not a little what she meant. And 
when he approached near vnto the place where she sate, all silted 
in simple attire, he saluted her with these words. 

All health to faire Winifred : I trust (my Deare) that now the 
Destinies haue yeelded a conuenient opportunity for me to finish 
my long begun sute, with the end of my former sorrowes. Long 
and tedious hath the winter of my woes beene, which with nipping 
10 care hath blasted the beauty of my youthfull delight, which is like 
neuer again to flourish, except the bright Sunshine of thy fauour 
doe renew the same : therefore (fair Loue) remember thy promise 
made vnto me, and put me no more off with vnpleasing delayes. 

She (which all this while sat solemnly reading in her booke) 
lent little eare vnto his words ; which he perceiuing, pluckt her by 
the arme, saying : Wherefore answereth not my faire Loue to her 
dearest perplexed friend ? 

What would you haue (quoth she ?) Can I neuer be quiet for 
you ? Is there no corner of content in this world to be found ? 
20 Yes Winifred (said he) content dwels here or no where ; content 
me, and I will content thee. 

If my content may be thy content, then read this book, and 
there rest content (said Winifred) and if thou refuse this, then 
think not to find content on earth. 

Sir Hugh replied, What, is this all the reward I shall haue for 
obeying your heart-cutting commandment. Haue I thus long 
hoped, and find no better hap ? You wot well that it is now three 
long months since these eyes took comfort of thy beauty, and since 
that time that my bleeding heart hath receiued ioy in thy great 
30 gentlenesse. 

I haue forgot you quite (said she) ; what three moneths is that 
you speak of? For my part, I assure you that it is as far out of 
my mind as you are from the mount of Calvary. 

Faire Winifred (quoth he) haue you forgotten me, and there- 
withall my Loue which was so effectually grounded vpon your 
good liking ? You told me, that now I should receiue an answer 
to my content. 

O Sir (quoth she) you haue stayed ouer-long, and your words 
are irv my hearing as vnprofitable as snow in haruest ; my loue is 
.40 fled to heauen, from whence no earthly man can fetch it, and 
therefore build not on vain hope, nor do thou deceiue thy selfe by 
following an vnprofitable suit ; if euer I loue earthly man, it shall 
be thee, insomuch as thou hast deserued an earthly Ladies loue ; 
but my loue is settled for euer, both in this world, and in the 
world to come : and this I most earnestly intreat thee to take for 
a finall answer. 

With that Sir Hugh turning his head a side, wept most bitterly, 
and in going a way he glanced his eye still back again after his 



of the Gentle Craft. 7 7 

Loue, saying to himselfe : O vnconstant women, vvauering and 
vncertain, how many sorrows are fond men drawn into by your 
wily inticements ? who are also swallowed vp in the gaping gulf 
of care, while they listen after the heart-liking sound of your 
inchanting voices. O Winifred, full little did I think that so hard 
a heart could haue been shrowded vnder so sweet and louing 
a countenance : but, seeing that my good will is thus vnkindly 
requited, I will altogether abhor the sight of women, and I will 
seek the world throughout, but I will find out some blessed plot, 
where no kind of such corrupt cattell do breed. 10 

Hereupon all in a hot hasty humour he made preparation for to 
go beyond the Seas, suiting himselfe after the nature of a melan- 
cholly man ; and arriuing in France, he took his iourney towards 
Paris, which City (at that time) was well replenished with many 
goodly faire women, as well as Britain, though to his thinking 
nothing so louely, but neuerthelesse what they wanted in beauty, 
they had in brauery : which when Sir Hugh saw, he suddenly 
departed from that place, counting it the most pernicious place in 
the whole Countrey ; and from thence he went into Italy, where 
he found such stately Dames and louely Ladies, whom nature had 20 
adorned with all perfection of outward beauty, whose sight put 
him again in remembrance of his faire Loue, which, like fresh 
fuell newly augmented the flame of his burning desire, O (said he) 
how vnhappy am I to be haunted by these heart tormenting fiends, 
bewitching the eyes of simple men with Angel-like faces, and, 
like enchanting Circes, bringing them to a labyrinth of continuall 
woes. 

O Winifred, thy peeuishnesse hath bred my dangers, and done 
thy selfe no good at all. Thou sitest weeping by a Christall 
streame, where is no need of water, while I wander vp and down, 30 
seeking to forget thee ; thou neuer remembrest me, hauing drawn 
the fountaine of mine eyes dry through thy discourteous disdain. 
Might I neuer see any of thy sex, my heart would be more at quiet, 
but euery place where I come puts me in mind of thy perfections, 
and therewithall renews my pain : but I will from hence as soon 
as possible I can, though not so soon as I would for feare lest 
these sweet Serpents should sting me to death with delight. 

Hereupon he passed on so far, that at length he came to a City 
situated in the Sea, and compassed with the wild Ocean. Here 
(quoth sir Hugh} is a fit place for melancholly men ; where it is 40 
supposed no women do Hue, insomuch that their delicate bodies 
cannot abide the salt sauour of the mounting waues : if it be so, 
there will I make my residence, counting it the most blessed place 
vnder heauen. But he was no sooner set on land, but he beheld 
whole troops of louely Ladies passing vp and down in most sump 
tuous attire, framing their gestures answereable to their beauties 
and comly personages. 

Nay, now I see (quoth Sir Hugh} that the whole world is 



78 



The pleasant History 



infected with these deceiuing Syrens and therfore in vain it is for 
me to seek for that I shall neuer find ; and therwithal sought for 
some house wherein he might hide himself from them. But, by 
that time he was set to supper, comes a crue of Courtlike Dames 
richly attired, and with wanton eyes and pleasent speech they 
boldly sate down by him ; and perceiuing him to be a stranger, 
they were not strange to allure him to their delight : wherefore 
while he sat at meat, they yeelded him such mirth as their best 
skill could afford ; and stretching their nimble fingers, playing on 
10 their sweet sounding Instruments, they sang this ensuing song 
with such cleare and quauering voices, as had been sufficient to 
allure chast-hearted Xenocrates vnto folly; and stil as they did 
sing, Sir Hugh answered in the last line, insomuch as it seemed to 
be a Dialogue between them ; and in this manner following, the 
women began their song. 

The Curtizans song of Venice. 

Ladies. Welcome to Venice, gentle courteous Knight, 

Cast off care, and entertain content. 
If any here be gracious in thy sight, 
20 Do but request, and she shall soon content: 

Loues wings are swift, then be not thou so slow ; 
Hugh. Oh that fair e Winifred would once say so. 

Ladies. Within my lap lay down thy comely head, 

And let me stroke those golden locks of thine, 
Looke on the teares that for thy sake I shed, 

And be thou Lord of any thing is mine, 
One gentle looke vpon thy Loue bestow, 
Hugh. Oh that faire Winifred would once say so. 

Ladies. Embrace with toy thy Lady in thine armes, 
30 A nd with all pleasures passe to thy delight : 

If thou doest think the light will work our harmes, 

Come, come to bed, and welcome all the night ; 
There shalt thou find what Louers ought to know, 
Hugh. Oh that faire Winifred would once say so. 

Ladies. Giue me those pearles as pledges of thy Loue, 

And with those pearles the fauour of thy heart, 
Do not from me thy sugred breath remoue, 
That double comfort giues to euery part : 
Nay stay Sir Knight, from hence thou shalt not go. 
40 Hugh. Oh that faire Winifred would once say so. 

When Sir Hugh had heard this song, and therewithall noted 
their wanton gestures, he began to grow suspitious of their proffers, 
and, thinking in himselfe, that either they sought his destruction, 
43. sought i6jj tfc. : thought 1648 



of the Gentle Craft. 7 9 

as the Syrens did to Vlysses ; or that they intended to make 
a prey of his purse, as Lais did of her louers : and therefore sup 
posing some Adder to lie lurking vnder the fair flowers of their 
proffered pleasures, he determined the next morning after (with 
speed) to depart from the City. So when he had with good dis 
cretion auoided their company, while he lay tormented with 
restlesse thoughts on his still tossed bed, began thus to meditate. 

Now I wel see mine own vanity, that is as ill pleased with 
womens fauor as their frowns ; how often haue I with heart sigh 
ing sorrow complained of womens vnkindnesse, making large ro 
inuectiues against their discourtesies ? And yet here where I find 
women as kind as they are faire, and courteous as they are comely, 
I runne into a world of doubts, and so suspitious of their faire 
proffers, as I was earnest to winne Winifreds fauour. It may be 
(quoth he) that it is the nature of this gentle soyle to breed as kinde 
creatures, as the Country of Brittaine breeds coy Dames. 

Vndoubtedly, had my loue first taken life in this kind and 
courteous Climate, she would haue beene as kind as they. If 
I mis-iudge not of their gentlenesse, because I haue alwayes beene 
inured to scornfulnesse ; methinks they are too faire to be harlots, 20 
and too bold to be honest ; but as they haue no cause to hate me 
that neuer hurt them, so haue they little cause to loue me, being 
a far stranger born, to them a man altogether vnknown. 

But it may be that this time of the yeere is onely vnfortunate 
for Louers ; as it is certainly known to all men, that euery season 
of the yeere breeds a sundrie commoditie ; for Roses flourish in 
June, and Gilly flowers in August, and neuer of them both doth 
so in the cold Winter. Such as seek for fruit on the saplesse trees 
in the moneth of lanuary, lose their labours as well as their long 
ing : then why should I couet to gather fruits of loue, when I see 3 
that loue is not yet ripe ? Now let me obserue the season that 
yeelds the sweetest comfort of loue-sick persons, and so I may 
reape the ioyfull fruits of hearts content : I will therefore return 
to my former Loue, hopeing now to find her as friendly, as at my 
departure she was froward : I will once againe intreat her, and 
speak her exceeding faire ; for with many drops the hardest stone 
is pierc'd ; so also with many importunate intreaties a flinty heart 
may be moued to some remorse. I take no pleasure at all in any 
place, but onely in her presence, with the which she continually 
graceth a running streame ; far be it from her minde to kisse her 40 
own shadow in the Chrystall spring, and to be in loue with her 
own similitude ; for so she might be spoiled as Narcissus was : for 
it is commonly scene, that sudden dangers follows fond opinions. 

So with this and the like thoughts he droue out the night till 
the Suns bright eye began to peep at his chamber window, at 
which time dressing himselfe, he went to the water side, where he 
found a ship ready to transport rich merchandize into the western 
Hands, in the which Sir Hugh became a passenger. But when 



8o The pleasant History 

they were put off to Sea, there arose so sudden a storme, and 
of long continuance, that no man looked for life, but expected 
euery moment present death, so that the Mariners quite forsooke 
the tackle, and the Master the helme, committing themselues to 
God, and their ship to the mercy of the swelling Seas, by whose 
furious waues they were sometime tossed vp towards heauen, anon 
thrown down to the deep of hell. In which extremity Sir Hugh 
made this lamentation : 

O vnhappy man, how eagerly doth mischance pursue me at my 
ro heels ; for betwixt my Loue on the land, and danger of life on 
the Sea, it hath made me the wretchedst man breathing on 
earth. 

Here we may see that miseries haue power ouer men, and not 
men ouer miseries. Now must I die far from my friends and 
be drenched in the deepe, where my body must feed the fishes 
that swim in the rich bottom of the Sea. Therefore faire Winifred, 
the chiefe ground of my griefs, here will I sacrifice my last teares 
vnto thee, and poure forth my complaints. 

O how happy should I count my selfe, if those fishes which 
ao shall Hue on my bodies food, might be meat for my Loue ! It 
grieueth me much to think that my poore bleeding heart, wherein 
thy picture is engrauen, should be rent in pieces in such greedie 
sort ; but thrice accursed be that fish that first seteth his nimble 
teeth thereon, except he swim therewith vnto my Loue, and so 
deliuer it as a present token from me. 

Had my troubled stars allotted me to leaue my life in the 
pleasant valley of Sichnant, then no doubt but my Loue with her 
faire hands would haue closed vp my dying eyes, and perhaps 
would haue rung a peal of sorrowfull sighs for my sake. 
30 By this time was the weather beaten Bark driuen by the shore of 
Sicilie, where the men had safety of their Hues, although with losse 
of the ship, and spoile of their goods : but they had no sooner 
shaken off their dropping wet garments on the shore, but that they 
were asaulted by a sort of monstrous men that had but one eye 
apiece, and that placed in the midst of their foreheads, with whom 
the tempest-beaten Souldiers had a firce fight, in which many of 
them were slain, and diuers of them fled away to saue themselues ; 
so that in the end Sir Hugh was left alone to Fortune in a double 
fray : and hauing at last quite ouercome all his aduersaries, he 
40 went his way, and was so far entered into the dark wildernesse, 
that he could not deuise with himselfe which way he should take 
to get out, where he was so cruelly affrighted with the dreadfull 
cry of fierce Lyons, Beares, and wilde Bulls, and many thousand 
more of other dangerous and cruell, rauenous Beasts, which with 
greedy mouthes ranged about for their prey, in which distresse 
Sir Hugh got him vp into the top of a tree, and, being there, brake 
out into this passion : 

O Lord (quoth he) hast Thou preserued me from the great 



of the Gentle Craft. 8 i 

perill and danger of the Sea, and deliuered me out of the cruell 
hands of monstrous men, and now sufferest thou me to be deuoured 
of wild beasts ? Alas, that my foule sins should bring so many 
sundrie sorrows on my head. 

But for all this may I thank vnkinde Winifred^ whose disdain 
hath brought my destruction. Wo worth the time that euer my 
eyes beheld her bewitching beauty. But hereby we may see that 
the path is smooth that leadeth to danger. But why blame 
I the blamelesse Lady? Alas, full little did she know of my 
desperate courses in trauell. But such is the fury that hants 10 
frantick Louers, that neuer feare danger vntill it fall, and light 
vpon their own heads. 

But by that time that the day began to appeare, he perceiued 
an huge Elephant with stiffe joynts stalking towards him, and 
presently after came a fiery-tongue Dragon, which suddenly 
assaulted the peacefull Elephant in whose subtle encounter the 
wrathfull Dragon with his long, wringing taile did so shackle the 
hinder feet of the Elephant together, that, like a prisoner fast 
fettered in irons, he could not stir a foot for his life : what time 
the furious Dragon neuer left till he had thrust his slender head 20 
into the Elephants long hooked nose, out of which he neuer once 
drew it, vntill by sucking the Elephants blood, he had made him 
so feeble and so weak, that he could stand no longer vpon his 
feet; at which time the fainting Elephant with a greiuous cry, 
fel down dead vpon the Dragon : so with the fall of his weightie 
body burst the Dragon in peices, and so killed him ; whereby their 
bloods being mingled together, it stain'd all the ground where 
they both lay, changing the green grasse into a rich scarlet colour. 

This strange fight betwixt these two beasts caused good Sir 
Hugh to iudge that Nature had planted betwixt them a deadly 30 
hatred, the fire whereof could not be quenched but by shedding 
of both their hearts blood. Now when Sir Hugh saw that grim 
death had ended their quarrell, and perceiuing no danger neare, 
he came down from the tree, and sought to find out some inhabited 
Town : but being intangled in the woods, like the Centaure in his 
Labirinth, he could by no meanes get out, but wandred in 
vnknown passages leading him to many perils. 

At last another Elephant met him, who according to his kind 
nature neuer left him till he had conducted him out of all danger, 
and brought him out of the Wildernesse into the way again ; 40 
wherby sir Hugh at the length came in sight of a Post-town, where 
in foure dayes after he imbarked himselfe in a ship bound for 
Brittaine^ and at last obtained the sight of his natiue Countrey, where 
he arriued in safetie, though in very poore sort, coming on shore 
at a place called Harwich, where for want of money he greatly 
lamented. And made much moan. But meeting with a merry 
lourneyman-shoomaker dwelling in that town, and after some 
conference had together, they both agreed to trauell in the Countrey, 

917.6 G 



82 The pleasant History 

where we will leaue them, and speake of Winifred, and of her 
great troubles and calamities. 



CHAP. III. 

How faire Winifred was imprisoned, and condemned to 
die for her religion : and how Sir Hugh became a 
Shoomaker, and afterwards came to suffer death with 
his Loue: showing also how the Shoemakers tools 
came to be called Saint Hughs bones, and the trade of 
shoo-making; ^The Gentle Craft. 

10 /\^ T n a ^ ter that tne doctrine f Christ was made known in 
^/-^Brittaine, and that the worship of heathen Idols was for 
bidden, yet many troubles did the Christians endure by the 
outragious bloodthirstinesse of diuers woluish Tyrants, that by the 
way of inuasion set footing in this Land, as it fell out in the 
dayes of Diodesian, that with bloody minds persecuted such as 
would not yeeld to the Pagan Law : amongst which the Virgin 
Winifred was one, who, for that she continued constant in faith, 
was long imprisoned. 

During which time, Sir Hugh wrought in a shoemakers shop, 

20 hauing learned that trade, through the courteous directions of 
a kind Journeyman, where he remained the space of one whole 
yeere, in which time he had gotten himselfe good apparell, and 
euerything comely and decent. Notwithstanding though he were 
now contented to forget his birth, yet could hee not forget the 
beauty of his Loue : who although she had vtterly forsaken him, 
yet could he not alter his affections from her, because, indeed 
affections alter not like a pale-faced coward. The wildest Bull 
(quoth he) is tamed being tied to a Fig-tree, and the coyest Dame 
(in time) may yeeld like the stone Charchaedonis, which sparkles 

30 like fire, and yet melts at the touch of soft wax. Though Roses 
haue prickles, yet they are gathered ; and though women seem 
froward, yet they will shew themselues kind and friendly. Neither 
is there any wax so hard but, by often tempering, is made apt to 
receiue an impression. Admit she hath heretofore been cruell, 
yet now may she be courteous. A true hearted Louer forgets all 
trespasses, and a smile cureth the wounding of a frown. Thus, 
after the manner of fond Louers, he flattered himselfe in his own 
folly, and in the praise of his faire Ladie he sang this pleasant 
Dity here following : 

40 The pride of Brittain is my hearts delight, 

My Lady Hues, my true loue to requite : 
And in her life I Hue, that else were dead, 
Like withered leaues in time of Winter shed. 



of the Gentle Craft. 8 3 

She is the toy and comfort of my mind, 

She is the sun that clearest sight doth blind, 

The fairest flower that in the world doth grow, 
Whose whitnesse doth surpasse the driuen snow. 

Her gentle words more sweet than honey are, 
Her eyes for clear nesse dims the brightest star. 

O, were her heart, so kind as she is faire, 
No Lady might with my true lone compare. 

A thousand griefs for her I haue sustained, 

While her proud thoughts my humble suit disdained 10 

And though she would my heart with torments kill, 
Yet would I honour, serue and loue her still. 

Blest be the place where she doth like to Hue: 
Blest be the light that doth her comfort giue : 

And blessed be all creatures farre and near, 
That yeeld relief vnto my Lady dear. 

Neuer may sorrow enter where she is, 

Neuer may she contented comfort misse, 
Neuer may she my proffered loue forsake ; 

Btit my good will in thankfull sort to take. 20 

Thus feeding his fancy with the sweet remembrance of her beauty, 
being neuer satisfied with thinking and speaking in her praise, at 
length he resolued himselfe to go into Flint-shire, where he might 
sollicite his suit anew again : but coming neere to the place of her 
residence ; and hearing report of her troubles, he so highly com 
mended her faith and constancy, that at length he was clapt vp in 
prison by her, and in the end he was condemned to receiue equall 
torment, for a triall of his own truth. 

But during the time that they lay both in prison, the lourney- 
men Shoomakers neuer left him, but yeelded him great reliefe 30 
continually, so that he wanted nothing that was necessarie for 
him, in requital of which kindnesse he called them Gentlemen of 
the Gentle Craft, and a few dayes before his death, he made this 
song in their due commendations. 

Of Craft and Crafts-men, more and lesse, 

The Gentle Craft / must commend 
Whose deeds declare their faithfulnesse, 

And hearty loue vnto their friend: 
The Gentle Craft, in midst of strife, 

Yeelds comfort to a carefull life, 40 

A Prince by birth I am indeed, 

The which for Loue forsook this Land ; 

And when I was in extreme need, 
I took the Gentle Craft in hand, 
G 2 



84 The pleasant History 

And by the Gentle Craft alone, 

Long time I liu'd being still vnknown, 

Spending my dayes in sweet content. 
With many a pleasant, sugred Song : 

Sitting in pleasures complement, 
Whilst we recorded Louers wrong: 

And while the Gentle Craft we vs'd, 
True Loue by vs was not abus'd. 

Our shoos we sowed with merry notes, 
And by our mirth eocpeld all mone : 

Like Nightingales, from whose sweet throats, 
Most pleasant tunes are nightly blown; 

The Gentle Craft is fittest, then, 
For poore, distressed Gentlemen. 

Their minds do mount in courtesie, 

And they disdain a niggards feast : 
Their bodies are for Chiualry, 

All cowardnesse they do detest. 
For Sword and Shield, for bowe and Shaft, 
30 No man can stain the Gentle Craft. 

Yea sundry Princes sore distrest, 
Shall seek for succour by this Trade : 

Whereby their griefs shall be redrest, 
Of foes they shall not be afraid. 

And many men of fame likewise 
Shall from the Gentle Craft arise. 

If we want money ouer night, 

Ere next day noon God will it send, 
30 Thus may we keep our selues vpright, 

And be no churl vnto our friend: 
Thus do we Hue where pleasure springs, 
In our conceit like petty Kings. 

Our hearts with care we may not kill, 
Mans life surpasseth wordly wealth, 

Content surpasseth riches still, 

And fie on knaues that Hue by stealth: 

This Trade therefore both great and small 
The Gentle Craft shall euer call. 

, When the lourney-men Shoemakers had heard this song, and 
the faire title that Sir Hugh had giuen their Trade, they engraued 
the same so deeply in their minds, that to this day it could neuer 
be razed out : like a remembrance in a Marble stone, which con- 
tinueth time out of mind. 

But not long after came that dolefull day, wherein these two 



of the Gentle Craft. 8 5 

Louers must lose their Hues, who like to meeke Lambs were led 
to the slaughter : the bloody performance thereof was to be done 
hard by that fair Fountain, where the Loue-despising Lady made 
her most abode : and because she was a Kings daughter, the 
bloody Tyrant gaue her the priuiledge to chuse her own death : 
to the which she passed with as good a countenance, as if she had 
been a fair young Bride prepared for marriage. 

(viz) When they were come to the place of execution, and 
mounted vpon the Scaffold, they seemed for beauty like two 
bright stars, Castor and Pollux; there they imbraced each other J o 
with such chaste desires, as all those that beheld them, admired 
to see how stedfast and firme both these Louers were, ready in 
hearts and minds to heauen itself. 

At what time the Lady turned her selfe to Sir Hugh and spake 
to this effect : Now do I find thee a perfect Louer indeed, that 
hauing setled thy affections aboue the skies, art readie to yeeld 
thy life for thy Loue, who, in requitall thereof, will giue thee thy 
life foreuer. 

The loue of earthly creatures is mixed with many miseries, and 
interlaced with sundrie sorrows ; and here grief shall abate the 30 
pleasures of loue but be wel assured that ioy shall follow the 
same. 

Thou didst wooe me for loue, and now I haue won thee to 
loue, where, setling both our selues vpon God His loue, we will 
loue one another; and in token of that heauenly loue receiue 
of me I pray thee, a chaste and louing kisse from my dying lips. 

Fair Winifred (quoth he) it is true indeed ; I neuer loued truly 
vntill thou taughtest me to loue ; for then my loue was full of 
discontent : but now altogether pleasing, and more sweet is the 
thought thereof than any tongue can expresse. The thing that I 3 
euer before called Loue, was but a shadow of loue, a sweetnesse 
tempered with gall, a dying life, and a liuing death, where the 
heart was continually tossed vpon the Seas of tempestuous 
sorrows, and wherein the mind had no calme quietnesse : and 
therefore blessed be the time that I euer learned this loue. 

With that he was interrupted by the Tyrant who said, You are 
not come hither to talk, but to die ; I haue sworn you both shall 
die at this instant. 

Thou Tyrant (said Sir Hugh) the verie like sentence is pro 
nounced against thy selfe ; for Nature hath doomed thou shalt die 4 
likewise, and albeit the execution thereof be something deferred, 
yet at length it will come, and that shortly, for neuer did Tyrant 
carrie gray hairs to the graue. 

The young Lady desired first to die, saying to Sir Hugh, Come, 

dear friend, and learn magnanimity of a Maide : now shalt thou 

see a silly woman scorn death at his teeth, and make as small 

account of his cruelty, as the tyrant doth of our Hues ; and there- 

46. as small 1675 &c. : a small 1648 



86 The pleasant History 

withall stript vp her silken sleeues, and commited her Alabaster 
arms into the executioners foule hands, hairing made choice to 
die in bleeding : at what time, being pricked in euery vain, the 
scarlet blood sprang out in plentifull sort, much like a precious 
fountain lately filled with Claret wine. 

And while she thus bled, she said : Here do I sacrifice my 
blood to him that bought me, who by his blood washt away all 
my sinnes. O my sweet Sauiour, thus were thy sides pierced for 
my transgressions, and in this sort sprang thy precious blood 
10 from thee, and all for the loue thou bearest to mankind : I feele 
my heart to faint, but my soule receiueth strength, I come sweet 
Christ I come. And therewithall her body fainting, and the blood 
failing, like a Conduit suddenly drawn drie, the young Princesse 
fell down dead, at what time a pale colour ouer-spread her faire 
face in such comely sort, as if a heap of Roses had been shadowed 
with a sheet of pure Lawn. 

But it is to be remembred, that all the while the young Princesse 
bled, her blood was receiued into certain basons, which being in 
that sort saued together, the Tyrant caused it to be tempered with 
20 poyson, and prepared it to be the last drink that Sir Hugh should 
haue, saying ; That by her loue whom he so dearely loued he 
should receiue his death. And thereupon, incontinently, without 
any further delaying of time, he caused a cup of that most deadly 
poysoned blood to be deliuered into his hands, who with a louely 
and cheerfull countenance receiued the same and then vttered 
his mind in this manner. 

O thou cruell Tyrant (quoth he) what a poore spite is this to 
inflict vpon a dying man, that is as carelesse how he dies, as 
when he dies ; Easie it is for thee to glut me with blood, although 
30 with blood thou art not satisfied. Sweet blood (quoth he) precious 
and pure, how faire a colour dost thou cast before mine eyes ? 
Sweet I say wast thou, before such time as this ill-sauouring poyson 
did infect thee : and yet as thou art I nothing despise thee. O 
my dear Winifred, full little did I think that euer I should come 
to drink of thy heart blood. 

My greedy eye, that glutton-like did feed vpon thy beauty, and 
yet like the Sea was neuer satisfied, is now with thy gore blood 
fully gorged. Now may I quench my thirsty desire with loue, that 
like hot, burning coals set my heart in such an extreme heat, that 
40 it could not be quenched before this time ; for if fair Winifred 
could spare any loue from heauen, assuredly she left it in her blood ; 
her sweet, heart blood I mean, that nourished her chast life : see, 
here is a caudle to cool my vain affections. Far be it that any 
true Louers should euer tast the like. 

But this punishment haue the iust heauens poured vpon me, 
for the preferring the loue of an earthly creature, before the loue 
of an heauenly Creator ; Pardon, O Lord, the foule sins of 
superstitious Louers, that while they make Idols of their Ladies, 



of the Gentle Craft. 8 7 

they forget the honour of thy diuine Maiesty. Yet doth it do my 
heart much good to think that I must bury sweet Winifreds blood 
in my body, whose loue was lodged long ago in my heart : and 
therewithall drinking the first draught, he said, O Lord, me 
seemeth this portion hath a comfortable taste, far doth it surpasse 
that Nectar wherewith the gods were nourished. 

Well (said the tyrant) seeing it pleaseth thee so well, thou shalt 
haue more; and therewith another cup of the same blood was giuen 
him to drink. 

Yes come (quoth he) my thirst is not quenched ; for the first 10 
draught gaue me but a taste of sweetnesse, and like a longing 
woman, I desire the rest; and with that he drank the second 
draught. The third being deliuered him, he took the cup into 
his hand, and, looking about, he said : Lo here I drink to all the 
kind Yeomen of the Gentle Craft. 

I drink to you all (quoth he) but I cannot spare you one drop 
to pledge me. Had I any good thing to giue, you should soon 
receiue it : but my selfe the Tyrant doth take, and my flesh is 
bequeathed to the fowls, so that nothing is left but onely my bones 
to pleasure you withall ; and those, if they will do you any good, 20 
take them : and so I humbly take my leaue, bidding you all 
farewell. 

There with the last draught, he finished his life, whose dead 
carkasse after hanged vp where the fowls deuoured his flesh ; and 
the young Princesse was contemptuously buried by the Well where 
she had so long liued. Then had he the title of St. Hugh giuen 
him, and she of Saint Winifred, by which termes they are both so 
called to this day. 



CHAP. IV. 

How the Shoemakers stole away Saint Hughs bones, and 30 
made them working tools thereof, and the vertue that 
they found in the same : whereby it came, that when 
any man saw a Shoomaker trauelling with a pack at 
his back, they would presently say: There goes Saint 
Hughs bones. 

VPon a time it chanced, that a company of lourneymen 
Shoomakers passed along by the place where Saint Hughs 
dead body was hanging, and finding the flesh pickt cleane off 
from the bones, they entred thus into communication among 
themselues. 40 

Neuer was Saint Hugh so bare (quoth one) to carry neuer 
a whit of skin vpon his bones ; 



88 The pleasant History 

Nor thou neuer so bare (said another) to beare neuer a penny 
in thy purse. But now seeing you talk of Saint Hugh, it brings 
me to remembrance of his Legacy that he gaue vs at his death : 

What was that said the rest ? 

Marry (quoth he) I will tell you, When the gentle Prince saw 
that the cruelty of the time would not suffer him to be liberall to 
his friends, but that his life was taken away by one, and his flesh 
giuen to others, he most kindly bequeathed his bones vnto vs. 

Tush (quoth another) that was but to shew his mind towards 
10 the Shoemakers, because he had receiued of them so many 
fauours : for alas, what can the dead mans bones pleasure the 
liuing ? 

No (quoth another) I can tell you there may be as great vertue 
found in his bones, as the brains of a Weasill, or the tongue ot 
a Frog. 

Much like (answered the rest) but I pray thee shew vs what 
vertue is in those things you speak of. 

(Quoth he) I will tell you ; the braines of a Weasill hath this 
power experientia docet, that if the powder thereof be mingled 
20 with the runnet, wherewith women make their Cheese, no mouse 
dares touch it : In like manner, the tongue of a water-frog hath such 
great force in it, that if it be laid vpon the breast of any one 
sleeping it will cause them to tell whatsoeuer you shall demand ; 
for by that meanes Dick Piper knew he was a Cuckold. Againe, 
I know that those that are trauellers are not ignorant that whoso- 
euer puts but six leaues of Mugwort in his shooes, shall nere be 
weary, though he trauell thirtie or fourtie miles on foot in a 
forenoon. 

That indeed, may be true (quoth one) for by the verie same 
30 hearb my last Dame kept her Ale from sowring : and it is said 
that where housleek is planted, the place shall neuer be hurt with 
thunder : Pimpernel is good against Witchcraft ; and because my 
sister loan carried alwayes some about her, Mother Bumby could 
not abide her : Therefore what vertue a dead mans bones may 
haue, we know not till we haue tryed it. 

Why then (said the third man) let vs soon at night steal Saint 
Hughes bones away, and, albeit the Tyrant will be displeased, yet 
it is no theft ; for you say they were giuen vs, and therefore we 
may the bolder take them ; And because we will turn them to 
40 profit, and auoid suspition, we will make diuers of our Tools with 
them, and then if any vertue do follow them, the better we shall 
find it. 

To this motion euery one gaue his consent, so that the same 
night Saint Hughes bones were taken down, and the same being 
brought before a sort of shoomakers, there they gaue their opinion ; 
That it was necessary to fulfill the will of the dead, and to take 
those bones in as good a part, as if they were worth ten thousand 
pounds ; whereupon one stept out, and thus did say. 



of the Gentle Craft. 8 9 

My friends ; I pray you list to me, 

And mark what S. Hughes bones shall be. 

First a Drawer and a Dresser, 

tivo wedges, a more and a lesser : 

A pretty block three inches high, 

in fashion squared like a Die, 

Which shall be called by proper name, 

a Heel-block, the very same. 

A Hand-leather and a Thumb-leather likewise, 

to pull out shoo-threed we must deuise ; 10 

The Needle and the Thimble, 

shall not be left alone, 
The Pincers and the pricking Aule, 

and the rubbing stone. 
The Aule steele and tackes, 

the Sow-haires beside, 
The Stirrop holding fast, 

while we sowe the Cow-hide, 
The whetstone, the stopping-stick, 

and the paring knife : 20 

All this doth belong 

to a lourneymans life, 
Our Apron is the Shrine, 

to wrap these bones in : 
Thus shrowded we Saint Hugh 

in gentle Lambs skin. 

Now all you good Yeomen of the Gentle Craft, tell me now 
(quoth he) how like you this ? 

* As well (replyed they) as Saint George doth of his horse, for as 
long as we can see him fight with the Dragon, we will neuer part 30 
from this Posie. 

And it shall be concluded, that what lourney-man soeuer he be 
hereafter, that cannot handle his Sword and buckler, his long 
sword or a Quarter-staffe, sound the Trumpet, or a play vpon the 
Flute, and bear his part in a three mans Song, and readily reckon 
vp his Tools in Rime : except he haue born Colours in the field, 
being a Lieutenant, a Sergeant or Corporall, shall forfeit and pay 
a pottle of Wine, or be counted for a colt : to which they answered 
all viua voce, Content content ; and then after many merry songs, 
they departed. And neuer after did they trauell without these 40 
tools on their backs : which euer since were called Saint Hughes 
bones. 



go The pleasant History 



CHAP. V. 

How Crispianus and his brother Crispine the two sons 
of the King of Logria^ through the cruelty of the 
Tyrant Maximinus, were fain in disguised manner to 
seek for their Hues safty, and how they were enter 
tained by a shoemaker in Feuersham. 

WHen the Romane Maximinus sought in cruell sort to 
bereaue this Land of all her noble youth or youth of noble 
blood ; the vertuous Queen of Logria (which now is called Kent) 

10 dwelling in the city Durouernum, alias Canterbury, or the Court 
of Kentishmen, hauing at that time two young sons, sought all the 
meanes she could possible to keep them out of the Tyrant's claws ; 
and in this manner she spake vnto them : 

My dear and beloued sons, the ioy and comfort of my age, you 
see the dangers of these times, and the stormes of a Tyrants reign, 
who, hauing now gathered together the most part of the young 
Nobilitie, to make them slaues in a forraign Land, that are free- 
born in their own Countery, seeketh for you also thereby to make 
a cleare riddance of all our born Princes, to the end he might 

20 plant strangers in their stead. Therefore (my sweet sons) take 
the counsell of your mother, and seek in time to preuent ensuing 
danger which will come vpon vs suddenly as a storme at sea, and 
as cruelly as a Tyger in the wildernesse ; therefore, suiting your 
selues in honest habits, seek some poore seruice to shield you from 
mischance, seeing necessity hath priuiledged those places from 
Tyrannie. And so (my sons) the gracious Heauens may one day 
raise you to deserued dignitie and honour. 

The young Lads seeing that their mother so earnest to haue 
them gone, fulfilled her commandment, and, casting off their attire, 

30 put homlie garments on, and, with many bitter tears took leaue of 
the Queen their mother, desiring her before they went to bestow 
her blessing vpon them. 

O my sons (quoth she) stand you now vpon your ceremonies ? 
Had I leasure to giue you one kisse, it were something ; the Lord 
blesse you, get you gon, away, away, make hast I say, let not swift 
time ouerslip you, for the Tyrant is hard by : with that she pushed 
them out of a back doore, and then sets herselfe down to weep. 

The two young Princes, which like pretty lambs went straying 
they knew not whither, at length by good fortune, came to 

40 Feuersham, where, before the dayes peep, they heard certain 
shoomakers singing, being as pleasant as their notes, as they sat at 
their businesse, and this was their Song, 



of the Gentle Craft. 9 1 

Would God that it were Holiday, 

hey dery down down dery ; 
That with my Lone I might go play, 

with woe my heart is weary : 
My whole delight, is in her sight, 

would God I had her company, 
her company, 
Hey dery dmvn, down adown. 

My Loite is fine, my loue is fair, 

hey dery down, down dery : 10 

No maid with her may well compare, 

in Kent or Canterbury ; 
From me my Loue shall neuer moue, 

would God I had her company, 
her company, 
Hey dery down, down adown. 

To see her latigh, to see her smile, 

hey dery down, down dery: 
Doth all my sorrows clean beguile, 

and makes my heart full merry ; 20 

No grief e doth grow where she doth go, 

would God I had her company, or. 
Hey dery down, down adown. 

When I do meet her on the green, 

hey dery down, down dery : 
Methinks she looks like beauties Queen, 

which makes my heart full merry ; 
Then I her greet with kisses sweet, 

would God I had her company, &c. 
Hey dery down, down adown. 30 

My Loue comes not of churlish kind, 

hey dery down, doiun dery: 
But bears a louing and courteous Mind, 

which makes my heart full merry ; 
She is not coy, she is my toy, 

would God I had her company, &c. 
Hey dery down, down adown. 

Till Sunday comes farewell my dear, 

hey dery down, down dery ; 
When we do meet we'll haue good chear, 40 

and then we will be merry : 
If thou loue me, I will loue thee, 

and still delight in thy company, &c. 
Hey dery doivn, down dery. 



g 2 The pleasant History 

The young Princes perceiuing such mirth to remain in so 
homely a cottage, iudged by their pleasant notes, that their hearts 
were not cloyed with ouer many cares, and therefore wished it 
might be their good hap to be harboured in a place of such great 
content. 

But standing a long time in doubt what to do, like two 
distressed strangers, combating twixt hope and feare; at length 
taking courage, Crispianus knocking at the doore : What knaue 
knocks there (quoth the lourneyman) and by and by down he 
10 takes his quarter staffe and opens the doore, being as ready to 
strike as speake, saying : What lack you ? To whom Crispianus 
made this answer : 

Good sir, pardon our boldnesse, and measure not our truth by 
our rudenesse ; we are two poore boyes that want seruice, stript 
from our friends by the furie of these warres, and therefore are we 
enforced, succourlesse to craue seruice in any place. 

What, haue you no friends or acquaintance in these parts to go 
to (said the Shoomakers) by whose means you might get pre 
ferment ? 

20 Alas Sir (said Crispianus] necessitie is despised of euery one, 
and misery is troden down of many; but seldome or neuer 
relieued : yet, notwithstanding, if our hope did not yeeld us some 
comfort of good hap, we should grow desperate through distresse. 

That were great pitic (said the Shoomaker) be content, for, as 
our Dame tels our Master, A patient man is better then a strong 
man. Stay a while, and I will call our Dame to the doore, and 
then you shall heare what she will say. 

With that he went in, and forth came his Dame, who beholding 
the said youths, said : Now alas, poore boyes, how comes it to 
30 passe that you are out of seruice? What, would you be Shoo 
makers, and learn the Gentle Craft J 

Yes, forsooth (said they) with all our hearts. 

Now by my troth (quoth she) you do look with honest true faces. 
I will intreat my husband for you, for we would gladly haue good 
boyes ; and if you will be iust and true, and serue God, no doubt 
you may do well enough. Come in, my lads, come in. 

Crispianus and his brother with great reuerence gaue her thanks ; 
and by that time they had stayed a little while, down came good- 
man, and his wife hard by his heels, saying : husband, these be 
40 the youths I told you of, no doubt but in time they will be good 
men. 

Her husband looking wishtly vpon them and conceiuing a good 
opinion of their fauors at length agreed that they should dwell 
with him, so that they would be bound for seuen years. The 
youths being contented, the bargain was soon ended, and so set 
to their business whereat they were no sooner setled, but that 
great search was made for them in all places; and albeit the 
Officers came to the house where they dwelt, by reason of their 



of the Gentle Craft. 9 3 

disguise they knew them not : hauing also taken vpon them 
borrowed names of Crispianus and Crispine. 

Within a few days after, the Queen their mother was by the 
tyrant taken, and for that she would not confesse where her sonns 
were, she was laid in Prison in Colchester Castle, whereunto she 
went with as cheerfull a countenance as Cateratus did, when he was 
led captiue to Rome \ and coming by the place where her sonnes 
sat at work, with a quick eye she had soon espied them ; and looke 
how a dying coal reuiues in the wind, euen so at this sight she 
became suddenly red : but, making signes that they should hold 10 
their tongues, she was led along : whom seuen yeers after her 
sons did neuer see. But as men stand amazed at the sight of 
Apparitions in the ayre, as ignorant what successe shall follow ; 
euen so were these two Princes agast to see their own mother thus 
led away, not knowing what danger should ensue thereof. 

Notwithstanding, they thought good to keep their seruice as 
their Hues surest refuge : at what time they both bent their whole 
minds to please their Master and Dame, refusing nothing that 
was put to them to do, were it to wash dishes, scoure kettles, or 
any other thing, whereby they thought their Dame's fauour might 20 
be gotten, which made her the readier to giue them a good report 
to their Master, and to do them many other seruices, which other 
wise they should haue missed ; following therin the admonition 
of an old lourney-man, who would alwayes say to the Apprentices : 

Howsoeuer things do frame ', 

Please well thy Master ', but chiefly thy Dame. 

Now, by that time, these two young Princes had truly serued 
their Master the space of foure or fiue yeers, he was grown some 
thing wealthy and they very cunning in their trade ; whereby the 
house had the name to breed the best workmen in the Countrey ; 30 
which report in the end prefer'd their Master to be the Emperours 
Shoomaker : and by this means, his seruants went to Maximinus 
Court euery day : but Crispianus and Crispine fearing they should 
haue been known, kept themselues from thence, as much as they 
could. Notwithstanding, at the last perswading themselues that 
Time had worne them out of knowledge, they were willing in the 
end to go thither, as well to hear tidings of the Queen their 
mother, as also for to seek their own preferment. 



94 The pleasant History 



CHAP. VI. 

How the Emperours faire daughter Vnula^ fell in loue 
with young Crispine coming with shooes to the Court ; 
and how in the end they were secretly married by a 
blind Frier. 

NOw among all the shoemakers men that came to the Court 
with shooes, young Crispine was had in greatest regard with 
the fair Princesse, whose mother being lately dead, she was the only 
ioy of her father, who alwayes sought means to match her with 
i o some worthy Romane, whose renown might ring throughout the 
whole world. 

But fair Vrsula, whose bright eyes had entangled her heart with 
desire of the Shoemakers fauour, despised all proffers of loue, in 
regard of him. And yet notwithstanding she would oft check 
her own opinion, in placing her loue vpon a person of such low 
degree, thus reasoning with her self. 

Most aptly is the god of Loue by cunning Painters drawn blind, 
that so equally shoots forth his fiery shafts : for had he eyes to 
see, it were impossible to deal in such sort, as in matching fair 
20 Venus with foule Vulcan, yoking the Emperiall hearts of Kings 
to the loue of beggers, as he did to Cofetua^ and as now in my self 
I find how mad a thing it would seem to the eyes of the world, 
that an Emperors daughter should delight in the fauour of a 
simple Shoemaker. 

O Vrsula, take heed what thou dost, stain not thy royalty with 
such indignity. O that Crispines birth were agreeable to his 
person ! for in mine eye, there is no Prince in the world com 
parable to him : if then while he is clothed with these rags of 
seruitude, he appear so excellent, what would he be were he in 
30 Princely attire ! O Crispine, either thou art not as thou seemest, or 
else Nature, in disgrace of Kings, hath made thee a shoemaker. 

In these humours would the Princesse be often, especially at 
Crispines approach, or at his departure ; For, as soon as euer he 
came within her sight with shooes, a sudden blush like a flame of 
lightning would strike in her face, and at his departure, an earthly 
pale colour, like to the beams of the bright Sunne obscured by 
coal-blacke clouds. But after many weary conflicts with fancy, 
she fully resolued, at his next coming, to enter into communication 
with him, but imagining his stay from Court ouer long, on the 
40 sudden she sent presently for him, finding great fault in the last 
shooes he brought her. At what time Crispine most humbly on 
his knee greatly craued pardon for all such faults as she then had 
found, promising amendment in the next shooes she should haue. 

Nay (quoth she) He shew thee, they are too low something in 



of the Gentle Craft. 9 5 

the instep ; also the heel is bad, and besides that, they are too 
strait in the toes. 

You shall haue a pair made (said he) shall fit you better, for 
none shall set a stitch in them but mine own self. 

Do, said the Princesse, but let me haue them so soon as thou 
canst, and therewith Crispine departed. 

The Princesse then all solitary, got her self into her Chamber, 
entred there into consideration, and found within her self great 
trouble and sorrow, while the tongue, the hearts aduocate, was 
not suffered to speak. At last'she heard Crispines voice, enquiring 10 
of the Ladies in the great Chamber for the Princesse, who answered, 
That hauing taken little rest the night before, she was now laid 
down to sleep, and therefore they willed him to come again some 
other time. 

Asleep, replyed the Princesse ! I am not asleep, bid him stay : 
What hasty huswife was that which sent him hence ? Call him 
againe quickly I would aduise you. 

And therefore changing melancholly into mirth, she arose vp 
from out of her bed, and, as a bright starre shooting in the Element, 
she swiftly got her forth to meet the shoomaker, whose faire sight 20 
was to her as great a comfort as a Sunshine before a showre of raine. 

How now (quoth she) hast thou brought me a pair of shooes ? 

I haue gracious Madam)' quoth he.\ 

Then (quoth the Princesse) come thy selfe and draw them on : 
therewith she sitting down, lifted vp her well proportioned legge 
vpon his gentle knee. Where, by that time her shooes were drawn 
on, she had prepared a good reward for her shoomaker and, 
giuing him an handfull of gold, she said : Thou hast so well pleased 
me in making of these shooes, that I cannot but reward thee in 
some good sort ; therefore Shoomaker, take this, and from hence- 3 
forth let no man make my shooes but thy self. But tell me 
Crispine, art thou not in loue, that thou doest smug up thy selfe 
so finely, thou wast not wont to go so neatly : I pray thee tell me 
what pretty wench is it that is mistresse of thy heart ? 

Truly, faire Madam (quoth he) If I should not loue, I might be 
accounted barbarous, for by natures course, there is a mutuall 
loue in all things : the Doue and the Peacock loue intirely, so doth 
the Turtle and the Popiniay : the like affection the fish Musculus 
beareth vnto the huge Whale, insomuch that he leadeth him from 
all danger of stony rocks ; and as among birds and fishes, so 4 
amongst plants and trees the like concord is to be found ; for if 
the male of palme trees be planted from the female, neither of both 
prosper : and being set one neer another, they do flourish accord 
ingly, imbracing with ioy the branches one of another. And for 
mine one part, I am in loue too : for first of all, I loue my Maker ; 
and next, my good Master and Dame : But as concerning the 
loue of pretty wenches, verily Madam, I am cleare : and the 
rather do I abstain from fixing my fancie on women, seeing many 



9 6 The pleasant History 

sorrowes do follow the married sort, for a dramme of delight hath 
a pound of pain. 

That is (answered the Princesse) where contention setteth the 
house on fire, but where true loue remaines, there is no discon 
tent : and what can a man more desire for this worlds comfort, 
but a vertuous wife, which is reported to be a treasure inestimable. 
Therefore Crispine > say thy mind, if I prefer thee to a wife, euery 
way deseruing thy loue, wouldst thou take it well ? 

Truly Madam (said Crispine] if I should not accept of your 
10 good will, I should shew my selfe more vnmannerly than well 
nurtured : But seeing it pleaseth you to grace me with your 
Princely countenance, and to giue me libertie to speak my mind, 
this is my opinion : If I were to chuse a wife, then would I haue 
one faire, rich, and wise ; first, to delight mine eye : secondly, to 
supply my want, and thirdly, to gouern my house. 

Then (said the princesse) her beauty I will referre vnto the 

iudgement of thine own eyes, and her wisedome vnto the triall of 

Time : but as concerning her portion, I dare make some report, 

because it well deserueth to be praised : For at her marriage thou 

20 shalt haue a bagge full of rare vertues with her. 

Truly Madam (quoth Crispine] such coynes go not currant 
among Tannars : and I know, if I should go with it to the Market, 
it would buy me no soale-leather. Notwithstanding when I doe 
see her, I will tell you more of my mind. 

The Princesse, taking him aside priuately, walking with him in 
a faire Gallerie, said ; in looking vpon me, thou mayest iudge of 
her, for she is as like me as may be. 

When Crispine heard her say so, he right prudently answered : 
I had rather, Madam, she were your own selfe, than like yourselfe, 
30 and although my words fauour of presumption, yet, with your 
fauour, I dare boldly pronounce it, that I hold my selfe worthy 
of a Queen, if I could get her good will. And were it no danger 
to match with your Excellency so it should please you, it should 
not dislike me. 

Then said the Princesse : Now shoemaker, I see thou hast some 
courage in thee : and doubt thou not, but if I were of that mind, 
but I would be as ready to guide thee from the dangerous rocks 
of my Fathers wrath, as the fish called Musculus is for the Whale : 
But couldst thou not be contented to die for a Ladies loue ? 
40 No Madam (quoth he) if I could keep her loue and Hue. 

Then Hue faire friend (answered she) enioy my Loue, for I will 
die rather than Hue without thee. 

Crispine hearing this, was stricken into an extasie of ioy, in such 
sort, as he wist not whether he were asleep or dreamed : But by 
that time he had summoned his wits together, with the plighting 
of his faith, he opened his estate and high birth vnto her, shewing 
all the extremities that he and his brother had been put vnto since 

i. delight 167^ &c. : light 1648 21. go not 16 js lye. : go out 1648 



of the Gentle Craft. g 7 

the death of their royall Father, and of the imprisonment of the 
Queen, their Mother. 

The which when faire Vrsula with great wonder heard, giuing 
him an earnest of her loue with a sweet kisse : she said ; My deare 
Loue, and most gentle Prince, euer did I think, that more than 
a common man was shrowded in these poore habiliments, which 
made me the bolder to impart my mind vnto thee, and now dread 
no more my Fathers wrath, for the fire thereof was long agoe 
quenched. 

No, no (quoth Crispine) an Eagles thirst is neuer expelled, but 10 
by blood. And albeit your father haue now (parhaps) qualified 
the heat of his fury by the length of time, yet if he should vnder- 
stand of this my loue to thee, it would cause him to rake out of 
the ashes hot, burning coals of displeasure again : and then might 
my life pay a deare price for thy loue. Therefore (my deare 
Vrsula) I desire thee, euen by the power of that loue thou bearest 
to me to keepe secret what I haue shewed thee, nothing doubting 
but that in time I may find release of these miseries ; in the 
mean space we will be secretly married, by which holy knot we, 
as well in body as in heart, be vnseperately tied together. 20 

To this Vrsula consented most gladly, and therevpon told him 
that she would meet him in her fathers Park, at any houre he 
would appoint ; which she might do the more easily, in respect 
she had a key to one of the Garden doores which gaue present 
passage into the Park. The day and houre being concluded vpon, 
they parted for this time, both of them indued with such content 
as in all their Hues they neuer found the like. 

And at this time there was in Canterbury a blind Frier that in 
many yeers had neuer seen the Sun ; to this man did Crispine 
go, thinking him the fittest Chaplain to chop vp such a marriage, 3 
who, meeting with him at Christ Church one euening after the 
Antheme, broke with him after this manner. 

Good speed good father : there is a certain friend of mine that 
would be secretly married in the morning betimes ; for which 
purpose he thinks you the fittest man to perform it in all the Cloy- 
ster : and therefore, if you will be diligent to do it, and secret to 
conceal it, you shall haue foure angels for your pains. 

The Frier being fired with the desire of his gold, rubbing his 
elbow and scratching his crown, swore by the blessed Book that 
hung by his knee, that he would be both willing and constant to 40 
keep it secret. Tush young man, you may trust me, I haue done 
many of these feats in my dayes. I know that youth are youth, 
but they would not haue all the world wonder at their doings : and 
where shall it be, said the Frier, 

(Quoth Crispine) At Saint Gregories Chappell ; and because you 
shall not make your boy acquainted therewith, I my selfe will call 
you in the morning. Good father be not forgetfull to obserue the 
38. fired 1675 &c. : fixed 1648 

917.6 H 



98 'The pleasant History 

time, at two of the clock is the houre, and therefore look you be 
ready when I shall call you. 

I warrant you (replied the Frier :) and because I will not ouer- 
sleep my selfe, I will for this night lie in my clothes, so that as 
soon as euer you call, I will straight be readie. 

Then father, I will trust you (quoth Crispine] and so departed. 

When he came to his master, he made not many words, but so 

soon as he had supt on Sunday at night, he went to his chamber, 

and laid him down vpon his bed, making no creature in the house 

10 priuy to his intent, not his own brother, hisminde still running on 
his faire Mistresse, and the happie houre that will tie them both in 
one : neuer was there hunger-starued man that did long more for 
the sweet approach of wholsome food than did Crispine for two a 
clock. And so soon as the silent night had drawn all things to 
rest, Crispine got him vp, and to Canterbury goes he to meet his 
rose-cheeked Lady in her Fathers Park, who also took hold of 
Times forlock, and, like clear Cynthia, shaped her course to seek 
out Sol in the Meridian. But so soon as her searching eye had 
spied him, she commended his vigilancie, saying he well obserued 

20 his houre : 

my dear (quoth he) rich preys do make true men theeues : 
but finding thee here so happily, I will fetch the Frier straight : 

He had no sooner called at the Friers doore, but he presently 
heard him : and groaping the way down, he opened the doore, 
and along they went together : but the Frier, finding his iourney 
longer than he expected, said, That either Saint Gregories Chappel 
was rernoued, or else he was not so good a foot man as he was 
wont to be : 

That is likely enough (said Crispine :) for how much the older 
30 you are since you went this way last, so much the weaker you are 
to trauell, but be you content, now we are at the last come to the 
place, and therefore, good Frier, make what speed you may. 

1 warrant you (quoth he) and therewithall he puts his Spectacles 
vpon his nose. 

The fair Princesse perceiuing that, laughed heartily, saying, 
Little need hath a blind man of a paire of Spectacles. 

Truly Mistresse (said he) as little need hath an old man of 
a young wife ; but you may see what vse is. Though I be blind 
and cannot see neuer a letter, yet I cannot say Masse without my 
40 book and my Spectacles ; And then he proceeded to solemnize 
their marriage, which being finished, the Frier had his gold, and 
home he was led : 

In the mean time the Princesse stayed still in the Park for her 
Bridegroom, where when he came on a bank of sweet primroses, 
he pluckt the rose of amorous delight : and after the Princesse 
came to her fathers Palace, and Crispine to his Masters shop. 



of the Gentle Craft. g g 



CHAP. VII. 

How Crispianus was prest to the wars, and how he 
fought with Iphkratis the renowned Generall of the 
Persians^ who made warre vpon the Frenchmen : 
shewing also the occasion that a Shoemakers son is 
said to be a Prince born. 

IN the mean time that Crispins was secretly busied about 
his marriage, his brother Crispianus, the same night, with 
many others, was prest to wars into the Countrey of Gaul, now 
called France, which made his Master and Dame full of woe ; who 10 
had committed to his gouernment the whole rule of his house. 
And when Crispine came home, they told him what chance had 
hapned. And demanded where he had been ; they said they were 
glad he had so well escaped. 

Crispine excusing himselfe so well as he could, said he was 
sorrie for his brothers sudden departure ; notwithstanding, the ioy 
of his late marriage mitigated much of his sorrow : to whom, in his 
brothers absence, his Master gaue the ouersight of his houshold, 
which place he guided with such discretion, as thereby he got 
both the good will of his Master, and the loue of the houshould : 20 
And as he sate one day at his work, he sung this song in commenda 
tion of marriage ; himselfe sung the Ditty, and his fellows bore 
the burthen. 

Among the ioyes on earth, though little ioy there be, 

hey down down adown, fine is the silken twist, 
A mong the married sort much comfort I do see : 

hey down down adown, beleeue it they that list. 
He that is a married man hath beautie to embrace, 

hey down down adown, and therefore mickle wo: 
He liueth in delight, and is in happie case, 30 

hey doivn down adown, in faith we think not so. 
His wife doth dresse his meat, with euerything most meet, 

hey doivn down adown, fair women loue good chear : 
And when he comes to bed, she giues him kisses sweet, 

hey down down adown, for thanks he pays full dear 
A hundred honey sweets, he hath when that is done, 

hey down down adown, the truth is seldome known. 
He hath in a little time a daughter or a son, 

hey down down adown, God grant they be his own. 
A wife is euermore, both faithfull true, and iust, 40 

hey down down adown, 'tis more than you do know : 

21. commendation 1673 &c.\ communication 1648 
H 2 



TOO The pleasant History 

Her husband may be sure in her to put his trust, 
hey down down adown, most are deceiued so. 

While he doth ride abroad, she looks vnto his house, 
hey down down adown, the finest cloth is torn : 

And when he comes, she giues him brawn and sowse, 
hey down down adown, and oftentimes the horn. 

How now, what is that you say (quoth Crispine) ? 

Nothing (quoth they) but onely beare the burthen of your Song. 
And surely we think it great pity that you are not married, seeing 
10 you can sing so well in the praise of marriage. 

Truly (quoth he) were it not for that holy Institution, what 
would the world be but a brood of haplesse bastards ; like to the 
cursed seed of Cain, men fit for all manner of villany, and such as 
would leaue behind them a race of runnagates, persons that would 
liue as badly as they are lewdly begotten. 

The rest of the lourney-men hearing him enter into such a deep 
discourse of the matter, began therefore to demand many questions: 
but seeing it appertaines not to our matter, weele leaue them to 
their disputation : and in the mean space I will shew you some- 
20 thing of Crispianus, who is now in France, with many other noble 
Brittains, whom Maximinus sent thither to aid the Gauls against 
the mightie force of Iphicratis the Persian general!, who had at 
this time inuaded their Countrey with a great power. 

The day of battel being appointed, the Armies met in the field, 
at what time both the Generals like two Lyons filled with wrath 
in their proud march viewed one another, breathing forth on both 
sides words of disdain, and thus the Generall of the Gauls began. 

Thou insulting Commander of the Easterne troups, how durst 
thou set thy ambitious foot within our territories ? Cannot the 
30 confines of Persia content thee, nor those conquered Kingdomes 
alreadie in thy hand, but that with vnsatiable desire thou must 
come to vsurp our right ? Know thou, that the vndaunted Gauls 
do scorn thee : for albeit that Alexander like, thou seekest to 
subdue the whole world, flattering thy selfe in thy fortunes, yet 
neuer think that the son of a shoomaker shall bend our neck to a 
seruile yoke. Therefore in our iust right we are come to giue thee 
hire for thy pride, and by the force of our swords to beat down 
the Scepter of thy proud thoughts. 

The renowned Iphicratis vpon these words made this replie : 
40 Now may I report that the Gauls can do something, finding them 
such good scoulds : But know this that I come not to raile, but 
to reuenge those contemptuous speeches, and with the points of 
sturdie Launces, to thrust them down your throats again. Indeed, 
my fathers trade is a reproach vnto me, but thou art a reproach to 
thy father : but thou shalt vnderstand that a Shoemakers son is a 
Prince born, his fortune made him so, and thou shalt finde no 
lesse. 



of the Gentle Craft. i o i 

And hereupon, the trumpets sounding to a charge, and the 
drums striking a alarum, there followed a sore and cruell fight : 
wherein Crispianus like a second Hector laid about him, hewing 
down his foes on euery side. Whose valiancy and Princely 
courage was noted of all the Gauls. 

And this fierce fight ended with the nights approach, each Army 
tooke their rest. At what time the noble Generall of the Gauls 
sent for Crispianus, and receiuing him with sundrie kind imbrace- 
ments in his tent, he demanded of what birth he was. 

To whom Crispianus shaped his answer : Most worthie Generall, I0 
my birth is not meane, and by secrets lesse, but by trade I am 
a Shoemaker in England. 

A Shoemaker (said the Generall !) If such fame wait vpon 
Shoemakers, and such magnanimity follow them, well were it for 
vs if all the people in the Kingdome were Shoemakers. And 
as great thanks I am to giue Maximinus for sending me such 
a Souldier, as he may be proud to haue such a subiect : and now 
right sorrie am I that euer I reproached famous Iphicratis, with 
his fathers trade, seeing I find it true, that Magnanimity and 
knightly Prowesse is not alwayes tied within the compasse of 20 
Noble blood. And for my own part, I will so honourably requite 
thy deseruings, that thou shalt blesse the time thou euer earnest 
into these wars. 

The next morning the Generals ioyned battell again, resoluing 
in this fight either by death or victory, to make an end of these 
troubles, where the Souldiers on each side stroue for the golden 
wreath of renown. The two Generals meeting in the battell, 
fought couragiously together ; in which bloody conflect the Prince 
of the Gauls was thrice by Iphicratis, vnhorsed, and as many 
times of Crispianus mounted again : but in the end the great 3 
Commander of the Eastern Armie so mightily preualed, that he 
had seized on the person of the French Prince, and was carrying 
him captiue to his Colours. 

But so highly was Crispianus fauoured of Fortune, that he and 
his fellows met him in the pride of his conquest : who then all 
besmeared in the Persian blood, set vpon Iphicratis, and so manly 
behaued himselfe, that he recouered the Prince again, and in de- 
spight of the Persians, brought him to his royall Tent ; in which en 
counter the noble Iphicratis was sore wounded, by reason whereof 
the Souldiers had rest for three or foure dayes : in which space 4 
Iphicratis sent to the Prince of Gauls, to know what kin he was 
that in such a valiant sort rescued him out of his hands : saying, 
that if he would serue him, he would make him Ruler ouer 
a mightie Kingdome. 

The French Prince sent him word, that it was a right hardie 
Brittaine, which had performed that honourable seruice : but no 
knight, though well deseruing greater dignity, but a Shoemaker in 
33. him i6jj &c. : 1648 omits 



IO2 The pleasant History 

England : and thus (quoth he) a Shoemakers son was by a Shoo- 
maker foiled. 

When Iphicratis vnderstood this, he sent word again to the 
Gauls that for the fauour of that worthy man, he would not only 
cease the wars, but foreuer after be a friend to the Gauls : which 
ioyfull message when the French King vnderstood, most willingly 
he imbraced the vnlooked for tydings of happie peace : and there 
upon made Crispianus a knight. 

After the which there was a great feast ordained, whereunto 

10 the renowned Iphicratis was inuited, and the two generals, with 

Crispianus^ friendly met together. Thus the sowre war was ended 

with sweet feasting : and Iphicratis soon after departed out of the 

Countery with his Army, and neuer after annoyed them. 

Then the French King, writing his Letter of thanks vnto the 
Emperour Maximinus, did therein certifie him of the Princely acts 
of Crispianus, whereby he was brought into the emperours fauour ; 
and with these letters Crispianus returned into England. 



CHAP. VIII. 

How the Lady Vrsula finding her selfe to be with child, 
20 made her great moan vnto her husband Crispine, and 
how he prouided for her a secret place, where she 
was deliuered. 

IN the mean space the Lady Vrsula finding her selfe to be with 
child, and her vnknown husband coming one day with shooes 
vnto her, she made her moan vnto him, saying : O Crispine, how 
shall we do ? the time of my sorrow and shame draweth on ; I feel 
that liuing in my womb, which I fear will bring death vpon vs all : 

Why my dear lady (answered he) art thou with child? keep 
thy chamber close, and wittily excuse thy griefs, vntill I haue found 
30 means to procure our safety. 

But dost thou mean faithfully (said she) wilt thou not deceiue 
me, and for fear of my fathers wrath flie the country? if thou 
shouldest do so, then were I the wretchedst Lady aliue. Forsake 
me not sweet Crispine^ whatsoeuer thou doest, but take me with 
thee wheresoeuer thou goest : it is not my fathers frowns that 
I regard, so I may haue thy fauour : what do I care for a Princely 
Pallace : an homely Cottage shall content me in thy company. 

my Loue, I will rather learn to spin hemp for thy shop-threed, 
than Hue without thee in the greatest pleasure. 

40 I will not leaue thee my dear Loue (quoth he) by that faith 

1 vow, which I plighted to thee at our blessed marriage; and 
therefore be contented, and it shall not be long before I return. 

Leauing thus his sad lady, he came home and secretly brake 



of the Gentle Craft. 103 

the matter vnto his dame, desiring her counsell in this his 
extremity. 

What, how now (quoth she) hast thou got a Maid with child ? 
Ah thou whorson villain, thou hast vndone thy selfe, how wilt thou 
do now ? Thou hast made a faire hand ; here is now sixteen 
pence a week beside sope and candles, beds, shirts, biggins, wast- 
coats, headbands, swadlebands, crosse-clothes, bibs, tailclouts, 
mantles, hose, shooes, coats, petticoats, cradle and crickets, and 
beside that a standing-stole, and a posnet to make the child pap : 
all this is come vpon thee, be sides the charges of her lying-in. 10 
Oh Crispine^ Crispine, I am heartily sorry for thee. 

But, in good faith, if I knew the quean that hath brought thee 
to this folly ; I would haue her by the face, I swear to you : for 
though I spake it before thee {Crispine} thou art a proper fellow, 
and thou mightest haue done full well if thou hadst had grace ; 
God hath done his part on thee : and with that she began with 
kindnesse to weep. Whereupon her Husband, coming in, asked 
what she ailed : 

Oh man (said she) Crispine \ 

Why, why, what of Crispine ? Tell me. Why speakest thou not ? 20 

We shall lose a good seruant, so we shall. 

What seruant shall we lose foolish woman (quoth he ?) Tell me 
quickly. 

O husband ! by Cock and Pie I swear, He haue her by the nose. 

Who wilt thou haue by the nose ? What the Deuill, art thou 
mad, that thou wilt not answer me ? 

Crispine, who at his Masters coming shunned the roome, lending 
an eare vnto those words, went to his Master and said vnto him : 
Sir, these foure yeeres haue I serued you ; and the fifth draws 
neer to an end ; and as I haue found you a good Master to me, so 30 
I trust you haue had no great cause to complain of me, though 
(through ignorance) I haue sometimes made offence : and know 
ing at this instant, no man so neer a friend vnto me as your selfe, I 
haue thought good to impart my secret counsell to you : some 
thing I presume vpon my Dames fauour : which made me open 
that vnto her, which now I wish I had not discouered. Notwith 
standing, resting more vpon your discretion than her secrecie, 
I would desire your counsell in a matter that concerns me very 
neer. 

Verily (said his master) if it be a thing wherein I may do thee 4 
good, thou shalt find that I will not fall from thee in thy sorrows, 
and therefore be not abashed to declare thy mind, for I swear, if 
I may procure thee right, thou shalt put vp no wrong. 

Why then Sir, thus it is (quoth he) my will running before my 
wit, I haue gotten a Maiden with child, and I wot not in this case 
what to do, that I might preserue the Maid from shame, and I 
my selfe from discredit : besides, I doubt, if it be known, it will 
cost me my life : therefore, in such case good master be secret. 



IO4 The pleasant History 

Tush man feare not (quoth he) it is a matter of nothing : but 
I pray thee, now tell me what wanton wagtaile is that thou hast 
clapt thus vnder the apron ? 

O Master (quoth he) the Kings faire Daughter Vrsula is my 
Loue, and she it is that Hues in care for my sake. 

Passion of my heart, thou whorson Knaue (quoth his Master) 
thou art a dead man. I maruell how the Deuill thou earnest to 
be so bold with her ? Surely thou hast drawn on her shooes on 
Sunday, I may say, thou hast left so good a token behind : but in 
10 truth my boy I commend thee that thou wouldest shoot at the 
fairest. 

Yea sir (quoth Crispine} and I haue hit the mark I trow, and 
do verily beleeue, that none will shoot so neere again. 

Nay swear not (said his master), many may aim at faire marks 
and more then one man hits them now and then : but what 
wouldst thou haue me to do in this case ? 

My good master (quoth Crispine} the truth is, she is my wife ; 
and the very same night my brother was prest to the warres, 
I was married to her : and if you could tell me how she might be 
20 deliuered of her burden without any suspition, I should not only 
remain beholding to you while I liued, but would also gratifie your 
kindnesse in such sort as would content you. 

His Dame all this while listned to their talk, and when she 
vnderstood he spake of the Kings daughter, and that he had 
married her, she said, Now Gods blessing on thy heart Crispine, 
that thou art so carefull for thy wife, but it maketh me wonder 
she should marrie a Shoemaker ; and a poore fellow too. 

Master and Dame (quoth Crispine), seeing I haue begun, 
He shew you a further matter as strange as the other. The 
30 necessitie of these times makes many Noble personages to mask 
in simple habite, as lupiter did in a shepherds weed; and the 
truth is, that Ladie Vrsula is not ignorant that by matching with 
me she hath wedded a Prince : and you may say, that these flue 
yeeres two Princes haue serued you obediently, vnder the simple 
borrowed names of Crispine and Crispianus. Our Royall Father 
was slaine by the Emperour Maximinus, and the Queen our mother 
yet lies imprisoned, and your poore house, and these leather 
garments haue been our life of defence against the blood-thirsty 
Tyrant. Now you see, that though there were hate towards vs in 
40 the father, yet there is loue yeelded vs by the daughter. This 
must be kept for a certain time from the knowledge of him, lest 
our Hues pay a dear ransome for our loues. 

Well, Crispine (quoth his Dame) be of good cheare, for I haue 
a deuice in my head, how to get thy Loue out of her fathers 
Pallace, that she may be brought to bed in my own house, without 
either hurt to thee, or dishonour to her, if thou wilt do as I wish 
thee. When you do perceiue that she grows neere vnto the time 
of her trauell, I would wish you to work such meanes as to set 



of the Gentle Craft. 105 

some tree on fire late in the night, that standeth somewhat neere 
one of the Beacons vpon the Sea coast, whereby it will follow that 
such Watchmen as watch at our Beacons, supposing the Beacons 
at the Sea coast to be on fire, will set theirs on fire also. Then 
will there be a great hurly burly, with the preparation of men at 
Armes on all sides, to withstand the supposed foe, that which they 
shall neuer find : then (as you know) Maximinus, with his houshold 
will be in most fear, because he is most hated, that whilest he is 
abroad, the rest of his houshold will euery one of them seek for 
their own safegard, amongst the which, let faire Vrsula be one, 10 
who, by that meanes singling her selfe alone, may take vp my 
house, and here she may be closely kept till she be deliuered, taking 
vpon her the name and habite of a simple woman. 

But the truth of this matter (quoth Crispine} I doubt it will 
soone be perceiued and found out ; then how shall Ladie Vrsula 
do, for she will straight be missed. 

Tush thats no matter (quoth his dame) and missed let her be, 
vntill such time as she is in a better case to go abroad againe ; so 
in such a tumult as then will be, they will suppose many things, 
that one mischance or other is befallen her : or if she be in health, 20 
that she hath wandred into the woods or some other vncouth 
place, where she might best prouide for safety : and when she 
comes home again, I warrant thee Crispine, she shall be welcome. 

Then said his Master, I like my wiues counsell well ; therefore 
by my consent put it in practice : 

Whereunto Crispine consented and so making the Lady priuie 
to the purpose, at length it was put in execution, at what time 
there was crying out on all sides, Arme, Arme, Arme : our enemies 
are coming vpon vs. Where (quoth they?) at Rutupium said 
one ; At Aurugagus Castle, said another : (quoth the third) it is at 3 
Doris : I tell you (quoth the fourth) it is at Duur : And all 
this is but Douer (saith the fifth man) and at Douer it is vndoubt- 
edly, therefore haste, haste away : for neuer was there more need : 
so that Maximinus was almost at his wits end, as one not knowing 
which way to turn, the cries of the people came so thick, one after 
another. The waiting gentle women left the Princesse, and sought 
their own safetie. Thus while some were busie in carrying out 
the Kings treasure, others hiding the plate, and others the goods, 
Vrsula had an easie passage into the Shoemakers house. 

The young Prince Crispine was gone with the rest of the town 40 
towards Douer, where when they came there was nothing to do ; 
which when Maximinus saw, he was not a little glad the wars were 
so soon ended : But when he came to the Court and missed his 
daughter, there was posting vp and down in euery place to seek 
her, but all in vain, for no man could meet with her, for which he 
made a great lamentation, making a Proclamation throughout the 
whole Countrey, That whosoeuer could bring her to him, he should 
not onely haue a Princely reward, but also, if he were a man of 



106 The pleasant History 

Noble blood, he should be honoured with the marriage of his 
fair daughter. This was good news to Crispine, who was not to 
learn to make profit thereof. 

But by that time his Lady was light, Crispianus his eldest 
brother arriued into England with great honour, as before you 
haue heard. And before he went to the Court, he thought it good 
to visit his old Master, who came also in good time to the chris 
tening of his brothers child, which when he with wonder beheld, 
noting what a strange accident there was, that Maximinus daughter 
10 should be his brothers wife. But after that he had in Princely 
manner saluted the new deliuered Lady, taking the infant in his 
arms, he kissed it, saying ; Now I will say and swear (said he) 
that a Shoomakers Son is a Prince born, ioyning in the opinion 
of Iphycratis, and henceforth Shoomakers shall neuer let their 
terme die. 

Then turning to his Master and Dame (he said) how much dear 
Master and Dame, are we bound to your fauours, that haue main 
tained our honors with our happinesse ; for by that means, I 
hope we shall make a ioyfull conclusion of our sorrowfull beginning, 
20 and I will so work that the Emperour shall confirm what is alreadie 
begun ; I mean, the honour due to these Princely Louers, and, 
together with our happy fortunes, procure our mothers liberty. 

Hereupon within a short time after, he made preparation to the 
Court, he attired himselfe in Princely manner, and with a most 
knightly grace he deliuered to Maximinus, the King of Gauls letter, 
where he certified the Emperor of the honourable deeds performed 
by Crispianus, whereupon he receiued him to great fauour, and 
said vnto him, Right renowned Knight, for the great honour thou 
hast done me in jFrance, I will honour thee with anything which 
30 thou shalt command that standeth with the Maiesty and credit of 
an Emperor to giue. 

Then I beseech your Highnesse (quoth he) to grant me the life, 
and liberty of my dear Mother, that late Queen of Logria. 

Art thou her sonne ? (said Maximinus} although thy father was 
my foe, yet I must needs say, he was a couragious and warlike 
Prince, thy suit is granted, and once I had a daughter was worthy 
of thy loue, but vnconstant Fortune hath bereft me of that blisse : 
but had it pleased the fair Heauens to haue left her me till this 
day, I would haue made thee more honourable by her match : 
40 But seeing that my wishing doth nothing profit thee, take hence 
the richest lewell I haue, and be thou next my selfe in authority : 
with that he took from his own neck a Collar of most precious 
Diamonds, and gaue it to Crispianus, saying, be thou as fortunate 
as Policrates. 



of the Gentle Craft. 107 



CHAP. IX. 

How fair Vrsula came before her father with Crispins 
her husband, who was ioyfully receiued by him, and 
in the end had his good will to confirme the marriage 
betwixt them, whereupon there was great ioy on both 
sides. And the Shoomakers in honour of this happy 
day, made a ioy full Song. 

Within a certain space after, word was brought to the 
Emperour, that his daughter was with a shoemaker come 
to the Court ; whereat Maximinus was stricken into a sudden ioy, 10 
saying : An honourable Shoomaker may he be that hath brought my 
fair daughter again, Welcome my sweet Vrsula, and in good time 
welcome to thy father ; and welcome also is this happy young man, 
that hath so fortunately brought thee, and turning to Crispianus, 
he said : Noble Sir Knight, take here my daughter to wife ; 

Not so, dear Father (quoth she) this man hath best deserued my 
loue, that hath preserued my life, and his wife will I be. 

Why Vrsula (said her Father) wilt thou darken the sun-shine of 
my ioy, with the clouds of foule obstinacy, and yoke thy selfe 
so vnequally ? This man is a Prince. 20 

And this mans son is another (quoth she). 

That is strange (said the Emperour) ; can that child be a Prince, 
whose father is but a Shoomaker ? 

Then answeared Vrsula, My Royall Father, a Shoomakers son 
is a Prince born : 

Most gracious Lord (quoth Crispianus] the very like sentence did 
I hear the renowned Iphicrates pronounce to the King of Gauls, 
when he vpbraided him with his birth : 

With that Crispines Dame presented the child to the Emperour, 
and fair Vrsula was very deligent to vncouer the childs face, and 30 
held it to her Father. 

Why daughter (quoth he) art thou not a shamed to honour a 
base born brat so much ? Hence with the Elfe, and therewithall 
pusht it from him ; whereat his daughters tears trickled down her 
cheeks, and so kissing the child, gaue it again to the woman. 

What (said Maximinus} dost thou loue the child so well, that 
thou must kisse it, and weep for it ? 

I haue cause deare Father (quoth she) for that this childs mother 
lay in my mothers belly. 

At these words the Emperor suspected something, and demanded 4 
of Crispine of what parentage he was. And then knowing that 
he was Crispianus brother, all the controuersie was ended, 
and their secret marriage confirmed openly, with great ioy and 
triumph ; at which time the Shoomakers in the same town made 



io8 'The pleasant History 

Holiday: to whom Crispine and Crispianus sent most Princely 
gifts for to maintain their merriment. And euer after vpon that 
day at night, the Shoomakers make great cheare and feasting, in 
remembrance of these two Princely brethren: and because it 
might not be forgotten, they caused their names to be placed in 
the Kalender for a yeerly remembrance, which you shall find in 
the moneth of October, about three dayes before the feast of 
Simon and lude. 

The Shoomakers song on Crispianus night. 

10 ^ j ^Wo Princely brethren once there were, 

jl right Sonnes vnto a King. 
Whose father tyrant Maximinus 

to cruell death did bring: 
Crispianus, one was calPd, 

the eldest of the two ; 
Crispine was the others name, 

which well had learned to wooe. 
These brethren then were after fain, 

from fathers house to flie : 
20 Because their foes, to spoil their Hues 

in priuy wait did lie, 
Into a kind shoemakers house, 

they suddenly stept in ; 
And there to learn the Gentle Craft, 

did presently begin. 
And fiue yeers space they liued so, 

with great content of mind ; 
So that the Tyrant could not tell, 

whereas he shoud them find: 
30 Though euery day to Court they came, 

with shooes for Ladies feet ; 
They were not known by their attire, 

they vs'd themselues so meet. 
At length vnto the furious wars 

was Crispianus prest: 
Whereas his knightly prowesse then 

he tryed aboue the rest. 
But Crispine found him better sport 

would I had Crispine been : 
40 The Kings fair daughter Lou'd him well, 

as it was after seen. 
The length of this fair Ladies foot, 

so well did Crispine know, 
That none but he could please her mind, 

the certain truth is so. 

25. presently i6jj ffc. : present 1648 



of the Gentle Craft. 109 

Came he by night or else by day, 

he was most welcome still; 
With kisses siveet she did him pay, 

and thanks for his good will. 
So oft these Louers twain did meet, 

by day and eke by night : 
That at the last the Lady said, 

she should be shamed quite ; 
What was the matter, tell me true, 

that so her sorrow bred? 10 

Her Shoomaker most daintily 

had got her maidenhead. 
But he at length so wisely wrought, 

as doth the Story tell: 
Her fathers right good will he got, 

and euerything was well. 
And Crispianus came again 

from warres victoriously: 
Then Shoomakers made Holiday ; 

and therefore so will I, 20 

And noiv, for Crispianus sake, 

this wine I drink to thee, 
And he that doth this mark mistake, 

and will not now pledge me : 
He is not Crispianus friend, 

not worthy well I wot, 
To haue a Lady to his Loue, 

as Crispine he hath got. 



CHAP. X. 

How Sir Simon Eyer being at first a Shoemaker, became 30 
in the end Maior of London, through the counsell of 
his wife : and how he broke his fast euery day on a 
Table that he said he would not sell for a thousand 
pounds : and how he builded Leadon Hall. 

OUr English Chronicles do make mention that sometime 
there was in the honourable City of London a worthy Maior, 
known by the name of Sir Simon Eyer, whose fame liueth in the 
mouths of many men to this day, who, albeit he descended from 
mean parentage, yet, by -Gods blessing, in the end he came to be 
a most worthy man in the commonwealth. 40 

This man, being brought young out of the North countrey, was 
bound prentise to a Shoomaker, bearing then the name of the 
Gentle Craft (as still it doth) his Master being a man of reason- 



1 1 o The pleasant History 

able wealth, set many iourney-men and prentises to work, who 
followed their businesse with great delight, which quite excludeth 
all wearinesse; for when seruants do sit at their worke like 
Dromedaries, then their minds are neuer lightly vpon their 
businesse ; for it is an old prouerbe. 

They proue seruants kind and good, 

That sing at their businesse like birds in the wood. 

Such fellows had this young Lad, who was not behind with 
many Northern ligs to answer their Southern Songs. This youth 
10 being the youngest prentise in the house, as occasion serued, was 
often sent to the Conduit for water, where in short time he fell 
acquainted with many other prentises coming thither for the same 
intent. 

Now their custome was so, that euery Sunday morning diuers 
of these prentises did vse to go to a place neer the Conduit to 
break their fast with pudding-pies, and often they would take 
Simon along with them : but vpon a time it so fell out, that when 
he should draw money to pay the shot with the rest, that he had 
none, whereupon he merrily said vnto them : My faithfull friends, 
20 and Conduit companions, treasurers of the water tankard, and 
main pillers of the pudding house, I may now compare my purse 
to a barren Doe, that yields the Keeper no more good than an 
empty carkasse : or to a bad nut, which, being opened, hath neuer 
a kernell : therefore, if it will please you to pardon me at this 
time, and excuse me for my part of the shot, I do here vow vnto 
you, that, if euer I come to be Lord Maior of this City, I will giue 
a breakfast vnto all the printises in London. 

We do take your word (quoth they) and so they departed. 

It came to passe, that Simon hauing at length worn out his 
30 yeers of Apprentiship, that he fell in loue with a maiden that was 
neer neighbour vnto him, vnto whom at length he was married 
and got him a shop, and labored hard daily, and his young wife 
was neuer idle, but straight when she had nothing to do, she sat 
in the shop and spun : and hauing liued thus alone a yeer or 
thereabout, and hauing gathered something together, at length he 
got him some printises, and a lourney-man or two, and he could 
not make his ware so fast as he could haue sold it, so that he 
stood in great need of a lourney-man or two more. 

At the last, one of his seruants spying one go along the street 
40 with a fardell at his back, called to his Master, saying, Sir, yonder 
goes Saint Hughs bones, twenty pounds to a penney. 

Run presently (quoth he) and bring him hither. 

The boy running forth, called to the man, saying, Good fellow, 
come hither, here is one would speak with you. 

The fellow, being a Frenchman that had not long been in 
England^ turning about, said, Hea? what you sea? Will you 
20. treasurers 1673 ^ c - ' treasures 1648 



of the Gentle Craft. 1 1 1 

speak wed me : Hea ? What you haue ? tell me, what you haue, 
Hea ? And with that coming to the stall, the good-man askt him 
if he lackt work, We par ma foy (quoth the French-man). 

Hereupon Simon took him in, and to worke he went merrily, 
where he behaued himselfe so well, that his Master made good 
account of him, thinking he had been a Bachelor, but in the end 
it was found otherwise. 

This man was the first that wrought vpon the low cut shooe, 
with the square toe, and the latchet ouerthwart the instep, before 
which time in England they did weare a high shooe that reached I0 
aboue the ankles, right after the manner of our husbandmens 
shooes at this day, saue onely that it was made very sharp at the 
toe turning vp like the tail of an Island dog : or as you see a cock 
carry his hinder feathers. 

Now it is to be remembred, that while lohn Deneuale dwelt 
with Simon Eyer, it chanced that a ship of the He of Candy was 
driuen vpon our Coast, laden with all kind of Lawns and Cam- 
bricks, and other linnen cloth : which commodities at that time 
were in London very scant, and exceeding dear : and by reason 
of a great leak the ship had got at Sea, being vnable to sail any 20 
further, he would make what profit he could of his goods here. 

And being come to London, it was John Deneuales chance to 
meet him in the streets, to whom the Merchant (in the Greek 
tongue) demanded where he might haue lodging : for he was one 
that had neuer been in England before, and being vnacquainted, 
wist not whither to go : but while he spake Greek, lohn Deneuale 
answered him still in French, which tongue the merchant vnder- 
stood well : and therefore, being glad that he had met with one 
that could talk to him, he declared vnto him what tempests he en 
dured at Sea, and also how his ship lay vpon the coast with such 3 
commodities as he would sell. 

Truly Sir (quoth John) I am my selfe but a stranger in this 
Country and vtterly vnacquainted with Merchants, but I dwell 
with one in this City that is a very honest man, and it may be 
that he can help you to some that will deal with you for it, and if 
you think it good, I will moue him in it, and in the mean space, 
He bring you where you may haue a very good lodging; to 
morrow morning I will come to you again. 

Sir (said the Merchant) if you please to do me that fauour, He 
not onely be thankfull vnto you for the same, but also in most 4 
honest sort will content you for your pains : and with that they 
departed. 

Now as soon as lohn the Frenchman came home, he moued 
that matter vnto his Master, desiring him that he would do what 
he could for the Merchant. When his Master had heard each 
circumstance, noting therewith the want of such commodities in 
the Land, cast in his mind as he stood cutting vp his work, what 
were best to be done in this case, saying to his man lohn, I will 



112 The pleasant History 

think vpon it betwixt this and the morning, and then I will tell 
you my mind : and therewithall casting down his cutting Knife, 
he went out of his shop into his Chamber, and therein walked vp 
and down alone very sadly, ruminating hereon : he was so far in 
his muse, that, his wife sending for him to supper two or three 
times, he nothing regarded the maids call, hammering this matter 
in his head : 

At last his wife came to him, saying, Husband, what mean you 
that you do not come to supper ? why speak you not man ? Hear 
10 you ? good husband ; come away, your meat will be cold : but for 
all her words he stayed walking vp and down still, like a man that 
had sent his wits a woll-gathering, which his wife seeing, puled 
him by the sleeue, saying, why, husband in the name of God, 
why come you not ? wil you not come to supper to night ? I 
called you a good while ago. 

Body of me, wife (said he) I promise thee I did not hear thee. 

No faith, it seemeth so (quoth she) I maruel whereupon your 
mind runneth. 

Beleeue me wife (quoth he) I was studying how to make my 
20 selfe Lord Maior and thee a Lady. 

Now God help you (quoth she) I pray God make vs able to 
pay euery man his own, that we may Hue out of debt and danger, 
and driue the Woolf from the doore, and I desire no more. 

But wife (said he) I pray thee now tell me, Doest thou not 
think that thou couldest make shift to bear the name of a Lady, 
if it should be put vpon thee. 

In truth Husband (quoth she) He not dissemble with you, if 
your wealth were able to beare it, my mind would beare it well 
enough. 

30 Well wife (replyed he) I tell thee now in sadnesse, that, if I had 
money, there is a commodity now to be bought the gains, wherof 
would be able to make me a Gentleman foreuer. 

Alas husband, that dignitie your Trade allows you already, 
being a squire of the Gentle Craft, then how can you be lesse than 
a Gentleman, seeing your sonne is a Prince borne ? 

Tush wife (quoth he) those titles do onely rest in name, but 
not in nature : but of that sort had I rather be, whose lands are 
answerable to their vertues, and whose rents can maintain the 
greatnesse of their minde : 

40 Then sweet husband, tell me (said his wife) tell me, what 
commodity is that which you might get so much by ? I am sure 
your self hath some money, and it shall go very hard but He pro 
cure friends to borrow one forty shillings, and beside that, rather 
then you should lose so good a bargain, I haue a couple of crowns 
that saw no Sun since we were first married, and them also shall 
you haue. 

Alasse wife (said Simon") all this comes not neere that matter : 
I confesse it would do some good in buying some backs of leather, 



of the Gentle Craft. 113 

but in this thing it is nothing, for this is merchandize that is precious 
at this time, and rare to be had ; and I hear that whosoeuer will 
haue it must lay down 3,000 pounds ready money. Yea wife, and 
yet thereby he might get three and three thousand pounds profit. 

His wife hearing him say so was inflamed with the desire there 
of, as women are (for the most part) very couetous : that matter 
running still in her mind, she could scant finde in her heart to 
spare him time to go to supper, for very eagernesse to animate him 
on, to take that bargain vpon him. Wherefore so soon as they 
had supt, and giuen God thanks, she called her husband, saying, 10 
I pray you come hither, I would speake a word with you : that 
man is not alwayes to be blamed that sometimes takes counsell of 
his wife; though womens wits are not able to comprehend the 
greatest things, yet in doubtful matters they oft help on a sudden. 

Well wife, what mean you by this (said her husband ?) 

In truth (quoth she) I would haue you to pluck vp a mans 
heart, and speedily chop vp a bargain for these goods you 
speak of. 

Who I? (quoth he), which way should I do it, that am not 
able for 3 thousand pounds, to lay down three thousand pence? 20 

Tush man (quoth she) what of that ? euery man that beholds 
a man in the face, knows not what he hath in his purse, and 
whatsoeuer he be that owes the goods, he will no doubt be content 
to stay a moneth for his money, or three weeks at the least : And, 
I promise you, to pay a thousand pounds a week is a pretty round 
payment, and, I may say to you, not much to be misliked of. 

Now husband, I would haue you in the morning with lohn the 
Frenchman to the Grecian Merchant, and with good discretion 
driue a sound bargain with him for the whole fraught of the ship, 
and thereupon giue him halfe a dozen Angels in earnest, and 30 
eight and twenty dayes after the deliuery of the goods, condition 
to deliuer him the rest of his money. 

But woman (quoth he) dost thou imagine that he would take 
my word for so weighty a masse of money, and to deliuer his 
goods vpon no better security ? 

Good Lord (quoth she) haue you no wit in such a case to make 
shift ? He tell you what you shall do : Be not known that you 
bargain for your own selfe, but tell him that you do it in the behalf 
of one of the cheif Aldermen in the City ; but beware in any case, 
that you leaue with him your own name in writing ; he being 4 
a Grecian cannot read English : and you haue no need at all to 
shew lohn the Frenchman, or if you should, it were no great 
matter, for you can tell well enough that he can neither write nor 
read. 

I perceiue wife (quoth he) thou wouldest fain be a Lady, and 
worthy thou art to be one, that dost thus imploy thy wits to 
bring thy husband profit : but tell me, if he should be desirous 
to see the Alderman to confer with him, how shall we do then ? 

917.6 i 



ii4 The pleasant History 

lesus haue mercy vpon vs (quoth she) you say women are fools, 
but me seemeth men haue need to be taught sometimes. Before 
you come away in the morning, let Ioh?i the Frenchman tell him 
that the Alderman himselfe shall come to his lodging in the after 
noon : and, receiuing a note of all the goods that be in the ship, 
he shall deliuer vnto him a bill of his hand for the payment of his 
money, according to that time. Now sweetheart (quoth she) this 
Alderman shall be thine own selfe, and He go borrow for thee all 
things that shall be necessary against that time. 

10 Tush (quoth her husband) canst thou imagine that he, seeing 
me in the morning, will not know me again in the afternoon ? 

O husband (quoth she) he will not know thee, I warrant thee : 
for in the morning thou shalt go to him in thy doublet of sheeps 
skins, with a smuched face, and thy apron before thee, thy thumb- 
leather and hand-leather buckled close to thy wrist, with a foule 
band about thy neck, and a greasie cap on thy head. 

Why woman (quoth he) to go in this sort will be a discredit to 
me, and make the Merchant doubtfull of my dealing : for men of 
simple attire are (God wot) slenderly esteemed. 

ao Hold your peace good husband (quoth she) it shall not be so 
with you, for John the Frenchman shall giue such good report to 
the Merchant for your honest dealing (as I praise God he can do 
no lesse) that the Grecian will rather conceiue the better of you 
than otherwise : iudging you a prudent discreet man, that will not 
make a shew of that you are not, but go in your attire agreeable to 
your trade. And because none of our folks shall be priuy to our 
intent, to-morrow weel dine at my cousin lohn Barbers in Saint 
Clements Lane, which is not far from the George in Lumbard-street^ 
where the merchant strangers lie. Now He be sure that all things 

30 shall be ready at my cousin Johns that you shall put on in the 
afternoon. And there he shall first of all with his scissers snap 
off all the superfluous hairs, and fashion thy bushy beard after the 
Aldermans graue cut : then shall he wash thee with a sweet 
Camphire Ball, and besprinkle thine head and face with the purest 
rose-water ; then shalt thou secure thy pitchy fingers in a bason of 
hot water, with an ordinary washing Ball ; and all this being done, 
strip thee from these common weeds, and He put thee on a very 
fair doublet of tawny sattin, ouer the which thou shalt haue 
a cassock of branched damask, furred round about the skirts with 

40 the finest foynes, thy breeches of black Veluet, and shooes and 
stockings fit for such array : a band about thy neck as white as 
the driuen snow, and for thy wrists a pretty pair of cuffs, and on 
thy head a cap of the finest black, then shalt thou put on a fair 
gown, welted about with Veluet, and ouerthwart the back thwart 
it shall be with rich foyne, with a pair of sweet gloues on thy hands, 
and on thy forefinger a great scale-ring of gold. 

Thou being thus attired, He intreat my cousin lohn Barber, 
because he is a very handsome young man, neat and fine in his 



of the Gentle Craft. 115 

apparell (as indeed all Barbers are) that he would take the pains 
to wait vpon you vnto the Merchants, as if he were your man, 
which he will do at the first, because one of you cannot vnder- 
stand the other, so that it will be sufficient with outward curtesie 
one to greet another, and he to deliuer vnto you his notes, and you 
to giue him your Bill, and so come home. 

It doth my heart good, to see how trimly this apparell doth 
become you, in good faith, husband, me seems in my mind, I see 
you in it already, and how like an Alderman you will look, when you 
are in this costly array. At your return from the Merchant, you 10 
shall put off all these clothes at my Cousins again, and come 
home as you did go forth. Then tell John the Frenchman, that 
the alderman was with the Merchant this afternoon, you may send 
him to him in the morning, and bid him to command that his 
Ship may be brought down the Riuer : while she is coming about, 
you may giue notice to the Linnen Drapers, of the commodities 
you haue coming. 

Enough wife (quoth he) thou hast said enough ; and, by the 
grace of God, He follow thy counsel], and I doubt not but to 
haue good fortune. 20 



CHAP. XI. 

How Simon Eyer was sent for to my Lord Maiors to 
supper, and shewing the great entertainment he and 
his wife had there. 

A Non after, supper time drew neer, she, making herselfe ready in 
^~\the best manner she could deuise, passed along with her 
husband vnto my Lord Maiors house : and being entred into the 
great Hall, one of the Officers there certified my Lord Maior, that 
the great, rich Shoomaker and his wife were already come. 
Whereupon the Lord Maior in courteous manner came into the 30 
Hall to Simon, saying, You are most heartily welcome good 
Master Eyer, and so is your gentle bed-fellow. Then came forth 
the Lady Maiores and saluted them both in like manner, saying, 
Welcome, good Master Eyer and Mistresse Eyer both : and 
taking her by the hand, set her down among the Gentlewomen 
there present. 

Sir (quoth the Lord Maior) I vnderstand you are a Shoomaker, 
and that it is you that hath bought all the goods of the great 
Argozy. 

I am indeed, my Lord of the Gentle Craft (quoth he) and I 40 
praise God, all the goods of the great Argozy are mine own, when 
my debts are paid. 

38. bought tip 1671 &c. : brought up 1648 



1 1 6 The pleasant History 

God giue you much ioy of them (said the Lord Maior) and I 
trust you and I shall deal for some part thereof. 

So the meat being then ready to be brought in, the guests were 
placed each one according to their calling. My Lord Maior 
holding Simon by the hand, and the Lady Maiores holding his 
wife, they would needs haue them sit neer to themselues, which 
they then with blushing cheeks refusing, my Lord said vnto them, 
holding his cap in his hand. 

Master Eyer and Mistresse Eyer, let me intreat you not to be 
10 troublesome, for I tell you it shall be thus : and as for those 
Gentlemen here present, they are all of mine old acquaintance, 
and many times we haue been together, therefore I dare be [the 
bolder with them : & albeit you are our neighbours also, yet I promise 
you, you are strangers to my table, and to strangers common 
courtesie doth teach vs to shew the greatest fauour, and therefore 
let me rule you in mine house, and you shall rule me in yours. 

When Simon found there was no remedy, they sat them down, 

but the poore woman was so abashed, that she did eat but little 

meat at the Table, bearing her selfe at the table with a comely 

20 and modest countenance : but what she wanted in outward feeding, 

her heart yeelded to, with inward delight and content. 

Now, so it was, many men that knew not Simon, and seeing him 
in so simple attire sit next my Lord, whisperingly asked one another 
what he was. And it was enough for Simons wife, with her eyes 
and ears, to see and hearken after euerything that was said or 
done. 

A graue, wealthy Cittizen, sitting at the Table, spake to Simon, 
and said, Sir, in good will I drink to your good health, but I 
beseech you pardon me, for I know not how to call your name. 
3 o With that my Lord Maior answeared him, saying, his name is 
Master Eyer, and this is the Gentleman that bought all the goods 
that came in the black Swan of Candy, and, before God, though 
he sit here in simple sort, for his wealth I do verily beleeue he is 
more sufficient to bear this place than my selfe. This was a man 
that was neuer thought vpon, liuing obscure amongst vs, of none 
account in the eyes of the world, carrying the countenance but of 
a shoemaker, and none of the best sort neither, and is able to 
deal for a bargain of fiue thousand pounds at a clap. 

We do want many such shoemakers (said the Citizen) and so 
4 o with other discourse droue out supper. 

At what time, rising from the table, Simon and his wife, 
receiuing sundrie salutations of my Lord Maior and his Lady, and 
of all the rest of the worshipfull guests, departed home to their 
own house : at what time his wife made such a recitall of the 
matters ; how brauely they were entertained, what great chear was 
there, also what a great company of Gentlemen and Gentlewomen 
were there, and how often they drank to her husband and to her, 
with diuers other circumstances, that I beleeue, if the night had 



of the Gentle Craft. 117 

been six moneths long, as it is vnder the North pole, they would 
haue found talke enough till morning. 

Of a truth (quoth she) although I sate closely by my Ladies side, 
I could eat nothing for very ioy, to heare and see that we were so 
much made of. And neuer giue me credit husband, if I did not 
hear the Officers whisper as they stood behind me, and all 
demanded one of another, what you were, and what I was : O (quoth 
one) do you see this man ? mark him well, and marke his wife 
well, that simple woman that sits next my Ladie : what are they ? 
What are they (quoth another) ? Marry this is the rich Shoomaker 10 
that bought all the goods in the great Argozy : I tell you there 
was neuer such a Shoomaker seen in London since the City was 
builded. Now by my faith (quoth the third) I haue heard much 
of him to-day among the Merchants in the street, going between 
the two Chains : Credit me husband, of mine honesty this was 
their communication. Nay, and do you not remember, when the 
rich Citizen drank to you (which craued pardon because he knew 
not your name) what my Lord Maior said? Sir (quoth he) his 
name is Master Eyer, did you mark that ? and presently thereupon 
he added these words : this is the Gentleman that bought, and so 20 
forth. The Gentleman vnderstood you, did you heare him speake 
that word ? 

In troth wife (quoth he) my Lord vttered many good words of 
me, I thank his honour, but I heard not that. 

No (quoth she.) I heard it well enough : for by and by he 
proceeded further, saying, I suppose though he sit here in simple 
sort, he is more sufficient to beare this charge than my selfe. Yea 
(thought I) he may thank his wife for that, if it come so to passe. 

Nay (said Simon) I thank God for it. 

Yea, and next him you may thank me (quoth she). And it did 3 
her so much good to talk of it, that I suppose, if she had liued till 
this day, she would yet be prating thereof, and if sleep did not 
driue her from it. 

And now seeing that Simon the Shoomaker is become a 
merchant, we will temper our tongues to giue him that title, which 
his customers were wont to do, and from henceforth call him 
master Eyer, who, while he had his affairs in hand, committed the 
Gouernment of his shop to lohn the Frenchman, leauing him to be 
guide to his other seruants, by meanes of which fauour lohn 
thought himselfe at that time to be a man of no small reputation. 4 

30. quoth she 167$ &c. : quoth he 1648 



1 1 8 The pleasant History 

CHAP. XII. 

How lohn the Frenchman fell in loue with one of his 
Mistrisse Maids: and how he was crossed through 
the craft of Haunce the Duchman. 

AT the same time there was dwelling in the house, a iolly lusty 
wench, whose name was Florence, whom lohn the Frenchman 
loued dearly well, and for her onely sake he brought many a good 
bottle of wine into the house, and therewithall so soon as their 
master and mistresse were gone to bed, they would oftentimes 
10 make merrie amongst themselues ; which Haunce a lourney-man 
in the same house perceiueing, sought to crosse them as much as 
in him lay, thereby to bring his own purpose the better to passe, 
which was to ioyn the maidens fauours to his own affection. 

And because the Frenchman had greatest gains vnder his 
Master, and being thereof no niggard when he had got it, the 
maids did most delight in him, and little esteemed the Duchman, 
though his good will were as great towards her as the other : for 
they could not be in any corner of the house together, nor could 
they meet in any place abroad, but the Duchman would still watch 
20 them. 

Vpon a time, Florence being at Market, her Loue lohn went 
forth of the shop to meet her, and Haunce stayed not long behind, 
who at length espied them, and heard his fellow lohn questioning 
with her in this sort. 

What Florence, what haue you in your basket ? hea, let me see 
what you buy. 

Marrie, lohn (quoth she) I haue bought Beefe and Mutton, 
and other things. Come, come, must you peep in my basket 
(quoth she) away, for shame away. 

30 Be Got, Florence, me will see a little : ha, ha ! Florence, you 
buy the pudding hea ? You loue de puddings ? Florence hea ? 

Yea, Sir (quoth she) what if I do loue puddings? what care you? 

Of my tra, Florence, if I be your husband me will giue you 
pudden, shall warren. 

My husband (quoth she ?) in faith Sir, no, I mean not to marrie 
a Frenchman. 

What Florence, de Frenchman be de good man : but Florence, 
me will giue you a pinte of wine by my treat. 

O, I cannot stay now, I thank you, lohn. 

40 What (quoth he) Florence, no stay with your friend ? I shall 
make you stay a little time. 

And so with that, taking her by the hand, into the Tauern they 
go, and Haunce the Duchman following them, and sate close in 

42. they go 1675 &c. : then go 1648 



of the Gentle Craft. 119 

the next roome, and by that means he heard all that they said, 
and that they appointed the next Sunday to go to Islington together, 
and there to be merry : and so, the maid hasting away, they 
departed. 

Well (quoth Haunce secretly to himselfe) it shall go hard but lie 
disappoint you. 

Sunday in the afternoon being come, lohn the Frenchman, 
according to his appointment, went before to Islington, leauing 
Florence to come after, with another Maid which dwelt in the same 
house, whilest he prepared good chear for their coming : and the 10 
more to make her merrie, he hired a noise of musitians to attend 
their pleasure. 

And as it after happened, his fellow Haunce preuented this 
sport, who watching in the fields for Florence, at length he spied 
her coming : to whom he said, Well met fair Florence, your friend 
lohn hath changed his mind, for whereas he appointed you to meet 
him at Islington, you shall lose your labour so to do, for he is not 
there. 

No ? how so (said Florence] ? 

The reason is this (said Haunce} so farre as I can vnderstand 20 
by him, he thinks you are verie fickle and inconstant, and because 
it was his chance this morning, to see you speak to a young man 
that passed by, he saith verrily, that you are a maruellous great 
dissembler : and in this humour he is gone I know not whither. 

And is it euen so (said Florence] ? He tell thee what Haunce, 
because he hath made thee priuie to his mind, I will shew thee 
somewhat of mine. Doth he suspect me because I did but 
speake to one ? Nay, if he be so iealous now, what will he be 
hereafter ? And, therefore insomuch that it is so, let him go to 
the Deuill, he shall very well find, that I will set as light by him, 3 
as he doth by me. Did the knaue get leaue of my Mistris for me 
to come abroad this day, and doth he now serue me thus ? Well, 
this shall teach me wit, in faith, and so she turns back again. 

Nay (quoth Haunce] seeing you are now abroad, let me intreat 
you to go to Hogsdon, and I will bestow a messe of cream vpon 
you. 

In the end she was won, and as they walked together, Haunce 
spake thus vnto her : I know not what cause lohn the Frenchman 
hath giuen you, to bear him so good will, as I perceiue you do, 
but in my mind, he is a far vnmeet match for you. And thus 4 
much I know, he is of a very mistrustfull nature, a wauering 
mind, and deceitfull heart, he did professe great good will to you 
in outward shew, but I haue heard him speak most shamefully of 
you behind your back, making his vaunts, that he had you at 
a beck of his finger, and how that for a pint of Wine he could 
cause you to follow him vp and down ouer all the Citie, Florence, 
I am a fool to tell you thus much, it may be you will scarce 
beleeue it, and, for my part, I will not vrge you thereunto : but 



1 2 o "The pleasant History 

in troth, look what I tell you, it is for good will, because I haue 
been sorrie to see you abused. 

I thank you good Haunce (quoth she) I may beleeue it well 
enough : but from henceforth I know what I haue to do : I confesse 
indeed, that I haue drunk with him abroad, but it was at his own 
earnest intreaty, neither could I euer be quiet for the knaue, he 
doth so follow me vp and down in euery place ; but, seeing, I know 
his dissimulation to be such, if I do not requite him in his kind, 
trust me no more : and now I am heartily sorrie that I was so 
10 foolish as to follow him this day at his appointment : but seeing 
he hath serued me thus, he shall not know of my coming out of 
doors, and therefore good Haunce, do not tell him that you met 
me this day in the fields. 

Nay in faith, Florence ; (quoth he) I will not onely be secret 
to thee, but will also from henceforth acquaint thee with all my 
proceedings. 

And hauing eaten their creame, Haunce brought her some part 
of the way homeward : and, taking his leaue of her, he went back 
to see if he could meet with John the Frenchman, who hauing 
20 stayed at Islington for Florence vntill almost night, and she not 
coming, he and the Musicians together were faine to eat vp the 
meat, without more company, which caused John the frenchman to 
swear like a Turk. 

And as he was coming homeward ouer the fields chaffing and 
fretting to himselfe, who should he meet withall but Haunce the 
Duchman : who said to him : What lohn, who thought to meet 
you here ? 

Here thou seest I am now (said John) : but when came you 
from home? 
30 Marry but euen now (quoth Haunce}. 

And who is at home (said lohn) ? 

The other answered, there was no body but their mistresse, and 
the maid Florence, with the rest of the houshold. 

Is Florence at home (said lohn) ? The Deuill take her for me, she 
hath maid a right fool of me indeed. 

How so (quoth Haunce) ? Then the other in a great chafe, said : 
Be Got shall be reuenged, Florence mock an me too mush, too 
mush she make me beleeue she loue me, and me tink so too, and, 
be Got, she make me a lack Fool. 

40 When Haunce heard him say so, he said : Alas good lohn, she 
loue thee ? If you think so, you are greatly deceiued : for she is 
the scoffingest quean in London : And I haue heard her behind 
your back, to mock and flout you, saying : Doth shitten lohn think 
that I will marry him ? In faith Sir no. 

When the Frenchman heard this, he stampt like a mad-man, 
and bit his thumb, saying : Mordue me shall be reuenged, be Got : 
shitten lohn ? call a shitten lohn, hea ? A de put in corroyn, a 
meshant, shitten lohn, no better name but shitten lohn ? 



of the Gentle Craft. 121 

It is as I tell you (quoth Haunce} : and moreouer, she said she 
scorned to come after you to Islington, saying, she would see you 
hanged first. 

Well be no matter ; she no loue me, me no loue she, but me 
shall go home, me shall, and beat as a stockfish. 

Nay, do not so (said Haunce] but let her alone : for it is no 
credit for you to beat a woman : and besides that, if you should, 
our Master would turn you out of doores ; therefore be quiet a 
while, and be secret in that I haue told you, then shall you see how 
she vseth you. 

In this humour they departed : at what time, Iohn y full of melan 
choly, stood frowning by the fire side : and as the Maid went vp 
and down the house about her businesse, he cast looks on her, as 
fierce as a Panther ; but she, by reason of the Duchmans tale to 
her, shews her selfe as scornfull as he was currish, and not once cast 
her eye towards him, and thus they droue out the time of a senight 
or a fortnight. 



CHAP. XIII. 

How Master Eyr was called vpon to be SherifFe of 
London, and how he held his place with worship. 20 

IN this space master Eyer following his businesse, had sold so 
much of his Merchandize as paid the Grecian his whole money : 
and yet had resting to himselfe three times as much as he had sold, 
whereof he trusted some to one Alderman, and some to another, 
and a great deal amongst substantiall Merchants ; and for some had 
much ready money, which he imployed in diuers merchandizes : 
and became Aduenturer at Sea, hauing (by Gods blessing) many 
a prosperous voiage, whereby his riches dailie increased. 

It chanced vpon a time, that being in his study, casting vp his 
accounts, he found himselfe to be clearely worth twelue or thirteen 3 
thousand pounds, which he finding to be so, he called his wife to 
him, and said : 

The last day I did cast vp my accounts, and I finde that Almighty 
God of his gpodnesse hath lent me thirteen thousand pounds to 
maintain vs in our old age, for which his gracious goodnesse 
towards vs, let vs with our whole hearts giue his glorious Maiesty 
eternall praise, and therewithall pray vnto him, that we may so 
dispose thereof, as may be to his honour, and the comfort of his 
poore members on earth, and aboue our neighbours may not be 
puffed vp with pride, that, while we think on our wealth, we 4 
forget God that sent it to vs, for it hath been an old saying of a 
wise man, that abundance groweth from riches, and disdain out of 
abundance : of which God giue vs grace to take heed, and grant 
vs a contented mind. 



122 The pleasant History 

So soon as he had spoken this, they heard one knocking hastily 
at doore, whereupon he sent Florence to see who it was, the 
Maiden, coming again, told her Master it was one of my Lord 
Maiors Officers that would speake with him. The Officer being 
permitted to come in, after due reuerence, he said, Sir, it hath 
pleased my Lord Maior with the worshipfull Aldermen his brethren, 
with the counsell of the whole communaltie of the honourable 
City, to chuse your worship Sheriffe of London this day, and haue 
sent me to desire you to come and certifie your minde therein, 
10 whether you be contented to hold the place or no. 

Master Eyer hearing this, answered he would come to his Honor 
and their worships incontinent, and resolue them what he was 
minded to do ; and so the Officer departed. 

His wife, which all this while listned to their talk, hearing how 
the case stood, with a ioyfull countenance meeting her husband, 
taking him about the neck with a louing kisse, said, Master 
Sheriffe, God giue thee ioy of thy name and place ! 

O wife (quoth he) my person is far vnworthy of that place, and 
the name far exceeds my degree. 

30 What, content your selfe, good husband (quoth she) and disable 
not your selfe in such sort, but be thankfull vnto God for that you 
haue, and do not spurn at such promotion as God sendeth vnto 
you : the Lord be praised for it, you haue enough to discharge the 
place whereunto you are called with credit : and wherefore sendeth 
God goods, but therewithall to do him and your Countrey seruice ? 

Woman (quoth he) Soft fire makes sweet mault : For such as 
take things in hand rashly, repent as suddenly : to be Sheriffe of 
London is no little cost. Consider first (quoth he) what house I 
ought to haue, and what costly ornaments belong thereunto, as : 
30 hanging of Tapistry cloth of Arras, and other such like, what store 
of Plate and Goblets of Gold, what costly attire, and what a 
chargeable train, and that which is most of all, how greatly I stand 
charged beside, to our Soueraigne Lord, the King, for the answer 
ing of such prisoners as shall be committed to my custody, with an 
hundred matters of such importance, which are to such an Office 
belonging. 

Good Lord husband (quoth she) what need all these repetitions ? 
You need not tell me it is a matter of great charge : notwithstand 
ing, I verily think many heretofore haue with great credit 
40 discharged the place, whose wealth hath not in any sort been 
answerable to your riches, and whose wits haue been as mean as 
your own : truly Sir shall I be plain ? I know not anything that 
is to be spoken of, that you want to performe it, but only your good 
will : and to lack good will to do your King and Countrey good 
were a signe of an vnworthy Subiect, which I hope you will 
neuer be. 

Well wife (said her husband) thou dost hold me here with 
prittle prattle, while the time passeth on, tis high time I were 



of the Gentle Craft. 123 

gone to Guild-Hall^ I doubt I shall appear too vnmannerly in 
causing my Lord Maior and the rest to stay my leisure. 

And he hauing made himselfe ready, meet to go before such 
an assembly as he went vnto, he went out of doores, at what time 
his wife called after him, saying : and holding vp her finger. 
Husband, remember, you know what I haue said : take heed you 
dissemble not with God and the world, look to it Husband. 

Go too, go too, get you in (quoth he) about your businesse, 
and so away he went. 

So soon v as he was gone out of sight, his wife sent one of his men 10 
after him to Guild Hall, to hearken and hear, whether her 
husband held his place or no : and if he do, bring me word with 
all possible speed. 

I will, mistresse (quoth her man). 

Now, when Master Eyer came to Guild-Hall^ the Lord 
Maior and his brethren bade him heartily welcome, saying Sir, 
the communaltie of the City, hauing a good opinion of you, haue 
chosen you for one of our Sheriffes for this yeer, not doubting but 
to find you a fit man for the place. 

My good Lord (quoth he) I humbly thank the City for their ao 
courtesie and kindnesse, and would to God my wealth were 
answereable to my good will, and my ability were able to bear it. 
But I find my selfe insufficient ; I most humbly desire a yeers 
respite more, and pardon for this present. 

At these words, a graue Commoner of the City standing vp, 
with due reuerence spoke thus vnto the Maior : my good Lord, 
this is but a slender excuse for master Eyer to make ; for I haue 
often heard him say, and so haue diuers others also, that he hath 
a Table in his house whereon he breaks his fast euery day, that 
he will not giue for a thousand pounds : Wherefore (vnder your 30 
Lordships correction) in my simple iudgement, I think he that is 
able to spare a thousand pounds in such a dead commodity is very 
sufficient to be Sheriff of London. 

See you now (quoth my Lord) I muse, Master Eyer, that you 
will haue so lame an excuse before vs, as to take exceptions, at 
your own wealth, which is apparantly proued sufficient ; you must 
know, Master Eyer, that the Commons of London haue searching 
eyes, and seldome are they deceiued in their opinion, and, there 
fore looke what is done, you must stand to it. 

I beseech you, my Lord (quoth Master Eyer) giue me leaue to 40 
speak one word. Let it be granted, that I will not giue my Table 
whereon I breake my fast for a thousand pounds, that is no con 
sequence to proue it is worth so much, my fancy to the thing is 
all : for doubtlesse no man here would giue me a thousand 
shillings for it when they see it. 

All is one, for that (quoth my Lord Maior) yet dare I giue you 
as much wine as you will spend this yeer in your Shriualrie to let 
me haue it. 



124 The pleasant History 

My good Lord (quoth he) on that condition I will hold my 
place, and rest no longer troublesome to this company. 

You must hold (said my Lord) without any condition or excep 
tions at all in this matter ; and so they ended. 

The Assembly being then broken vp, the voice went Master 
Eyer is Sheriffe, Master Eyer is Sheriffe. Whereupon the fellow 
that Mistresse Eyer sent to obserue how things framed, ran home 
in all haste, and with leaping and reioycing said : Mistresse, God 
giue you ioy, for you are now a Gentlewoman. 

10 What (quoth she) tell me sir sawce, is thy Master Sheriffe, or 
no ? and doth he hold his place ? 

Yes Mistresse, he holds it now as fast as the stirrop doth the 
shooes while we sow it. 

Why then (quoth she) I haue my hearts desire, and that I so 
long looked for, and so away she went. 

Within a while after came her husband, and with him one of the 

Aldermen, and a couple of wealthy Commoners, one of them was 

he that gaue such great commendations of his Table, and com- 

ming to his doore, he said, You are welcome home good Master 

20 Sheriffe. 

Nay, I pray you, come in and drink with me before you go. 
Then said he, Wife bring me forth the pasty of Venison, and set 
me here my little Table, that these Gentlemen may eat a bit with 
me before they go. 

His wife which had been oft vsed to this terme, excused the 
matter, saying ; The little Table ! Good Lord husband, I do wonder 
what you will do with the little Table now, knowing that it is vsed 
already ? I pray you good Husband, content your selfe, and sit at 
this great Table this once. Then she whispered him in the eare, 
30 saying ; What man, shall we shame ourselues ? 

What shame ? (quoth he) tell not me of shame, but do thou as 
thou art bidden ; for we are three or foure of vs, then what do we 
troubling the great table ? 

Truly (answered she) the little table is not ready now good 
husband, let it alone. 

Trust me we are troublesome guests (said the Aldermen), but 
yet we would fain see your little Table, because it is said to be of 
such prize. 

Yea, and it is my mind you shall (quoth Master Eyer), therefore 

40 he called his wife again, saying, good wife, dispatch and prepare 

the little Table : for these Gentlemen would fain haue a view of it. 

Whereupon his wife, seeing him so earnest, according to her 
wonted manner, came in : and setting her selfe down on a low 
stool, laid a fair Napkin ouer her knees, and set the platter with 
the pasty of Venison thereupon, and presently a chear was brought 
for Master Alderman, and a couple of stools for the two com 
moners, which they beholding, with a sudden and hearty laughter, 
said : Why Master Sheriffe, is this the table you held so deare ? 



of the Gentle Craft. 125 

Yes truly (quoth he). 

Now verily (quoth they), you herein haue vtterly deceiued our 
expectation. 

Euen so did you mine (quoth he) in making me Sheriffe : but 
you are all right welcome, and I will tell you true, had I not 
thought wondrous well of you, you had not seen my table now. 
And I think, did my Lord Maior see it as you do, he would repent 
his bargain so hastily made. Notwithstanding I account of my 
table neuer the worse. 

Nor haue you any cause (quoth they) and so after much pleasant 
talk, they departed, spreading the fame of master Sheriffes little 
Table over the whole City. 

But you must now imagine, that a thousand cares combred the 
Sheriffe, in prouiding all things necessary for his office : at what 
time he put off his Shoomakers shop to one of his men, and set vp 
at the same time the signe of the black Swan swiming vpon the 
sea, in remembrance of that ship, that first did bring him his 
wealth, and before that time, the sign of the black swan was 
neuer seen or known in any place in or about the City of London. 



CHAP. XI 1 1 1. 

How Haunce hauing circumuented lohn the Frenchmans 
Loue, was by him and others finely deceiued at the 
Garden. 

NOw at that time lohn the frenchman, and fair Florence 
were both at variance, as you heard before, by the Duch- 
mans dealing, by which subtilty he sought means to win fauour 
for himselfe, which lohn the Frenchman perceiued, and therefore 
went about, not only to preuent him, but to take reuenge on him 
for his deceitfulnesse. And meeting Florence as she went into the 
Garden for flowers, he began to talk thus vnto her. What, 3 
Florence, you go to the Garden ? 

And how then (quoth she) what haue you to say to that ? 

Me sea nothing, but you be discontent ; you no speak a me, 
you no look a me ; nor you no drink with me, nor noting, ah 
Florence, how chance dat ? 

Go get thee hence, prating fool (quoth she) I drink with thee ? 
Thou shalt be pie-peckt first. 

Pie-peck ? What be pie-peckt a hea ? Be Got Florence, you 
make me a lack-nape, you mock a me, and call me shitten Ian, 
and you be so proud, because Haunce loue you, dat shall be 4 
maruell, but and if you call me shitten lohn any more, par my foy, 
shall not put vp, shall not take at your hands. 

Who told you, that I called you shitten lohn (quoth Florence) 
I neuer called you so, 



126 The pleasant History 

No Florence \ you no call a me shitten lohn ? a so meshant 
villain pulard Haunce tell a me so. 

I neuer said so (quoth Florence], but Haunce told me that you 
made your boast that I was at a beck of your finger ; and that 
you could make me follow you vp and down the whole City for 
a pinte of Wine ; no, I would you should well vnderstand, I will 
not follow a better man than you. 

Of my fet Florence ; me neuer say so. 

No? Yes (quoth she) but you did, I can tell you by a good 

10 token, for that very time that I should haue met you at Islington , 

you said it, and made me a fool to come ouer the fields to you, 

and when all came to all, you sent Haunce to tell me you were 

gone there hence long agone. 

Ah cet toking, Haunce (quoth John] be des ten bon, tis true, 
for me tarry, dere more den one, two, tree hour, and had prouide 
shapon, de rabit, de creame, de pudding-pie, and twenty ding more. 

Well howsoeuer it was, I am sure I was made an asse betwixt 
you, and for that cause I will beware how I shew kindnesse again 
to any : therefore, John I pray you be gone, and seek some other 
ao company, for you shall not go with me. 

No (said lohn) ? Well den, adieu, Florence, and so they departed. 

Now it is to be vnderstood, that Haunce had promised Florence 
to meet her in the Garden, and to bring with him a bottle of 
Wine, and there in the presence of a maid or two more, to make 
themselues sure together : and she for that purpose, had carryed 
with her a good corner of a Venison pasty. But there was an 
English-Iourney-man in the house called Nicholas, that vnderstood 
thereof, who, meeting with lohn the Frenchman, he made him 
priuie thereunto, saying ; Trust me lohn, if thou wilt be ruled by 
30 me, we will not onely disappoint this match, but also with their 
good chear make ourselues merry. John, who was glad and ready 
to do the Duchman any iniury, consented to follow Nicholas his 
counsell in any thing. 

Then (quoth Nicholas} it shall be thus : I will go to the Garden, 
and stay for Haunce his coming with the Wine, and, in the meane 
space do thou hide thy selfe vnder one of the hedges of the 
Garden on the other side, and with thee take a couple of pots, 
and let the one be empty, and the other filled with water, and when 
Haunce is come into the Garden with his bottle of Wine (now he 
40 will not let me see it by his good will) notwithstanding, lie 
obserue well where he doth set it down, and then I will finde 
the meanes, while they are busie in toying and talking, to conueigh 
the bottle of Wine through the hedge to thee, and likewise the 
Venison : then, emptying the bottle, thou shalt fill it with water, 
and thrusting it through the hedge again, it shall be set where 
first it was found, which being done, thou shalt hastily rap at the 
Garden doore, at what time they shall be told that it is my 
Master or Mistresse, which they hearing will be in such a maze, 



of the Gentle Craft. 127 

that on a sudden they will not know which way to turn them- 
selues, especially for the conueying away of Haunce : Now when 
you haue knockt twice or thrice, and that you heare no body 
come to the doore, get you away, and stay for me at the Rose in 
Barking^ and there we will drink vp their Wine, eat vp the Venison : 
and this being done weele laugh them to scorn. 

Truly Nicholas (quoth lohn the Frenchman) this will be braue, 
and thereupon they prepared themselues to do the feat. Nicholas 
therefore got him into the Garden, and by and by after comes 
Haunce with the bottle of Wine, who knocking at the Garden 10 
doore was straight let in : but seeing Nicholas there, he secretly 
set his bottle in a corner : but Nick, who had as searching eyes as 
Argus in his businesse, quickly did as before he had determined, 
and instead of Wine set the bottle down again, where he first 
found it full of water, 

Then comes John, and lustily knocks at the doore. 

There is our Master and Mistresse (quoth Nicholas}. 

Alas (quoth Florence} what shall we do for Haunce ? then rapt 
he at the doore again, Alas (quoth she) get you ouer the hedge. 

Shall I open the doore (quoth Nickl) O no, said Florence, 2 o 
not yet good Nick. 

With that he knockt more hastily : Anon, anon (quoth she). 
Hence Haunce : Go to the doore Nick. 

Who is there (quoth he) ? And with that opening the doore 
found iust no body. Truly Florence (said he) they are gone 
whosoeuer they were. God be with you, I can stay no longer. 

When he was departed, the Maids wished that Haunce had 
been there again. Alas, poore fellow (quoth they) is he gone, 
and left his bottle behind him ? 

Marry I am glad that it is no worse (quoth Florence] : And 3 
now, that the Wine is here, we will drink it for his sake, and 1 
haue here a morsell of Venison, that will giue it a good relish : 
and therewithall looking for it, she found the cloak, but the meat 
gone. Now, a vengeance one it (quoth she) one skuruie Cur or 
other hath got into the Garden and took away the meat ! 

O God, what ill luck is that (quoth the Maid :) a murren one 
that Cur that got it : but seeing it is gone, farewell it. 

Well (said Florence] here is the wine yet, I know it is excellent 
good : for he told me he would bring a bottle of the best Renish 
Wine that could be bought in London : and I am certain he is as 4 
good as his word. But beleeue me loane, he is as kind hearted 
and as louing a fellow as euer professed loue to any : I assure you 
that here is a cup of Wine that the King might drink thereof : but 
how shall we do for a glasse ? 

Weele drink it out of the bottle (said loane). 

Not so (quoth Florence) I do loue to see what I drink, and 
therefore He borrow a glasse at the next house. 
22. she : he 1648 &c. 



128 The pleasant History 

And while she goes for a glasse (said loane to her selfe) lie 
haue a taste of it before she returns again : and then setting her 
hand vnto the bottle, and the bottle to her mouth she drank 
a good draught, and rinding it to be something thin in the going 
down, she said to Besse that sat by : Credit me now, but for the 
name of Wine, I haue drunk as good water. 

It is Renish Wine (quoth Besse) and that is neuer strong. 

It may be made of rain well enough (quoth loane). 

At which words Florence entred with a glas : and powring it out 
10 into the glasse, she extolled the colour, saying, see what a braue 
colour it hath, it is as clear, I do assure you, as rock water : and 
therewithall drinking it off, she said, it drinks very dead : Of 
a troth (quoth she) this is but bad Wine, it is euen as dead as a 
doore naile : and so filling the glasse again, she gaue it vnto Besse. 

She tasting thereof, said : Passion of me, this is plain water. 

Water (said loane?) Is it water? Let me taste of it once 
again : by my Maiden-Head, it is water indeed (quoth she). 

Water (said Florence) you haue played the drabs in drinking out 
the Wine, and filling the bottle again with water. 
20 Of my faith (quoth loane) you say not true in so saying : I 
would you did vnderstand, we played not the drabs in any such sort, 
but Haunce rather played the Knaue, that brought vs water instead 
of Wine. 

Nay (quoth Florence) I dare swear for him that he would not 
serue you so for all the wealth my Master is worth. And I am 
pers waded it was no body but your selues that did it : but, in 
faith you might haue dealt so with another, and not with me. 

Nay then (quoth they) you need not to serue vs so, to cause vs 
drink water instead of Wine : and we would you should think, 
3 o although you be Master Sheriffes Maid, we loue our mouths as 
well as you do yours for your life, and it was but an homely 
recompence for our good will, I tell you true : neither do we care 
how little we come to be thus deluded. 

Go too, go too (said Florence) you are like to Penelopes puppy, 
that doth both bite and whine, I know you well enough. 

Know vs (quoth loane). What do you know by vs ? we defie 
you for anything you can say by vs. Know vs? Nay it were 
well if thou didst know thy selfe ; and hearest thou ? though thou 
hast thy companions to meet thee at thy pleasure, and we haue 
4 o not : no, know vs ? we are known to be as honest as thou art, 
or else we should be sorry ; and so she departed in a chafe. 

Now John the Frenchman and Nicholas, hauing eaten the 
Venison and drunk vp the wine, came back again time enough to 
hear all this strife, whereat they greatly reioyced. But so soon as 
Florence did meet with Haunce again, she kept no small stir for 
mocking her with a bottle of water, about the which they fell at 
variance, in such sort that they were not friends for a long time 
after. 



of the Gentle Craft. 129 

But during the time that Haunce was out of fauour Nicholas 
sought the Maids frendship by all the means he might, but in 
vain was his pains spent therein : for, although Florence (out 
wardly) seemed much displeased, yet Haunce had her heart still, 
and in processe of time obtained great fauour ; the matter was 
grown so foreward, that the performance of their marriage was 
forthwith appointed, which they intended should be celebrated at 
the Abbey of Grace on Tower hill. Notwithstanding, this matter 
was not kept so close, but that their secret dealings were known, 
and Nicholas, purposing to deceiue the Duchman, made lohn the 10 
Frenchman priuie thereunto, saying ; lohn, it is so, that this night, 
at midnight Masse, Florence and Haunce do intend secretly to be 
married, and they haue appointed the Frier to do it so soon as the 
Tapers are all put out, because they will not be seen of any : 
Therefore John, if now you will be my friend, I do not doubt but 
to marry her my selfe, and so to giue the Duchman the slampam, 
and bore him through the nose with a cushin. 

Ha (quoth lohn) be Got me shall do as you sea, and therefore 
Nicholas tell me what you do. 

Marry lohn (quoth he) you know the Duchman loueth to drink 20 
well, and by that he loueth weele cause him to lose his Loue ; for 
we will get him out to the Tauern, and there cause him to be dis 
guised, that he shall neither be able to stand nor go. 

lohn the Frenchman hearing this, scratched his head, and 
rubbing his elbow, said, Ma foy, Nicholas, dis be de fine trick : 
how shall we get him forth a doores ? 

Excellent well (quoth Nicholas] for there is a new lourney-man 
come to Town with Sir Hughs bones at his back, and you know 
that we, being of the Gentle Craft, must go giue him his welcome, 
and I will tell Haunce thereof, who being now very iocund, by y> 
reason that his marriage is so neer, will not deny to come, I know. 
Therefore you and the stranger lourney-man shall go before to the 
Tauern, and then I will go fetch him. 

A beene, content, content (said lohn). 

And so to the Tauern he hasted with the strange man. Anon 
comes Nicholas and Haunce, and with them two or three Journey 
men more, and all to the new lourney-man : sitting down, they 
got Haunce in the midst, called for wine lustily, and such varieties, 
as the Duchman was soon set packing ; for euery one sought to 
ouercharge him, and, being himselfe of a good kind to take his 4 
liquor, spared not to pledge euery man. At what time, in the 
midst of his cups, being well whitled, his tongue ran at random 
(as wine is the bewrayer of secrets) so it proued by him, for there 
he opened to his companions all his whole mind, saying My 
hearts, for all I sit here I must be a married man ere morning. 

33. nor go 1673 ; 1648 apparently introduces foreign matter which breaks off 
at the end of the page, nor go, and while he lies parbraking his minde, hearing 
this, scratched his head &Y., as in text. 

917.6 K 



130 The pleasant History 

God giue you ioy (quoth they). 

But who shall you marry (said Nick}. Florence ? 

Yea Florence (said the Duchman) that is the Lasse that I do loue, 
and all the world cannot deceiue me of her now, I am the man 
that must haue her Maidenhead, and this night we must be married 
at the Abbey of Grace ; and if you be good fellows, go with me to 
Church ; will you go with me ? 

Will we ged with thee ? (said lohn Frenchman) that we will. 

John (said Haunce] I haue wiped your nose, and Nicks too, 
j o you must weare the willow Garland. 

Well, what remedy (quoth they) it is the better for you. 

But in faith Haunce, seeing it is so (quoth NicK) weele haue one 
pottle of Wine more, that we may drink to the health of your fair 
Bryde. 

He pledge her, if it be a gallon (quoth Haunce}. 

Be my fet and trot (said lohn} weele haue a gallon. Hea 
Drawer, where be you ? I pray you bring me a gallon of de best 
Claret, and a gallon of de best Sack, shall make merry i'fet : What 
Florence be marry and I no know ? 

20 But by the time that this wine was drunk, Haunce was laid vp 
for walking any more that night. When Nick perceiued that, he 
stole suddenly out of the Tauern, and went to meet Florence at 
the appointed place : but lohn quickly missed him, knew straight 
whereabout he went, got him presently to the Constable of the 
Postern gate and told him, that Nick had laid a man for dead in 
Tower street, and that he was gone to saue himselfe vnder the 
priuiledge of the Abbey of Grace ; but (quoth he) if you will go 
along, I shall bring him out with fair words vnto you, and then I 
desire you to clap him vp to answer this matter in the morning. 
30 But where dwell you (said the Constable) ? 

1 do dwell with Master Alderman Eyer (quoth lohn} and there 
you shall haue me at all times. 

The Constable did as lohn bade him, and commited Nicholas 
to prison. In the mean space, Florence and an old woman of 
Tower street said that they did go to a womans labour, and by 
that means they passed along by the watch, and to the Abbey of 
Grace they came. They had not long been there, but that lohn 
Frenchman meeting them, said, Florence, well met, here is a fit 
place to finish that I haue long looked for : 

40 lohn (quoth she) thou art like an euill spirit that must be 
coniured out before a body shall get any quietnesse, vrge not me 
vpon any such matters, for you be not the man I looke for, and 
therefore, as taking little pleasure in your presence, as of your 
proffers, I would be very glad to see your back. 

What (said lohn] haue you no compassion vpon a poore man ? 
you be hard-hearted indeed. 

But as he was vttering these speeches, it was his wiues chance 
to hear his tongue, being newly come from the Barge at Billinsgate, 



of the Gentle Craft. 131 

and at that time going toward Saint Katherines to see if she could 
meet with some of her Countrey folks that could tell her any 
tydings of her husband ; but as I said, hearing his tongue, and 
knowing him by his speech, she said : What, lohn Deneuale ? My 
husband lohn Deneuale ? What make you wed pretty wence hea ? 

At which words lohn was stricken into such a dump, that he wist 
not what to say : notwithstanding, hearing Florence to ask if she 
was his wife, he answered and said, Yea. 

O thou dissembling fellow (quoth she) is it euen so ? Didst 
thou say thou wast a Batcheller, seeking to marry me, and hast a 10 
wife aliue ? Now fie on thee : O good Lord, how was I blest to 
escape him: nay, now I see that Haunce may haue a wife in 
Flaunders too, although he be here : and therefore, by the grace 
of God, I will not marry a stranger. 

O (quoth lohn) I thought my wife had been dead, but seeing 
she is aliue, I will not lose her for twenty thousand crowns. 

So Florence departed and left lohn with his wife. 

Now, Haunce neuer waking vntill it was next day at noon ; 
when he saw he had ouerslept himself, being very sorry, he 
went home, not knowing how to excuse his folly to Florence ; 20 
whom she vtterly forsook, as well in regard of his drunkennesse, as 
for that being a stranger, he might, like lohn Frenchman, haue 
another wife liuing. But Nicholas (that all this while lay in prison) 
being brought before Aldermann Eyer, rehearsed the truth, and, 
crauing pardon for his offence, was without more ado deliuered. 
And Florence being called before him, he made vp the match 
between her and his man Nicholas, marrying them out of his house 
with credit, giuing them a good stock to begin the world withall : 
also for lohn Frenchman he did very much, and shewed himselfe 
a good Master to his man Haunce, and to all the rest of his 30 
seruants. 



CHAP. XV. 

How Master Alderman Eyer was chosen Lord Maior 
of London, and how he feasted all the prentises on 
Shroue tuesday. 

Within a few yeers after, Alderman Eyer being chosen Lord 
Maior of London, changing his copy, he became one of the 
worshipfull Company of Drapers, and for this yeer he kept a most 
bountifull house. At this time it came into his mind what a 
promise once he made to the Prentises, being at breakfast with 40 
them at their going to the Conduit, speaking to his Lady in this 
wise : Good Lord (quoth he) what a change haue we had within 
these thirty yeers ? And how greatly hath the Lord blessed vs 
since that ? blessed be his Name for it. 

K 2 



132 The pleasant History 

I do remember, when I was a young Prentise what a match I 
made vpon a Shroue tuesday morning, being at the Conduit, 
among other of my companions ; trust me wife (quoth he) tis worth 
the hearing, and He tell thee how it fell out. 

After we had filled our Tankards with water, there was some 
would needs haue me set down my Tankard, and go with them 
to breakfast (as many times before I had done) to which I con 
sented : and it was a breakfast of Pudding-pies. I shall neuer for 
get it. But to make short, when the shot came to be paid, each one 

10 drew out his money but I had not one peny in my purse, and credit 
I had none in the place ; which when I beheld, being abashed, 
I said; Well my Masters, do you giue me my breakfast this time; 
and in requitall thereof, if euer I be Maior of London, He bestow a 
breakfast oneall the Prentises of the City: these were the words, little 
thinking, (God wot) that euer it should come to passe : but such was 
the great goodnesse of our God, who setteth vp the humble, and pull- 
eth down the proud, to bring whom he pleaseth to the seat of Honour. 
For as the scripture witnesseth, Promotion cometh neither from the 
East nor from the West, but from him that is the giuer of all good 

20 things, the mighty Lord of heauen and earth. Wherefore wife, see 
ing God hath bestowed that vpon me that I neuer looked for ; it is 
reason that I should perform my promise : and being able now, 
lie pay that which then I was not able to do : for I would not 
haue men say that I am like the Ebon-tree, that neither beares 
leafes nor fruit. Wherefore wife, seeing that Shroue tuseday is so 
neer at hand, I will vpon that day fulfill my promise, which vpon 
that day I made. 

Truly (my Lord) (quoth she) I will be right willing thereunto. 
Then answered my Lord, as thou dost loue me, let them want 

30 neither Pudding-pies nor Pancakes, and look what other good 
chear is to be had, I will referre all to your discretion. 

Hereupon great prouision was made for the Prentises breakfast : 
and Shroue tuesday being come, the Lord Maior send word to the 
Aldermen, that in their seuerall Wards they should signifie his 
mind to the Citizens, to craue their fauours that their Prentises 
might come to his house to breakfast, and that for his sake they 
might play all the day after. Hereupon it was ordered that at the 
ringing of a Bell in euery Parish, the Prentises should leaue work 
and shut vp their shops for that day, which being euer since 

40 yeerly obserued, it is called the Pancake Bell. 

The Prentises being all assembled, my Lord Maiors house was 
not able to hold them, they were such a multitude, so that besides 
the great Hall, all the Gardens were set with Tables, and in the 
backside Tables were set, and euery other spare place was also 
furnish'd : so that at length they were al placed and while meat 
was bringing in, to delight their eares, as well as to feed their 
bodies, and to drown the noise of their pratlings, Drums and 
Trumpets were pleasantly sounded : that being ended, the waits 



of the Gentle Craft. 133 

of the City, with diuers other sorts of Musick played also to beguile 
the time, and to put off all discontent. 

After the first seruice, were all the Tables plentifully furnished 
with Pudding-pies and Pancakes, in very plentifull manner ; and 
the rest that remained was giuen to the poore. Wine and Ale in 
very great measure they had giuen, insomuch that they had no 
lack, nor excesse to cause them to be disordered. And in the 
midst of this their merriment, the Lord Maior, in his Scarlet 
gown, and his Lady in like manner went in amongst them ; bidding 
them all most heartily welcome, saying vnto them, that his promise 10 
so long ago made, he hath at length performed. At what time 
they (in token of thankfulnesse) flung vp their Caps, giuing a great 
shout, and incontinently they all quietly departed. 

Then after this, Sir Simon Eyer builded Leaden-Hall, appointing 
that in the midst thereof, there should be a Market place kept euery 
Munday for Leather, where the Shoemakers of London, for their 
more ease, might buy of the Tanners without seeking any further. 

And in the end, this worthy man ended his life in London with 
great Honour. 

A new loue Sonnet. ao 

Maide. 
All hayle sweet youth, fair Venis graft, 

Cheife Master of the Gentle Craft, 
How comely seemes thou in my sight, 

Like Phebus in the heauens bright, 
That neuer was in Cupids pound, 

Or from his shaft receiud a wound ; 
For by thy mirth it doth appeare 

Thy minde is free from griefe and care. 

Shoemaker. 30 

Faire Maid, you speak no more but truth, 

For why the freedome of my youth, 
I value at too high a rate, 

To linke myselfe with any mate ; 
There is no comfort on the earth, 

Compared to a freeborne mirth, 
When fairest beauties me orethwart, 

I look the better to my heart. 

When beauteous Nymphs do me surprize, 

I shut the Casements of mine eyes, 40 

For he is a fond and foolish Elfe, 

That loues a maid losing himselfe, 
To fall in loue is such a thing, 

From whence sometimes doth mischiefe spring, 
I wish well vnto women-kind, 

But for to wed I haue no minde. 



134 The pleasant History 

Maide. 
What if your Casements chance to ope, 

And giue affection so much scope, 
As to encounter with a Dame, 

Why then methinks it were a shame, 
For you to loue and not to speake, 

And by degrees the Ice to break : 
But if you speak and so obtaine, 

Then haue you found your heart againe. 

10 It were a shame for Maids to woe, 

But men may speak and so may you, 
If that occasion offerd be, 

God Cupids blind and cannot see, 
But shoots at randome here and there, 

O therefore Edmond, haue a care, 
At vnawares you may be hit, 

No pollicy can hinder it. 

But O vnhappy women kinde, 

That toxicated are in minde, 
ao And know not how to vent the same, 

Without the losse of our good name, 
They count vs bold if now and than, 

We do but look vpon a man, 
And look we may, but dare not speak, 

Much lesse our mindes vnto them break. 

Shoomaker. 

Would I were worthy for to know 
The cause of this your griefe and wo, 

For why, your words and looks declare, 
3 Your minde is ouercharg'd with care, 

If that your heart be fled away, 
And it be taken for a Stray, 

The man that hath it He perswade 
To take some pity on a Maid. 

This young man struck this faire maid mute, 

She wanted one to pleade her Sute, 
Faine would she speak, but was afraid, 

This is the case of many a Maid, 
He was the man whom she loud best, 
4 Her heart did lodge within his breast, 

Although to him it was vnknown 
Vntill at last he lost his owne. 
38. case l6^s &c. : cause 



of the Gentle Craft. 135 

Cupid the god of loue came downe, 

And on this young Man cast a frown, 
He bent his bowe and sent a dart, 

That struck the young Man to the heart, 
And, cause the Maid should win the prize, 

He opened the Shoemakers eyes, 
So when her beauty he beheld, 

He gladly yeelded vp the field. 

With folded Armes along he walkt, 

And thus vnto himselfe he talkt, 10 

what are we that vainly trust 

In our weak strengths that are but dust ; 

1 durst haue sworne no liuing wight, 
Could moue me from my sweet delight, 

But now I see and feele the smart, 
Mine eyes too soon deceiue my heart. 

He that before was grown so stout, 

And strong enough to keep loue out, 
Is vanquisht now and made to yeeld, 

And did both win and lose the field ; ao 

He conquerd her to him vnknown, 

She conquerd him, made him her own : 
Thus Maids with men are dallying still, 

Till they haue brought them to their will. 

Alas (quoth he) how am I crost, 

Beholding her, my selfe lue lost; 
Now beauty is become a snare, 

The which hath brought me to dispaire ; 
If she no other man had loud, 

I might haue hope she might be moud ; 30 

But she another doth affect, 

And I must dye without respect. 

She noting of his passion then, 

As Maids will do that loue young Men ; 
And finding the occasion fit, 

Mark here a wily wenches wit ; 
Delayes proue dangerous she knew, 

And many Maids haue found it true : ( 

Thus in her selfe resolud to speak, 

Shee vnto him her mind did break. 40 

(Quoth she) young man, it is your lot, 

The god of loue hath laid a plot, 
The net was spread, the bird is caught, 

And I haue found the thing I sought : 
Though Men are strong and Women weak, 

Stout hearts will yeeld before theyl break ; 
And Women sometimes win the field 

When men are willing for to yeeld. 



136 The Gentle Craft. 

With that the Nimphs and Rurall Swaines, 

Come straightway tripping ore the plaines. 
The Satyres made them Pipes of Reeds, 

And brought in Musick more then needs ; 
The Syrens sung such songs of mirth, 

That brought King Oberon from the earth ; 
The Fairies with their Fairy king, 

Did dance about them in a ring : 

Chorus. 
10 All health and happinesse betide, 

The Shoemaker and his sweet bride, 
Lo thus we sing and thus we dance, 

Till we haue brought loue in a trance, 
Thus pleasures sweet this couple grace, 

Both linckt together in sweet imbrace, 
The neighboring hils and dailes resound, 
With Eccho of our pleasant sound. 

Whilst thus they sung their Roundelayes, 

God Cupid crownd their heads with bayes, 
30 The bride lookt like the Queen of May t 

The Shoemaker led her away, 
Where now they liue in quiet peace, 

And loue doth more and more increase, 
Thus loue you see, can finde a way, 

To make both Men and Maids obey. 

How a Shoemakers widdow fell in loue with her man. 

These three years lohn I haue been deep in loue, 
And nere till now had time my mind to moue. 

Speak, Canst thou loue me though I am thy Dame? 
3 I would not haue thee daunted, Fie, for shame. 

Old prouerb, spare to speak and spare to speed, 
Thou wantst a wife and I a husband need. 

His A nswer. 
Mistris I am in loue as well, tis true, 

But to speak truth, in truth 1 loue not you, 
I haue a Maid in Chase, as sweet a Lasse, 

In my conceit I think, as euer was : 
Pray then, forbeare, it neuer shall be said 

I took a widdow and forsook a Maid. 

40 Reader obserue whats written by the Poet, 

Women and Maids loue men, but few will shew it. 

FINIS. 

14. 1675 ; 1648 omits this line. 



THE 



GENTILE 

CRAFT. 

The feconct 'Tart. 

Being a moft mcrrie and pleafant 
Hiftorie, not altogether vnprofitable nor 

any way-hurtfull: vcrie fie to paflc away the te- 
dioufnelfe of thelong winter evenings, 

By T. 2>. 

Newly correfted and augmented. 




LONDON, 
Printed by Elizdtth Parflw, dwelling neere 



To the Master and Wardens of the 
worshipfull company of the Cordwaynors 

in London, all continuance of health and per 
fect brotherly affection. 

ONcc more hath good will emboldened me, to present 
vnto your Worships my worthies labour, to manifest the 
good affection I beare to this fraternity : and finding, you lent 
a gentle looke on the first part of this History, I haue beene the 
more bolde to proffer you the second : for bailing bound my selfe 
by promise to performe it : and you perhaps clayming promise as 10 
a debt, expecting payment, I bent all my study to keepc touch : 
whereupon I tender this small trifle vnto you, onely crauing at 
your worships hands, a good opinion of my poore endeuours. 
And albeit this pamphlet doth not minister matter worthy your 
graue view : yet in regard of the subiect, I trust you will deigne 
to esteeme it, sith so well as I could, though not so well as 
I would, I haue sought herein to procure your delight : and 
although you finde not all the men spoken of, which is promised 
in the first part, yet thinke it no faintnes in me, but fault of good 
instruction : and againe, for as much as these men here mentioned ^o 
were all of this Citie (whose story grew longer then I supposed) 
and the other of the country : I thought good so to breake off, 
and to defer their story to another time, when I may more perfectly 
speake thereof In the meane space I commend your Worships 
to the protection of the most highest. 

Your Worships in all he may. 
T. I). 



To the Courteous Readers 
health. 

GEntle Reader, you that vouchsafe to cast curteous lookes 
into this rude Pamphlet, expect not herein to find any matter 
of light value, curiously pen'd with pickt words, or choise phrases, 
but a quaint and plaine discourse best fitting matters of merriment, 
seeing wee haue herein no cause to talke of Courtiers or Scholers^ 
Notwithstanding, if you find your selfe ouer charged with melan 
choly, you may perhaps haue here a fit medicine to purge that 
10 humour, by conferring in this place with Doctor Burket : or if 
you meet with round Robin^ he may chance ryme it away. I tell 
you among Shoemakers is some solace, as you shall see by Tom 
Drums entertainment, and other mad merry prankes playd by 
the Greene-King of S. Martins. If that will not suffice, you may. 
in meeting with Anthony now now, haue such a fit of mirth, with 
his firking Fiddle, that it shall be a great cause to expell choler. 
And so I leaue you to your owne liking, whether you will enter to 
see this sport or no : stand backe, I pray, roome for a Gentleman, 
for you cannot come in vnder a groat. 



CHAP, i . 

Containing the History of Richard 

Casttler: and the first of his loue. 

' I ^HE louely Maidens of the Citty of Westminster, noting what 
JL a good husband Richard Castcler was and seeing how 
diligently hee followed his businesse, Judged in the end he 
would proue a rich man : for which cause many bore \Tito him ver}' 
good affection, and few there was that wished not themselues to 
be his wife : insomuch that he hauing the custome of all the 
pretty Wenches in the Citty, by that meanes knew the length of 10 
euery Maidens foot so well, that he aboue all other best pleased 
them. On the Sundayes when he came into the Church, the 
Maides eyes were so firmely fixed on him that hee could neither 
looke forward, backeward, nor on any side, but that he should be 
sure to haue a winke of one, a smile of another, the third would 
giue a nod : and to be briefe, they would all cast on him such 
gracious lookes, that it was easie to guesse by their outward coun 
tenance, their inward good will. 

And when in his Holy-dayes attire he past along the streets, 
the Maidens (after their businesse was done) standing at their 20 
Masters doores and spying him, would say thus one to another : 
Now verily, there goes a proper ciuill young man, wise & thrifty : 
yea such a one as in time will proue wondrous wealthy, and 
without all doubt, will come to great credit and preferment. 

These and the like words would they vse of him continually, 
whereby he had among them such a generall good opinion, that, 
as he stood a dayes at his cutting boord, he should be sure to 
haue twenty cursies made him in an houre, by Maidens that past 
vp and downe : some would bestow on him dainty, sweet nose- 
gayes, of the fairest flowers they could find, and other some would 30 
bring him handkerchers of Cambrick, and diuers such like fauours, 
well bewraying their friendship towards him. 

But among many that secretly affected him, I will onely tell 
of twaine, because aboue all the rest, their merriments doe onely 
remaine in memorie, the one of them was called Margaret of the 
spread-Eagle, but more commonly knowne by the name of long 
Meg of Westminster. The other was a proper neat wench named 
Gillian of the George, both of them as wily as they were witty, 
who among all the Maides in Westminster were reputed to 

5. a good a husband 76/9 1 1. aboue] about i6jy 



142 The Gentle Craft. 



be the best seruants ; hauing therefore good wages, they main 
tained themselues gallantly, and therwithall so honestly, that no 
man could quip them with bad liuing, though afterward it fell out 
otherwise, as in this historic you shall heare. 

Margaret was a maiden, borne in Lancashire^ in height and 
proportion of body passing the ordinary stature of women, but 
there-withall very comely, and of amiable countenance, her 
strength was agreeable to her stature and her courage as great as 
them both : she was of a quicke capacitie, and pleasant dis- 
10 position, of a liberall heart, and such a one as would be sodainely 
angry, and soone pleased, being readier to reuenge her wrongs by 
weapons, then by words : and therein did shee differ from the 
nature of other women, because shee could not abide much 
brabling : and so heedfull was shee of her behauiour in her 
yonger yeeres, that, her good properties far exceeding her portion, 
she was wooed by diuers, but would be won by none, for the man 
whom shee most loued least thought vpon her. And albeit shee 
manifested her good will by diuers meanes, yet did Richard little 
regard it, hauing his mind nothing bent vnto marriage, by meanes 
20 whereof Margaret grew into such sad conceits as changed her 
chery cheekes into a greene wan countenance, in-somuch that 
euery one wondred to see her pensiuenes. 

At last it chanced that Margaret hauing occasion to go into 
London^ it was her good fortune to meet with Gillian of the 
George whom her mistres had sent thither to buy Comfets and 
Carawayes, with diuers other sweet meates, for that they had 
a banket bespoken by diuers gallant Courtiers, which that night 
appointed to come thither : but so soone as Margaret spied her, 
she smiled, saying : Gillian now in good sadnes, wel met, (if thou 
30 beest met a maid.) 

And ill met (quoth shee) not meeting so good a maid as my 
selfe. 

Tush (said Margaref] it is good for vs to thinke well of our 
selues, for there is enough that think ill of vs. 

Mary I defie them (quoth Gillian] that thinks ill of me, and 
I respect as little their speech, as they do my profit. For a woman 
with a good life, feares no man with an euill tung. 

If you bee so hot (quoth Margaref] where the wind blows so 
cold, what will you be by that time supper is ready, where the 
40 fire will be as fierce as your choller is great ? and mistake mee 
not, good Gillian^ though I said men think ill of vs, I meane not 
thereby that any goe about to blemish our good names ; but 
I sujfpose they thinke not so wel of vs as they might do that doe 
not loue vs so well as to marry vs. 

Nay (said Gillian) if that be all, I am at a good point ; for 
though my maiden-head be somewhat burdensom to beare, yet 
I had rather keepe it, then bestow it on a bad husband : but 
though I say it, though I be but a poore wench, I haue choise of 



The Gentle Craft. 143 

husbands enough, and such as I am assured in my conscience, 
would both loue me well, and keepe me gallantly. 

Wherefore then doe you not marry (quoth Margaret] ? in my 
opinion it is the most pleasingst life that may be, when a woman 
shall haue her husband come home and speake in this sort vnto 
her. How now Wife ? how dost thou my sweetheart ? what wilt 
thou haue? or what dost thou lacke? and therewithall kindly 
embracing her, giues her a gentle kisse, saying: speake my 
prettie mouse, wilt thou haue a cup of Claret-wine, White-wine, 
or Sacke to supper? and then perhaps he carues vnto her the leg 10 
of a Capon, or the wing of a Chicken, and if there be one bit 
better then other, shee hath the choise of it : And if she chance 
to long for anything by and by it is sent for with all possible 
speed, and nothing is thought too deare to doe her good. At 
last hauing well refresht themselues, she sets her siluer whistle to 
her mouth, and calles her maid to cleare the boord : then going to 
the fire, he sets her on his knee, and wantonly stroking her 
cheeke, amourously hee chockes her vnder the chin, fetching 
many stealing toutches at her rubie lips, and so soone as he 
heares the Bell ring eight a clocke, he calles her to goe to bed 20 
with him. O how sweet doe these words sound in a womans 
eares ? But when they are once close betweene a paire of sheetes, 

Gillian then, then. 

Why what of that (quoth she) ? 

Nay nothing (saith Margaret} but they sleep soundly all night. 
Truly (quoth Gillian) there be many wiues, but few that 
meete with such kind husbands : but seeing you aske me why 

1 marry not, in troth Meg I would tell thee, if I had time to stay : 
but I feare I haue stood too long pratling here already, and there 
fore farewell good Meg, when I see thee againe, thou shalt know 30 
more of my mind. 

Nay Gillian, heare you (quoth she) go but a little way with me, 
and I will goe home with you as straight as a line, for I haue 
nothing to buy but a score of Quinces, and couple of Pomegranets, 
and that shall be done in a trice. 

Gillian was contented for her good companies sake to stay a 
while, and as soone as Margaret had made her market, they 
settled themselues to goe homeward, where by the way Gillian 
entred into this communication. 

You did euen now demand a question of me, and very desirous 4 
you were to know why I did not marry when I was so well offered : 
Trust me Margaret, I take you to be my friend, which makes me 
the more willing to vnfold my fancy, being as well perswaded of 
your secresie as I am of your amity, and there-vpon I am the more 
willing to make you copartner of my counsailes. Fire in straw will 
not be hidden, and the flames of affection wil burst forth at length, 
though it be long kept vnder. And truth it is that I haue forsaken 
good matches, for I might haue had Master Cornelius of the Guard 



144 The Gentle Craft. 



if I would, who as you know is wealthy, and therwithall of very 
good conuersation, yet there was one thing made me refuse his 
kind offer. 

What was that (quoth Margaret] I pray thee tell ? 

(Quoth she) he loued not me so well but I loued another tenne 
times better, and therefore it is not good for handes to ioyne, where 
hearts agree not. No Meg, no, there is a youth in our street that 
nearer touches my heart and better pleases my mind, notwith 
standing he shall go namelesse, for it is an old prouerb, two may 
10 keep counsell if one be away. 

Nay then (quoth Meg] if you dare not trust me, tell no further, 
notwithstanding, I haue had credit in as great matters as yours, for 
many a man hath put his life in my hands, & found no hurt 
thereby, and as many women haue commited their secrets to me, as 
men haue ventured their bodies with me. 

Go to Margaret, you are disposed to iest (said Gillian] but 
sweare by thy Maidenhead that thou wilt neuer bewray my liking, 
nor preuent me in my loue, & I will shew thee all. 

Nay fie, do not so (quoth Margaret} shew not all, for shame, least 

ao more see it then my selfe, for so may they blush at thy boldnes, 

and nothing commend thy modesty : but it is happy that I haue a 

maidenhead left to sweare by : else I perceiue I should know 

nothing of thee. 

No, trust me (quoth Gillian] for such a one as cannot keepe her 
Maidenhead, wil neuer keep a secret, and that made Katherine of 
the Crane to be such a blab : but now Meg I will proceed to the 
matter. What doe you thinke by Richard of the Rose, the wakeful 
cock of Westminster^ 

Oh, he (quoth Meg] is that the man ? there is no reason I should 
30 thinke amisse of him that euery man commends : neuerthelesse, 
he is no body in respect of riches, being but a yong housekeeper 
of one yeares standing, a man (God wot) vnacquainted with the 
worlds guise, and, to speake truth, nothing comparable to Master 
Cornelius. 

I will tell thee what (quoth Gillian] that man which needeth 
neither to flatter with his friends, nor borrow of his neighbours 
hath riches sufficient : and hee is most poore that hath least wit, 
by which arguments I am able to prooue, that the Cock is as 
wealthy as he is wary, for he will sure be beholding to no body, or 
40 to as few as he may, and it is al wayes to be noted that men of 
such mindes doe neuer proue beggers. 

Margaret hearing Gillian so stoutly to take Richards part, 
perceiued by her vehement speeches the great affection she bore 
to him, and finding that she was sick of her owne disease, 
Margaret sought means to remoue the cause of her griefe, & 
thereby thrust her selfe into the greater sorrow : And the policy 
she vsed most herein, was to speak altogether in Richards 
dispraise, seeking thereby to dislodge her loue, and the more 



The Gentle Craft. 145 



firmely to plant her owne, whereupon she vttered her mind in this 
sort. 

Well Gillian, seeing you beare so good an opinion of Richard 
of the Rose, I would not for a bushel of Angels seek to disswade 
you : but because you request my opinion how I like the man, in 
troth I will tell thee my mind without fraud or flattery : I confesse 
that Richard is a gentle young man, curteous and kind, diligent 
about his businesse, and wary in his dealings, which argues good 
husbandry. Notwithstanding, I like not these ouer-couetous 
fellowes, of such greedy mindes, such penny fathers and pinch-fistes, 10 
that will not part from the paring of their nailes nor the dropping 
of their nose, if they thought it would yeeld them but the fourth 
part of a farthing. Tell me I pray thee, what ioy should a woman 
haue with such a churle, that would grudge at every halfe-penny 
that is laid out, that in a whole yeare would not leaue a farthing 
worth of mustard vnwritten in his booke : And such a one I feare 
will this Cocke proue, for me thinkes hee lookes with a hungry 
nose, and, howsoeuer you think of him, I know not but I verily 
feare, though hee be a Cocke by name, hee will neuer proue a Cock 
of the game. Againe he is but a dwarfe in respect of a man, a 20 
shrimpe, a Wren, a hop of my thumbe, such a one as a baby might 
hide in a wrinkle of their buttocks. 

Well Meg (quoth shee) you are priuiledged to speake your 
pleasure, but should another thus mistearme him, I would teare 
her face : I tell thee true I had rather haue a winner then a waster, 
a sparer, then a prodigall spender : for when a man in his youth, 
hath gotten something with paine, he may the better spend it in 
his age with pleasure, and farre better it is hee should be thought 
couetous, then carelesse; his stature and proportion of body 
pleases me well enough, for it is no matter how great hee is, but 30 
how good hee is. 

But Margaret seeing our talk hath indured so long, that it hath 
brought vs both home, let vs at our parting be mindfull of our 
promises, to keepe secret whatsoeuer hath been said, for little 
knowes the young man the depth of my mind, and therefore would 
I keepe it close, till I saw some signe of good will proceeding from 
him, for it becommeth not maidens to be woers, though willingly 
they could wish to wed where they best fancie, and so farewell 
sweet Margaret. 

Adue gentle Gillian (quoth Margaret} vntill our next meeting, 4 o 
when I hope I shall further vnderstand of your proceedings in 
your loue. 

When Meg had thus vnderstood her mind, and saw how the 
matter went, she sought all meanes possible to preuent her, as 
hereafter shall be shewen. 

10. pinchfoistes 1639 
917.6 L 



146 The Gentle Craft. 



CHAP. II. 

How Margaret requested Richard to the eating of a 
Posset at night : And how her Masters buttocks was 
scalded therewith. 

T T chanced that against Whitsontide, Margaret stood in need 
J[ of a new paire of Shooes : Therefore in a morning betimes 
she came to Richard of the Rose to bespeake them aforehand, and 
the more to declare her kindnes, and to win his good will, she 
carried with her a bottle of excellent good Muskadine, which one 

10 of the Yeomen of the Kings wine seller had bestowed vpon her : 

and to make it relish the better, she carried with her a dainty 

peece of powdred beefe, and the tender carkasse of a cold Capon, 

and thus plesantly began to greet him. All health to the kind 

cocke of Westminster, that with the Larke greetes the Sun rising with 

a cheerefull note, and mounts aboue many to the loue of pretty lasses. 

Tell me (quoth she) thou bonny Lad, wilt thou take the length of 

my foote, and make me a good payre of shooes against Sunday? 

That I will Margaret (quoth he) therefore let me see thy foote : 

There is both my foote and leg (said Meg) I am not ashamed 

20 to shew either of them, for I am not legged like a Crane nor footed 
like a Flie, and therewith lift vp her cloathes to the knee, whereat 
Richard smiling said, a little higher Meg and shew all : 

Whereupon she sodainly replied in this sort : soft, Richard not 
so, for I will tell thce one thing. 

Euery Carter may reach to the garter, 

A Shoomaker he may reach to the knee, 

But he that creepes higher shall aske leaue of me. 

Good reason (quoth Richard] leaue is light, which being 

obtained a man may be bold without offence, but this onely is my 

30 griefe, I haue neuer a Last in my shop long enough for thy foot : 

Then I would they were all fired (quoth Meg} He that will be 
counted a good workman must haue tooles to fit all persons, and 
I muse that you which striue to be counted excellent, will want 
necessaries : Fie Richard fie, thou shouldest neuer be vnprouided 
especially for women. 

Well Meg (quoth he) be contented, consider you are a woman 
of no ordinary making, but as in height thou ouerlookest all, so in 
the length of thy foot thou surpassest all ; therefore I must haue a 
paire of Lasts made for the nonce, and that shall be done out of hand. 
40 I tell thee Dicke (quoth shee) as high as I am, I am not so high 
as Paules nor is my foot so long as Graues-end Barge. 

Notwithstanding (quoth Richara) a paire of Lasts to fit thy foot 
will cost as much as a hundred of fagots which will not be bought 
vnder ten groats : 



The Gentle Craft. 14.7 



If they cost a crown (quoth Meg] let me haue them ; what man, 
rather then I will goe without shooes I will beare the charge 
thereof my selfe, and in token that I mean troth, take there the 
money, thou shalt find me no Crinkler, but one that will reward 
cunning to the vttermost : I loue not to pinch for a peny, or stand 
vpon tearmes for two pence, if I find my shooes good I will not 
shrinke for a shilling ; 

In troth (quoth Richard] franke customers are worthy of good 
ware, and therefore Meg doubt not, for thou shalt haue as good a 
shoe as euer was drawne vpon womans foote. 10 

God a mercy for that, sweet Dicke (quoth shee) and seeing thou 
saist so, I will bestow this bottle of wine on thee to breakfast, 
beside that, I haue brought here a modicome that will proue as 
good a shooing-horne to drawe downe a cup of Muskadine, as may 
be : and therewithall shee pluckt out her powdred beefe, and her 
colde Capon ; 

Richard seeing this, with thankes to Margaret Tor her meat, reacht 
out a couple of ioyne stooles, and after that they had laid a cloth 
thereon, they downe did sit, at which time many merry speeches 
did passe betweene them. And at that very time there was in 20 
the same shoppe, amongst a great many other men a pleasant 
jorney man called round Robin, being a wel trust fellow 
short and thicke, yet very actiue and pleasantly conceited : for 
singing hee was held in high reputation among all the Shoemakers 
in Westminster, and he would scant speake anything but in rime. 
This jolly companion seeing them bent so well to their breakfast, 
and nothing at all to respect him, in the place where he sate cast 
out these merry speeches vnto them. 

Much good doe it you masters, and well may you fare, 
Beshroe both your hearts and if you do spare: 30 

The ivine should be nought as I judge by the smell. 
And by the colour too I know it full well. 

Nay faith (quoth Meg) thats but a jest, 

lie sweare (quoth Robin) tis none of the best. 

Tast it (quoth Meg) then tell me thy mind : 
Yea marry (quoth Robin) now you are kind. 

With that Margaret filling a cup brim full, gaue it into his hand 
saying : Now tast it Robin and take there the cup. 

Nay hang me (quoth Robin) if I drinke it not vp. 

By my Maiden-head (quoth Margaret) I see that thou art a 40 
good fellow : and to haue thee drinke it vp, is the thing that I craue. 

Then sweare (quoth Robin) by the thing you haue, 
For this to sweare I dare be bold : 
You were a maid at three yeares old. 

L 2 



148 The Gentle Craft. 



From three to foure, fine, sixe, and seauen, 
But ivhen you grew to be eleuen, 
Then you began to breed desire ; 
By twelue your fancy was on fire : 
At thirteene yeares desire grew quicke, 
And then your maiden-head fell sicke : 
But when you came vnto fourteene, 
All secret kisses was not seene : 
By that time fifteene yeares was past, 
10 / guesse your maiden-head was lost. 

And I pray God forgiue me this, 
If thinking so I thinke amisse. 

Now by my honesty (quoth Meg) you doe me mighty wrong to 
thinke so ill of me : for though indeed I confesse, I cannot excuse my- 
selfe, for women are not Angels, though they haue Angels faces : for 
to speake the truth, might I haue had my owne hearts desire when 
time was, I would rather haue chosen to lye with a man then a 
maid, but such merry motions were out of my mind many a 
deere day agoe, and now I vow that a maiden I will die. 

ao By this wine (quoth Robin) / dare sweare you fye, 
For were I as my master by this good light, 
You 'would leese your maiden-head ere twelue a clock at night. 
With high derry derry, 
If it be not gone already. 

Nay (quoth Margaret} your Master scornes me, he keeps all his 
gownes for Gillian of the George : a pretty wench I confesse, 
hauing a proper body but a bad leg, she hath a very good counte 
nance but an ill coulour, and you talk of desire, but her desire I 
doubt will bring her the greene sicknesse, if your master like a good 
30 Phisition giue her not a medicine against that malady : 

Why Margaret (quoth Richard} hath she told you so much of 
her mind, that you know her griefe so well ? 

It may be she hath (quoth Margaret} but whether she did or no, 
it is sufficient that I know so much : But I thinke (quoth Margaret} 
you are not so besotted to make any account of a Tallow cake. 

No, faith (quoth Robin) a nut-browne girle, 
Is in mine eye a Diamond and a Pearle : 
And shee that hath her cheekes cherry red, 
Is euer best welcome to a young mans bed. 

40 Certainly (quoth Richard} which is the best or worst I know not 
yet, nor doe I meane hastily to proue ; And as Gillian of the 
George, as she hath no reason to hate me, so she hath no cause 
to loue me : but if she doe, it is more fauour then I did euer merit 
at her hand, and surely were it but in regard of her good will, I am 
not to scorne her nor for her fauour to feed her with floutes, but 



The Gentle Craft. 14.9 

for her good thoughts of me to think well of her, though not so 
well as to make her my wife : 
Well said Master (quoth Robin). 

In this sort grind you still. 

So shall we haue mo sackes to mill. 

Trust me (quoth Margaret] I speake not this so much to 
disgrace Gillian, as for the regard I haue to your credit : but to make 
an end of Gillian and this iest altogether, let me entreat you soone 
at night to come to our house ; and thinke this, though your cheere 
chance to be small, your welcome shall be great. I know that 10 
this Summer (and especially against these holy-daies) you will 
worke till ten, and I promise you by eleuen I will haue as good a 
posset for you as euer you did taste on in your life. My master 
is an old man and he commonly goes to bed at nine, and as for my 
mistris, I know where she will be safe till midnight masse be 
ended, so that for an houre we may be as merry as pope John : 
what say you Richard (quoth she) Will you come ? 

In troth, Margaret (quoth he) I heartily thank you for your 
good will, I would willingly come but I loue not to be from home 
so late. 20 

/ thinke so (quoth Robin) least you should misse Kate, 
But take my counsel!, when you are with Meg : 
Suppose you haue got fine Kate by the leg. 

Robin (said he) thou art so full of thy rime, that often thou art 
without reason : thou seest that Margaret hath been at cost with 
vs to-day, and it is more then good manners to charge her further, 
before we haue made amends for this : and beside that, late 
walking in the euening brings young men into much suspition. 

Tush (quoth Margaret) once and vse it not, is not such a matter : 
therefore sweet Richard you shall come, and you shall not say me 30 
nay, therefore I charge you on paine of displeasure not to faile, 
and forget not to bring round Rodin with you, and so farewell. 

1V0, faith (quoth Robin) // shall not need, 
I am bidden already and so God speed. 

Who bad thee (quoth Margaret] ? 

What are thy wits so vnsteady ? 

You did bid me (quoth Robin) haue you forgot already '/ 

Why then I pray thee good Robin (said Meg) do not forget in 
any case, and put thy Master in mind thereof if he should chance 
to change his opinion, or ouerslip the time through greedines of 40 
work, for, ifaith Robin if thou bring him along with thee, I will 
thinke the better of thee while I Hue : 

Why then (quoth he). 

And as I am no knight, 
We will come to eate the posset soone at night. 



150 The Gentle Craft. 



Now Margaret was no sooner gone, and Richard at his cutting 
boord, and Robin set on his stoole, but in comes Gillian of the 
George bringing in her aporne the corner of a Venison Pastie, and 
a good deale of a Lambe pye, who with a smyling countenance 
entring the shop, bidding Richard good morrow, askt if he had 
broke his fast ? 

Yes verily (quoth Richard] I thank long Meg, we haue beene at 
it this morning, and had you come a little sooner you had found 
her heere, for she went away but euen now, and I verily thinke 
10 she is scant at home yet. 

Tis a lusty wench (quoth Robin) gentle and kind, 
And in truth she beares a most bountifull mind. 

Gillian hearing Robin to enter into Megs commendations, began 
to grow jealous of the matter : out vpon her foule stammell (quoth 
she) he that takes her to his wife shall be sure of flesh enough, let 
him get bread where he can : tis such a bold betrice, she will 
acquaint her selfe with euery bodie. Notwithstanding this I will 
tell you, Richard, the lesse she comes in your company, the more 
it will be for your credit. And howsoeuer she deserues it, God 
20 knowes, I cannot accuse her, but I promise you, she hath but a 
hard report among many. But letting her rest as she is, see here 
what I haue brought you, and with that she gaue him the Venison 
and the rest, and drawing her purse, she would needs send for a 
quart of wine. Richard sought to perswade her to the contrary, 
but she would not be intreated ; what man, quoth she, I am able 
to giue you a quart of wine. 

Thats spoke like an Angell (quoth Robin). 

And this I doe thinke, 

If you be able to giue it, we be able to drinke. 

30 Hereupon the wine was fetcht, and so they sate them downe 
to their meate, at what time they fed not so heartily on the 
Venison pasty, but Gillians eye fed as greedily on Richards 
fauour : & as soone as the wine was come, she pluckt out of her 
pocket a good peece of sugar, & filling a glasse of wine tempered 
wel therwith, she drank to him saying : here, Richard, to all that 
loue you and me, but especially to him whom I loue best : 

Let it come (quoth Richard] I will pledge him, whosoeuer it be. 

So will I (quoth Robin) without any faile, 

Were it the best Hipocras, / would turn it ouer my naile. 

40 Then Gillian looking round about, spoke to this effect : verily 
Richard, heere is a pretty house, and eucry thing hansome by 
Saint Anne ; I see nothing wanting but a good wife to keep all 
things in his due kind : 

Whereunto Robin made this answer. 

Now speake thy conscience, and tell me good Gill, 
Would st not thou be that good wife, with a good will? 



The Gentle Craft. 151 



Who I? alas (quoth she) your Master scornes me, he looks 
for a golden girle, or a girle with gold, that might bring him the 
red ruddocks chinking in a bag, and yet possible he were better 
to haue one with lesse money, and more huswifery : for my owne 
part I thanke God, and in a good time may I speake it, I would not 
come to learne of neuer a woman in Westminster how to deale in 
such affaires : 

I thinke no lesse (quoth Richard] and therefore I pray God 
send you a good husband, and one well deseruing so good a wife : 

With that Gillian fetcht a great sigh, saying : Amen I pray 10 
God, for it is a sinfull thing to leade a sinfull life, except : 

Nay, say your mind, speake your mind (quoth Richard] : 

Why (quoth she) it is written, that we shall giue an account for 
euery idle word, and that ill thoughts are as bad as wanton deeds : 

It is true (quoth Richard} 

Then God helpe vs all (quoth Gillian} but if I were married, 
I should remoue a great many of them. 

Why then, marry me (quoth Robin} and thereby preuent the 
perill of bad thoughts : 

Harke, in thy eare Robin (quoth she) I would thy Master 20 
would say as much and then he should soone know my mind. 

Ha, ha (quoth Robin) ifaith, you drab, 
And would you haue him to stampe the crab ? 

Why what is the matter (quoth Richard] ? 

Nay nothing (quoth Gillian] but that I was bold to jest with 
your man, and I hope you will not be offended if he and I 
talke a word or two. 

There is no reason I should (quoth Richard] and therefore 
conferre at your pleasure, and the whilest I will be busie with the 
Lambe pye. 30 

Then Gillian rounding Robin in the eare, spoke in this sort 
vnto him. I perceiue you can spie day at a little hole : you may 
see Robin, loue is like an vnruly streame that will ouer-flow the 
banks if the course be once stopt, as by my speeches no doubt 
you haue noted : neuerthelesse how forcible soeuer fancy is, it is 
thought small modesty in a maiden to lay open her heart in those 
cases, but I am of opinion that affection growing as strong in 
a woman as a man, they ought to haue equall priuiledge, as well 
as men to speake their minds. Robin, I take thee to be an 
honest fellow, and it is the part of a man in cases of honest loue 40 
to assist poore maidens : counsell, the key of certainty ; which 
makes me to require both thy counsaile and help. In truth 
Robin to be plaine, I loue thy Master with all my heart : and if 
thou wouldst be so much my friend to break the matter vnto him 
and therewithall to procure his good liking to me, I would bestow 
on thee as good a sute of apparell as euer thou wast master of in 
thy life : 



152 The Gentle Craft. 



Whereunto Robin answered, saying, 

Heers my hand Gillian, at thy request 
Ik make a vow He doe my best, 
But for my apparell grant me this, 
In earnest first to giue me a kisse. 

There it is (quoth Gillian] and I doe protest, that vpon that 

blessed day, when he giues his happy consent to be my husband, 

at the deliuery of thy apparell I will make that one kisse twenty, 

and hereupon shaking hands, they came to the table and set 

10 them downe againe. 

Richard marking all, said nothing, but at her approach to the 
boord tooke the glasse and drunk to her, giuing her thankes for 
her cost and kindnes : she gladly accepting the same, bending 
her body instead of cursie, tooke it at his hands, and with 
a winke drunk vnto Robin, and so taking her leaue of them both 
as light as a Doe she ran speedily home. 

So soone as she was gone, Robin told his Master it was the 
pleasantest life in the world to Hue a Batcheler, during which 
time he could neither want good cheere nor good company : 
20 I mary (quoth Richard) but what I get one way I spend 
another way, while I passe the time in trifling about nothing : you 
see (quoth he) here is a forenoone spent to no purpose, and all by 
the means of a couple of giglets, that haue greater desire to be 
playing with a man then to be mindfull to follow their busines : 
but if I liue I will sodainly auoid both their delights and their 
loues. I tell thee Robin, I account their fauours full of frawd 
and their inticements daungerous, and, therefore a man must not 
be won with faire words as a fish with a baite. 

Well Master (quoth Robin) all is one to me, whether you 
30 loue them or loath, but yet soone at night let not the posset be 
forgot. 

Beleeue me (quoth Richard) if I rest in the mind I am in 
now, I meane not to be there at all. 

O then you will loose her loue (quoth Robin) for euer and 
euer Amen : 

That (said his Master) is the onely thing that I request, for 
the loue of a shroe is like the shadow of a cloude that consumeth 
as soone as it is scene, and such loue had I rather loose then find. 

But yet (quoth Robin) this once follow my mind. 
40 Though by her loue you set but light, 

Let vs eate the posset soone at night : 
And afterward I will so deale, 
If you will not my trickes reueale : 
That they shall trouble you no more, 
Though by your loue they set great store : 
For, one another they shall beguile, 
Yet thinke themselues well plea sd the while. 



The Gentle Craft. 153 

Verily (quoth his Master) if thou wilt doe so, I wil be Megs 
guest for this once, and happy shall I thinke my self to be so well 
rid of them : 

Hereupon being resolued, they plyde their worke hard till 
the euening, and when the Sunne was crept vnder the earth, and 
the Stars vp in the skies, Richard hauing his shop window shut in, 
and his doores made fast, he with his man Robin tooke their 
direct way to the spread Eagle, where they no sooner knockt at the 
doore, but Margaret came downe and let them in, with such 
a cheerefull countenance, as gaue perfect testimony of their 10 
welcome. 

Now Richard (quoth she) I will witnesse you are a man of your 
word, and a man that hath a respect of his promise : I pray you 
hartily come neere, for to haue you come in my office, is my 
desire : 

But tell vs first (quoth Robin) was your office neuer a fire ? 

Yfaith no (quoth she) you see the kitchin is large and the 
chimney wide : 

But how many rookes (quoth Robin) hath the goodnes of your 
kitchin tride ? 20 

I know not (said Meg) how many or how few : 

Trust me (quoth Robin) / thinke euen so. 

Goe to (quoth Meg} I smell out your knauery, and guesse at 
your meaning, but taking it to be spoken more for mirth, then for 
malice, I let them passe. Then taking Richard by the hand, she 
bad him sit downe, saying : Good Richard think yourselfe 
welcome, for in troth I haue neuer a friend in the world that can 
be better welcome : 

I thank you good Margaret (said he). 

/ thank her still (quoth Robin) with thanks of euery degree, 3 
For you that haue all the welcome ', shall giue all thanks for mee. 

Why Robin (q. Meg) be not offended for thou art welcome 
to me. 

Ifaith (quoth he) you bid me ivelcome when you haue nothing 
else to do. 

Herewithall Margaret very neately laying the cloth, with all 
things necessary, set a dainty minst pie on the boord, piping hote, 
with a great deale of other good cheere, and hauing sent another 
maid of the house for a pottle of wine, they fell to their meat 
merrily, whereof when they had eaten and drunk, Margaret 4 o 
stepping from the boord went to reach the posset, but while she 
had it in her hands she sodainly heard one comming down the 
stairs : 

Gods precious (quoth she) my Master comes, what shift shall 
we make to hide the posset, if he chance to see it, we shall haue 



154 The Gentle Craft. 



more anger than ten possets are worth. With that she quickly 
whipt into the yard and set the posset downe vpon the seat in the 
priuy-house, thinking it there safest out of sight, for her Master 
being an old crabbed fellow, would often steale downe to see 
what his maids were a doing, but God wot that was not the cause, 
for the old man, being raised by the loosenes of his body, came 
hastily downe to pay tribute to Ajax, where when he was come, he 
clapt his buttocks into the posset, wherewith being grieuously 
scalded, he cried out saying, alacke, alacke, help maids, help, or I 

10 am spoild foreuer ; for some spirit or diuell in the foule bottome of 
the priuie hath throwne vp boyling leade vpon my buttocks, and in 
this case like one dauncing the trench more he stampt vp and 
downe the yard, holding his hips in his hands : 

Meg that better knew what the matter was then her master, ran 
into the house of office with a spit in her hand, as if she had 
beene purposed to broch the diuell, and there casting the well 
spiced posset into the midst of the puddle, taking the bason away, 
said, how now Master, what is the matter, who hath hurt you, or 
are you not hurt at all ? 

20 Hurt (quoth her master) I tell thee Meg, neuer was man thus 
hurt, and yet I am ashamed to shew my hurt : 

Bring me a Candle (quoth Meg) I tell you, Master, it is better all 
should be shewen, then all should be spoyled : and there with 
casting by his shirt, spied both his great cheekes full of small 
blisters, whereupon she was faine with all possible speed to make 
him a medicine with sallet oyle and houseleeks, to asswage the 
fury of an vnseene fire. And by meanes of this vnhappy chance, 
Richard with his man was faine secretly to slip away, and to goe 
home without tasting the posset at all : which was to Robin no small 

30 griefe, and yet they could both of them scant stand for laughing, 
to thinke how odly this ieast fell out. 

/ am (quoth Robin) forty yeares old and more, 

Yet did I neuer know posset, so tasted before: 

I thinke his eyes in his Elbowes he had, 

To thrust his arse in the posset, or else he was mad. 

His master answering said, beleeue me Robin, I neuer knew the 
like in my life, but by the grace of God I will neuer goe there no 
more to eate a posset : and so going to bed they slept away 
sorrow till morning. 

40 At what time Margaret comming thither told them she was 
very sorie they were so suddenly broke from their banket ; but, 
Yfaith, Richard (quoth she) another time shall make amends for all. 



'The Gentle Craft. 155 

CHAP. III. 

How the Cocke of Westminster was married to a Dutch 
maiden, for which cause Long Meg, and Gillian of 
the George wore willow Garlands. 

Richard Casteler Hiring a long time a Batchelor in West 
minster, after many good proffers made vnto him, refusing 
all, hee at last linked his loue to a young Dutch maiden 
dwelling in London, who besides that, was of proper personage, 
and comely countenance, and could doe diuers pretty feates to get 
her owne liuing. To this pretty soule went Richard secretly a 10 
wooing, who for halfe a yeare set as light by him, as hee did by the 
Maidens of Westminster, And the more hee was denyed, the more 
desirous hee was to seeke her good will, much like to an vnruly 
patient, that most longes after the meate hee is most forbidden : 
and such is the fury of fond Louers, to esteeme them most 
precious, that are to them most pernitious : he scornfully shunnes 
such as gently seekes him, and wooes her earnestly that shakes 
him off frowardly : but while he was thus busied to make himselfe 
blessed by matching with a Mayden in London, round Robin cast 
in his mind how to set the Maydens wittes a worke in Westminster, 20 
which he effected as occasion was offred in this sort. 

Margaret and Gillian comming often by the shop, cast many a 
sheepes eye to spye out their beloued friend, and after they had 
many times mist him from his busines, they thought either that 
he was growne loue-sick or lazie : but knowing him a man to be 
mightily addicted to the getting of money, judged that it was not 
idlenes, that withdrew him from his busines, but rather that he 
was gone a wooing to one pretty wench or other, for louing hearts 
haue euer suspicious heades and jealousie is copartner with 
affection : whereupon Margaret entred into these speeches with 30 
round Robin. 

I muse much (quoth Meg) where your Master layes his knife a 
boord now adayes, for seldome or neuer can I see him in his 
shop : trust me, I doubt, he is become thriftles, and will proue but 
a bad husband in the end : tell me Robin (said she) I pray thee 
say where doth the Cocke crow now ? 

Not so (said Robin) my Master will not that allow, 

I must not shew his secrets to one or other : 

Therefore you shall not know it though you were my mother, 

Yet thus much by thy speech I plainly do see, 40 

Thou thinkst not so well of him as he thinks on thee. 

Margaret, hearing round Robin rime to so good purpose, 
asked if hee knew his Masters minde so much ? truly (quoth shee) 
if I wist he bore any spark of loue toward me, it should neither goe 



i 5 6 The Gentle Craft. 



vn regarded nor vnre warded, therefore sweet Robin let me know 
whereupon thou speakest ; feare not my secrecie, for I will rather 
hxjse my life then bewray his loue. 

Heereupon Robin said that his Master was very well affected 
towards her, and that if it were not that Gillian of the George did 
cast searching eyes into his actions, he would long ere this haue 
vttrcd his mind : out (quoth Robin) he is so haunted by that female 
spirit, that he can take- no rest in no place for her, and therefore 
the more to quiet his rnind, lie hath left his shop to my charg, 

10 and betaken hirnselfe to wander the Woods so wild. 

These words vttered by Kobin made Margarets heart leape in 
her belly : wherefore taking gently her leaue of him, she thus began 
to meditate on the matter : Now doe I well see that the tongue of a 
wise man is in his heart, but the heart of a foole is in his tongue: and, 
Richard (< juoth she; hast thou borne me such secret good will and 
would neuer let me know it? Iwis, iwis, soonc would thy sorrow 
be asswaged if thou soughtest reniedic at rny hand : well though 
the fire be long supprcst, at length it will burst into a flame, and 
ft ic. hards secret good will, at last will shew it selfe, till when I will 

20 rest my selfe contented, thinking it sufficient that I know he loues 
me : and seeing it is so, I will make him sue and serue, and 
daunce attendance after rne : when he is most curteous, I will be 
most coy, and as it were scorning his proffers, and shunning his 
presence, I will make him the more earnest to intreat my fauour : 
when he sayes he loues me, I will laugh at him, and say he can 
fame and flatter well : if he affirrue he be grieued through rny 
disdaine, and that the lacke of my good wil hath been his greatest 
sorrow, I will say alas good soule, how long haue you been loue- 
sick ? pluck out thy heart man and be of good cheere, there is 

30 more maids then Malkin : though I doe lightly esteeme thee, there 
are some that perhaps will better regard both thy griefe, and thy 
g<x>d will, and therefore good JJicke trouble me no more. 

Thus must maides dissemble least they be counted too curteous 
and shewing themselues ouerfond, become the lesse fauoured, for 
a woman's loue being hardly obtained, is esteemed most sweet, 
therefore we must giue our louers an hundred denials for fashion 
sake, though at the first we could find in our hearts to accept their 
proffered pleasures. 

Thus in a iolly humor Margaret ietted home, flattering herselfe 

40 in her happy fortune, in which delight we will leaue her, and make 
some rehearsall of Gillian* ioy : who, comming in the like manner 
to Robin> asking for his Master, was certified by him, that for her 
sake onely he liued in such sorrow, that he could not stay in his 
shop, and therfore was faine to driue away melancholy by marching 
abroad. 

O Gillian (quoth he) had it not bin for two causes, he would 
long ere this haue vttered his mind vnto thee, for he loues thee 
aboue measure : 



The Gentle Craft. 157 



Yfaith (quoth Gillian) is it true (Robin) that thou dost tell 
me? 

Doubt not of that (quoth he) doe you think that I will tell you 
a lye? I should gaine nothing by that, I am sure: if then you 
will beleeue me you may ; if not, chuse, I meane not to intreat 
you thereto : 

Nay good Robin (quoth she) be not angry, though I credit thy 
speeches, yet blame me not to aske a question. 

Aske what you will (quoth Robiri) I respect it not, and I may 
chuse whether I will answerc you or no: Swounds, now I haue 10 
opened my masters secret, you were best blab it through all the 
towne. 

Nay good Robin that is not my mind (quoth Gillian) but I 
beseech thee, let me know those two causes that keepes thy 
Master from vttering his mind : 

Nay soft, there lay a straw for feare of stumbling (quoth Robin). 
Hold your peace Gillian, it is not good to eate too much hony, 
nor to gorge you with too much gladnes : let it suffice that you 
know what you know. 

Nay good sweet Robin (quoth she) I pray thee make it not 20 
dainty now to tell me all, seeing you haue begun : the day may 
come that I may requite thy curtesie to the full : 

Say you so, Gillian (quoth hee) ? now by good Crispianus soule 
I sweare, were it not that I am in hope you will proue kind to my 
Master, and be a good Mistresse to vs when you are married, 1 
would not vtter one word more, no not halfe a word, nor one 
sillable. 

Well Robin (quoth she) if euer I come to command in thy 
masters house, and to carry the keys of his Cubberts gingling at 
my sides, thou shalt see I will not keepe a niggards Table, to haue 30 
bare platters brought from the boord, but you shall haue meate 
and drinke plenty, and be vsed as men ought to be vsed in all 
reasonable manner. And whereas you seeme to make doubt of 
my kindnesse toward thy Master, ha Robin, I would thou knewest 
my heart. 

Robin hearing this, told her this tale, that his master loued her 
intyrely and would long since haue vttered his mind, but for two 
reasons : the first was, that he could neuer find fit oportunity to 
doe it, because of Ix>ng Meg, whose loue to him was more then he 
could wish and such as he would gladly remoue if he might : for 40 
(saith Robin) though my Master do not care a straw for her, yet 
she casts such a vigilant eye vpon him, that if he do but speake, 
or looke vpon any, she by and by poutes and lowres, and many 
times inveyes against the parties with disgracefull termes, which is 
to my Master such a griefe, that he is faine to keepe silent, what 
otherwise should be shown : and the second reason is this, that 
because he is not so wealthy as he could wish himselfe, you would 
disdaine his sute, and make no account of his good will. 



158 The Gentle Craft. 



Who I (quoth Gillian) ? now by these ten bones it was neuer my 
mind to say him nay. I tell thee Robin I doe more respect his 
kindnes then his goods : he is a proper youth and well conditioned, 
and it is far better to haue a man without money, then money 
without a man. 

Why then good Gillian (quoth Robing harken hither three dayes 
hence, and you shall heare more, but in the meane space looke 
you play mum-budget, and speake not a word of this matter to 
any creature. 

10 I warrant thee Robin (quoth she) and so away she went being as 
glad of this tydings as her Master was of a good Term : 

Now when his Master came home, his man Robin asked him 
how he sped in his suit ? 

Verily (quoth he) euen as Cookes doe in baking of their pies, 
sometimes well, sometimes ill. London Maids are wily wenches : 
on Sunday my sweetheart was halfe won, but now I doubt she is 
wholy lost. Now she is in one mind, by and by in another, and 
to be briefe, neuer stedfast in anything. 

Tush Master (quoth Robin] stoop not too much to a thistle, but 
;o take this comfort, that what one will not, another will. I tel you 
Master, Crabs yeeldes nothing but verjuice, a sower sauce good 
for digestion but bad to the taste, and these nice minions are so 
full of curiosity, that they are cleane without curtesie : Yet well 
fare the gallant girles of Westminster, that will doe more for a man 
than he will doe for himselfe. 

What is that (said his Master) ? 

Mary (quoth he) get him a wife ere he is aware, and giue two 
kisses before he calles for one. 

That indeed is extraordinary kindnes (quoth Richard} but their 
30 loues are like braided wares, which are often showne, but hardly 
sold. 

Well Master (quoth Robin] you know your two old friends, Meg 
and Gillian : 

I, what of them (quoth Richard] ? 

In troth (quoth he) I haue made them both so proud, that they 
prance through the streets like the Kings great horses : for I haue 
made them both beleeue that you loue them out of all cry. 

And I beshroe thy heart for that (quoth Richard] for therein 
thou dost both deceiue them, and discredit mee : I assure thee I 
40 like not such jesting. 

Now gip (guoth Robin) are you grieud at my talke ? 
And if you be angry I pray you goe walke. 
Thus you doe neuer esteeme of a man, 
Let him doe for you the best that he can. 

Richard hearing his man so hot, pacified him with many cold 
and gentle speeches, wishing, if he had begun any iest, that he 
should finish it with such discretion, that no reproach might grow 



The Gentle Craft. 159 



thereby vnto him, and then he would be content : whereupon 
Robin proceeded in this sort. 

Vpon a time Margaret according to her wonted manner 
came thither, whom Robin perswaded that his Master was newly 
gone into Tuttle field, and that he left word if she came she should 
doe so much as to meet him there : but (quoth he) take heed in 
any case least Gillian of the George spie you, and so follow to the 
place where my Master attends your comming, who I dare sweare 
would not for all the Shooes in his shop it should be so : and 
therefore good Margaret if you chance to see her, goe not 10 
forward in any case, but rather lead her a contrary way, or make 
some queint excuse, that she may leaue your company, and not 
suspect your pretence. 

Tush (quoth Margaret} let me alone for that, if she follow me she 
were better no, for, Ifaith, I will lead her a dance shall make her 
weary before she haue done, and yet shall she goe home as very 
a foole as she came forth, for any goodnesse she gets at my hand : 
and therefore farewell Robin (quoth she) for I will trudge into 
Turtle fields as fast as I may. 

But looke (quoth Robin) you loose not your Maiden-head by 20 
the way. 

Robin presently thereupon runnes vnto Gillian, saying what 
cheere Gillian how goes the world with all the pretty wenches 
here ? it is a long while since I haue scene you. 

Ifaith, Robin (quoth they) we rub out with the rest, but what 
is the news with thee ? 

Small news {quoth Robin) yet somewhat I haue to say, 

All Maides that cannot get husbands must presently marry, 

They that cannot stay, 

But heare you, Gillian a word by the way. 30 

And with that (rounding her in the eare) he told her that 
incontinent it was his Masters mind that she should meet him in 
Turtle fields, charging her if she met Margaret of the Spread 
Eagle, that she should in no case goe forward but turne her steps 
some other way, for (quoth he) my Master cannot abide that great 
rounsefull should come in his company. 

For that let me alone (quoth Gillian) but trust me Robin, it 
could not haue come in a worse time this tweluemoneth, for this 
day haue we a mighty deale of worke to doe, beside a great bucke 
that is to be washt : 4 o 

Why then let it rest till another time (quoth Robin] : 

Nay (quoth she) hap what hap will, I will goe to him, sith so 

kindly he sent for me ; and thereupon making her selfe quickly 

ready, into Tuttle fields she got, where at last she espied Margaret 

with a hand-basket in her hand, who as sodainly had got 

33. Spread Eagle] Crane i6j$ 



160 The Gentle Craft. 

a sight of her, and therefore made a shew as if she gathered 
hearbs in the field. I wis that craft shall not serue your turne 
(quoth Gillian) I will gather hearbs as fast as you, though I haue 
as little need of them as your selfe. 

But in the mean time Robin got him home, and hartily laught 
to see what paines these wenches tooke for a husband. O (quoth 
he) what a merry world is this, when Maids runnes a madding 
for husbands, with hand-baskets in their hands ? now may I well 
sweare what I haue seene. 

10 Two Maides runne as fast as they can, 

A mile in the fields to meet with a man. 

Then how can men for shame say that Maidens are proud, 
disdainfull or coy, when we find them so gentle, that they will run 
to a man like a Falcon to the Lure, but alas poore soules, as good 
were they to seek for a needle in a bottle of hay, as to search for 
Richard of the Rose in Tuttle fields \ but hereby doe I know their 
minds against another time, if my Master should chance to request 
their company. 

Thus did round Robin deride them when he found their 

20 fondness to be such : but to leaue him to his humor, we will 

returne to the Maids that were so busie in picking vp hearbs in 

the fields : when Meg saw that Gillian would not away, at last she 

came vnto her, asking what she made there ? 

Nay what doe you here (quoth she) ? for my owne part I was 
sent for to seeke Harts-ease, but I can find nothing but sorrel : 

Alack good soule (quoth Meg) and I come to gather thrift, 
but can light on nothing but thistles, and therefore I will get my 
waies home as fast as I can : 

In doing so you shall doe well (quoth Gillian) but I mean to 
^o get some Harts-ease ere I goe away : 

Nay Gillian (quoth she) I am sure I shall find thrift as soone 
as you shall find Harts-ease, but I promise you I am out of hope 
to find any to-day. 

I pray you get you gone then (quoth she). 

What would you so faine be rid of my company (quoth Meg) ? for 
that word I meane not to be gone yet : Ifaith Gill I smell a rat. 

Then (quoth she) you haue as good a nose as our gray Cat : 

but what rat do you smell, tell me ? I doubt I doubt if there be 

any rat in the field, you would faine catch him in your trap, if you 

40 knew how ; but Ifaith Meg, you shall be deceiued as cunning as 

you are. 

Then belike (qd. Meg) you would not haue the rat taste no cheese 
but your owne : 

All is one for that (said Gillian) but wheresoeuer he run 
I would haue him creep into no corner of yours : 

Your wordes are mysticall (quoth Meg) but if thou art a good 
wench, let us goe home together : 



The Gentle Craft. 161 



Not so (said Gillian) as I came not with you, so I meane 
not to goe with you. 

No (quoth Meg)J before God I sweare I will stay as long as 
thou for thy life. 

In troth (quoth she) I will make you stay till midnight then. 

Yea (quoth Meg} ? now, as sure as I Hue I will try that. 

And in this humor sometimes they sat them downe, and 
sometimes they stalkt round about the field, till it was darke 
night, and so late, that at last the watch met with them, who 
contrary to Gillians mind, tooke paines to bring them both i<> 
home together : at what time they gaue one another such priuie 
flouts, that the watchmen tooke no little delight to heare it : But 
their Mistresses that had so long mist them from home though they 
were very angry with their long absence, yet were glad they were 
come againe. And asking where they had been so long, the watch 
men answered, that the one had beene to seeke Harts-ease, and 
the other to gather thrift and therefore that they should not blame 
them for staying so long to get such good commodities : Verily 
(quoth their Mistresses) we will not, for no maruell if they stayed out 
till midnight about such matters, seeing we haue sought it this seuen 20- 
yeares and could neuer find it : and in this sort this iest ended. 

Within a while after this, Richard through his long woing, 
had gotten the good will of his sweet-heart, and therefore making 
all things ready for his marriage, the matter being known through 
Westminster, Margaret and Gillian had tydings thereof with the 
soonest, who comming vnto Richard, said he was the most false 
and vnconstant man in the world. 

Haue I (quoth Meg) set my whole mind vpon thee to be 
thus serued ? 

Nay (quoth Gillian] haue I loued thee so deerly, and indured so- 
such sorrow for thy sake, to be thus vnkindly cast off? 

And I (quoth Meg) that neuer thought any thing too much for 
thee, that loued thee better then my life, that was at all times ready 
at thy call, and ready to run or goe at thy commandement to be so 
vndeseruedly forsaken, grieues not my heart a little : 

Nay (quoth Gillian) could you make me leaue my worke to 
waite vpon thee in Tuttle-fields ? 

Nay did I waite there halfe a day together (quoth Meg) at thy 
request to be thus mockt at thy hand ? Now I wish it from my 
heart, if thou marriest any but me, that thy wife may make thee as 40 
errant a Cuckold as lack Coomes. 

So you are very charitable (quoth Richard} to wish me no worse 
then you meane to make your husband : but when did I request 
thee to come into Tuttle-fields^ 

What haue you so weake a memory (quoth she)? I pray you aske 
your man round Robin whether it were so or no : 

Well (quoth Robin) how then ? wherefore did you not speake 
with him at that present ? 

917.6 M 



1 62 The Gentle Craft. 



You know it comes in an houre, comes not in seuen yeare. 
Had you met him at that instant you had married him cleare. 

A vengeance take her (quoth Meg) I could not meete him 
for Gillian. 

And I could not meet him for Margaret, a morin take her 
(qd. Gillian). 

Richard perceiuing by their speech there was a pad lying in 
the straw, made this reply. It is a strange thing to see how you 
will blame me of discourtesie, when the whole fault lyes in your 
10 selues : had you come at the appointed time, it is likely I had 
marryed one of you, seeing my minde was as well addicted to the 
one as to the other : 

Why may it not be yet (quoth they) if it please you ? 
Not so (said Richard] you speake too late, Men gather no grapes 
in January, my wine is already prouided. and my wife prepared : 
therefore I thanke you both of your good wills, though I be 
constrained of force to forsake you. 

The maidens, being herewith struck into their dumps, with water 
in their eyes, and griefe in their hearts went home, to whom Robin 
ao carryed two Willow garlands, saying 

You pretty soules that forsaken be. 

Take here the branches of the Willow tree, 

And sing loues farewell ioyntly with me. 

Meg being merily inclined, shooke off sorrow in this sort, and 
gently taking the willow Garland, said : wherefore is griefe good ? 
can it recall folly past ? no : can it helpe a matter remedilesse ? 
no : can it restore losses, or draw vs out of danger ? no : what then ? 
can griefe make vnkind men curteous ? no : can it bring long life ? 
no : for it doth rather hasten our death, what then can it do : can 

30 it call our friends out of their graues ? no : can it restore virginity 
if we chance to lose our maidenhead ? no : Then wherefore 
should I grieue ? except I went to kill myselfe : Nay seeing it is so, 
hang sorrow, I will neuer care for them that care not for me, and 
therefore a Figge for the Cocke of Westminster: by this good 
day I am glad I haue scapt him, for I doe now consider I should 
haue neuer tooke rest after foure a clocke in the morning, and alas, 
a young married wife would be loath to rise before eight or nine : 
beside that I should neuer haue gone to bed before ten or eleuen, 
or twelue a clocke at night by that meanes, what a deale of time 

40 should I haue lost aboue other women : haue him quoth you ? 
now God blesse me, I sweare by Venus, the faire goddesse of 
sweet loue, in the minde I am in, I would not haue him, if he had 
so much as would lie in Westminster Hall. And therefore Robin 
this Willow garland is to me right heartily welcome and I will goe 
with thee to Gillian presently, and thou shalt see vs weare them 
rather in triumph then in timerous feare. 

40. aboue] about 1639 



"The Gentle Craft. 163 



Well said, in good sadnes (quoth Robin") thou art the gallantest 
girle that euer I knew. 

But when she came to Gillian^ Robin staid for her at the staire 
foot : they found her sicke in her bed, fetching many sore sighes, 
to whom Margaret spake in this manner. 

Why, how now, Gillian^ what, sicke abed ? now fie for shame, 
plucke vp a good heart woman, let no man triumph so much ouer 
thee, to say thou gauest the Crow a pudding, because loue would let 
thee Hue no longer : be content (quoth she) and take courage to 
thee, death is a sowre crabbed fellow. 10 

Ah no (quoth Gillian} death is sweet to them that Hue in sorrow, 
and to none should he be better welcome then to me, who desires 
nothing more then death to end my miseries : 

What now (quoth Margaret) whose Mare is dead ? art thou a 
young wench, faire and comely, and dost thou despaire of life ? 
and all for loue, and all for loue. O fond foole worthy to weare 
a coate with foure elbowes, this were enough if there were no 
more men in the world but one, but if there were two, why shouldst 
thou languish, much lesse knowing there is so many to be had. 

(quoth Gillian) what is all the men in the world to me now 20 
I haue lost Richard, whose loue was my life. 

1 pray thee rise (quoth Meg) and let vs go drinke a quart of 
Sacke to wash sorrow from our hearts. 

O (quoth shee) I cannot rise if you would giue me a hundred 
pound, nor will I rise for any mans pleasure : 

What (quoth Meg) if your father sent for you, would you not 
goe to him ? 

No (quoth she). 

Would you not goe to your mother ? 

No. 30 

But what if your brethren requested you to rise ? 

Yfaith I would not (quoth she) : 

Say that some of the Kings Gentlemen intreated your company ? 

Neuer prate, I would not goe to the best Lord in the Land (qd. 
Gillian) nor to no man els in the world : 

No (quoth Meg) I am sure you would. 

(Quoth she) if I doe, say I am an errant queane, and count me 
the veriest drab that euer trod on two shooes. 

Nay (quoth Meg) seeing you say so, I haue done, I was about to 
tell you of a matter, but I see it is to small purpose, and therefore 40 
He keep my breath to coole my pottage. 

A matter (said Gillian) ? what matter is it sweet Meg tell me ? 

No, no (quoth she) it is in vaine, I would wish you to couer 
your selfe close, and keepe your selfe warme, least you catch an 
ague, and so good night Gillian. 

Nay, but Meg (quoth she) good Meg if euer thou didst loue me, 
let me know what this matter is that you speake of, for I shall not 
be in quiet till I know it : 

M 2 



164 The Gentle Craft. 



Tush tis but a trifle, a trifle (quoth Meg) not worth the talke : your 
sweetheart Richard\&ti\ sent his man Robin for you, and, as he tels 
me he hath a token to deliuer you. 

What (quoth Gill) is that true ? Where is Robin ? why comes 
he not vp ? 

Truly (quoth Meg) he counts it more then manners to presse 
into a Maides chamber : beside he would be loath to giue any 
cause of suspition to any of your fellowes, to thinke 111 of him or 
you, for now a dayes the world is growne to such a passe, that if 
10 a Maide doe but looke merrily vpon a young man, they will say 
straight, that either she shall be his wife, or that she is his harlot : 
but if they see a man come into a womans chamber, they will not 
sticke to sweare that they haue been naught together ; for which 
cause Robin intreated me to come vnto you, and to certifie you 
that hee stayed at the three-Tunnes for your comming : but seeing 
you are a bed I am sorry I haue troubled you so much, and there 
fore farewell good Gillian. 

O stay a little good Meg (quoth she) and I will goe along with 
you : and with that on she slipt her petticoate, and made such 
ao hast in dressing her selfe that she would not stay the plucking on 
of her stockings nor the drawing on of her shooes : 

Why, how now Gillian (quoth Meg) haue you forgot your selfe ? 
remember you are 111 and sicke a bed : 

Tush (quoth shee) I am well enough now : 

But if you goe foorth to-night you are an arrant drab and a very 
queane (quoth Meg) : 

Tush tis no matter for that (said Gillian). Griefe hath two 
tongues, to say and to vnsay, and therefore I respect not what you 
prate, and therewithall shee ran downe the stayres after Margaret, 
30 who got Robin to goe before to the three-Tunnes, where when 
Gillian came, she asked him how his Master did, and what his 
errand was to her. 

Soft: First let vs drinke (quoth Robin) and then let vs talke, 
That we cannot pay for ', shall be set vp in chalke. 

You speak merrily (quoth Margaret) whatsoeuer you meane, 
but I would I could see the wine come once, that I may drink a 
hearty draught; for sorrow they say is dry, & I find it to be 
true. 

Then drinke hard (quoth Robin) and bid sorrow adue. 
40 Thus when they had whipt off two or three quarts of wine, 
Gillian began to grow as pleasant as the best, and would needs 
know of Robin t what it was he had to say to her ; 

Nothing, quoth he, but to doe my Masters commendation, and 
to deliuer you his token. 

This token (quoth Gillian) ? What, a Willow garland ? is the 
matter so plaine ? is this the best reward hee can giue me for all 
my good will ; had he nobody to flout but mee ? 



The Gentle Craft. 165 



Yes by my faith (quoth Meg) it was his minde that I should 
beare you company, therefore, looke what he sent to you, he did 
the like to mee, and that thou maiest the better belieue me, see 
where it is. 

O intolerable iniury (quoth Gillian] did I take paines to rise 
and come out of my warme bed for this ? O how vnfortunate haue 
I beene aboue all other in the world? Well, seeing I cannot 
recall what is past, I will take this as a iust penance for my too 
much folly ; and if Margaret will agree, we will weare these dis- 
dainfull branches on his marriage day to his great disgrace, though 10 
to our continuall sorrow. 

Content (quoth Meg] all is one to mee, looke what thou wilt 
allow, I will not dislike, and so paying the shot, away they went. 

At length, when the marriage day was come, and that the Bride 
in the middest of her friends was set downe to dinner, Margaret 
and Gillian, attyred in red Stammell petticoats, with white linnen 
sleeues, and fine Holland Aprons, hauing their Willow garlands on 
their -heads, entred into the Hall singing this song : 

When fancie first framd our likings in loue, 

sing all of greene Willow: ao 

And faithful! affection such motion did moue, 

for Willow, Willow, Willow. 
Where pleasure was plenty we chanced to be, 

sing all of greene Willow : 
There were we enthrald of our liberty, 

and forced to carrie the Willow garland. 

This young man we liked and loued full deere, 

sing all of greene Willow : 
And in our hearts-closset we kept him full neere, 

sing Willow, Willow,. Willow. 30 

He was our hearts-pleasure and all our delight, 

sing all of greene Willow, 
We iudgd him the sweetest of all men in sight, 

Who giues vs vnkindly the Willow garland. 

No cost we accounted too much for his sake, 

sing all of greene Willow : 
Fine bands and handkerchers for him we did make, 

sing Willow, Willow, Willow: 
And yet for our good will, our trauell and paine, 

Sing all of greene Willow: 40 

We haue gotten nothing but scorne and disdaine ; 

as plainly is proud by this Willow garland. 

Then pardon our boldnesse, thou gentle faire Bride, 

sing all of greene Willow : 
We speake by experience of that we haue tride, 

sing Willow, Willow, Willow. 



1 66 The Gentle Craft. 



Our ouer much courtesie bred all our woe. 

sing all of greene Willow : 
But neuer hereafter we meane so to doe, 

For this onely brought vs the Willow garland. 

Their song being thus ended, the Bride said she was heartily 
sorry for their hard fortune in loue, greatly blaming the Bride 
groom for his vnkindnes ; 

Nay, do not so (quoth Meg] for you shal find him kind enough 
soon at night : but seeing he hath disappointed me in this sort, it 
jo shall go hard, but I will make shift to lose my maiden-head as 
soone as you shall lose yours, and you shall make good haste, but 
I wil be before you. O God (quoth she) haue I been so chary to 
keep my honesty, and so dainty of my maiden-head that I could 
spare it no man for the loue I bore to hard-hearted Richard, & 
hath he serud me thus ? Well Gillian (quoth she) let vs go, neuer 
wil I be so tide in affection to one man again while I Hue ; what a 
deale of time haue I lost and spent to no purpose since I came to 
London ? and how many kinde offers haue I forsaken, & disdain 
fully refused of many braue Gentlemen, that would haue bin glad 
20 of my good will ? I thinke I was accurst to come into his 
company : Well, I say little, but henceforward hang me if I refuse 
reason, when I am reasonably intreated ; trust me, I would not for 
a good thing, that my friends in the country should know that one 
of my ripe age, bone and bignesse hath all this while liud in 
London idly, like an vnprofitable member of the common-wealth ; 
but if I Hue, they shall heare that I will be better imployd, and 
so adue good Gillian. 

Thus Margaret in a melancholy humor went her waies, and in 
short time after, she forsooke Westminster, & attended on the 
30 Kings army to Bullio, and while the siege lasted, became a 
landresse to the Camp, and neuer after did she set store by her 
selfe, but became common to the call of euery man, till such time 
as all youthfull delights was banished by old age, and in the end 
she left her life in Islington, being very penitent for all her former 
offences. 

Gillian in the end was well married, and became a very good 
house-keeper, liuing in honest name and fame till her dying 
day. 



CHAP. IV. 
40 How round Robin and his fellowes sung before the King. 

THe Kings Maiesty hauing royally won the strong town of 
Bullen, victoriously he returned & came into England, and 
according to his accustomed manner, lying at his Palace of 
Whitehall, diuers of the Nobility, passing vp and down West- 



"The Gentle Craft. 167 



minster, did many times heare the Shoemakers iournymen 
singing ; whose sweet voyces and pleasant songs was so pleasing 
in the eares of the hearers, that it caused them to stay about the 
doore to hearken thereunto : Robin aboue the rest, declared such 
cunning in his song, that he euer obtained the chiefest praise ; 
and no maruell, for his skill in pricksong was more then ordinary, 
for which cause the Singing-men of the Abbey did often call him 
into the Quire. 

Now you shall vnderstand, that by their often singing in the 
Shop, the iourneymen of that house were noted aboue all the men 10 
in Westminster^ and the report of their singing went far and neer, 
in so much that at the last, the Kings Maiesty had knowledge 
thereof, who, hearing them so greatly commended, caused them to be 
sent for to the Court. Whereupon round Robin and his foure fellows 
made themselues ready, and their Master being of a good mind, 
against the day that they should goe before our King,, he suted them 
all at his owne proper cost, in doublets and hose of crimson Taffety, 
with black Veluet caps on their heads, and white feathers ; on their 
legs they had fine yellow stockings, pumps and pantofles on their 
feet : by their sides each of them wore a faire sword ; and in this ao 
sort being brought before his Maiesty, vpon their knees they 
craued pardon for presuming to come into his royall presence : 

The King, seeing them to be such proper men, & attyred in 
such Gentleman-like manner, bad them stand vp : Why my 
Lords (quoth he) be these the merry-minded Shoemakers you 
spake of? 

They are most dread Soveraigne (said they) ; 

Certainly (said our King) you are welcome euery one, but who 
among you is round Robin ? 

My Liege (quoth Robin) that man am /, 30 

Which in your Graces sendee will Hue and die : 
And these be my fellow es euery one, 
Ready to watte your royall Grace vpon. 

How now, Robin (said our King). What, canst thou rime ? 
A little my Liege (quoth he) as I see place and time. 

His Grace laughing heartily at this pleasant companion, told 
him that he heard say he could sing well. 

Trust me (quoth Robin) at your Graces request 
You shall well perceiue we will doe our best. 

Hereupon the King sate him downe, where many great Lords 4 
and Ladies of high estate attended on his Highnesse. And being 
in the Christmas time, after the master of merry disports had per^ 
formed all his appointed pastimes, Robin with his fellowes had 
liberty to declare their cunning before our King, but the Maiesty 
of his Princely presence did so amate them, that they were quite 
dashd out of countenance, which his Grace perceiuing, gaue them 



1 68 The Gentle Craft. 

many gracious words of encouragement, whereupon they began in 
this sort, singing a song of the winning of Bullen. 



The Song of the winning of Bullen sung before the 
King by round Robin and his fellowes. 

N the mo?ieth of October 
Our King he would to Douer : 
By leaue of Father and the Sonne : 
A great armie of men, 
Well appointed there was then, 
10 Before our ?ioble King to come ; 

The valiant Lord Admirall, 
He was captaine Generall, 

Of all the royall Nauie sent by Sea : 
The sight was worthie to behold, 
To see the ships with shining gold, 

And Flags and Streamers sailing all the way. 

At Bullen then arriuing, 
With wisdome well contriuing: 

The armed men ivere set in battle ray ; 
ao And Bullen was besieged round, 

Our men with Drum and Trumpets sound, 

Before it marchd couragious that day. 

Then marke how all things chanced, 
Before them was aduauced 

The royall Standard in the b loo die field ; 
The Frenchmen standing on the walls, 
To them our English Heralds calls, 

Wishing in time their Citie for to yeeld. 

Our King hath sent to proue you, 
30 Because that he doth lone you, 

He profferd mercy, if you will imbrace : 
If you deny his kinde request, 
And in your obstinacie rest, 

Behold you bring your selues in wofull case. 

(Quoth they) wee doe deny you, 
And flatly we defie you, 

Faire Bullen is a famous Maiden towne ; 
For all the deeds that hath beene done, 
By conquest neuer was she won, 
4 o She is a Lady of most high renowne. 

When they so vnaduised, 
His proffer had despised, 

Our Ordinance began to shoote amaine ; 



The Gentle Craft. 169 



Continuing eight houres and more, 
For why our King most deeply swore, 
Her Maiden-head that he would obtaine. 

When thus his Grace had spoken, 
Hee sent her many a token, 

Firie balls, and burning brazen rings: 
Faire, broad arrowes sharpe and swift, 
Which came among them with a drift, 

Well garnishd with the gray goose wings. 

This Maiden towne that lately j 

Did shew herselfe so stately, 

In seeking fauour, many teares she shed : 
Vpon her knees then fell she downe, 
Saying, O King of high renowne, 

Saue now my life, and take my maiden-head. 

Lo, thus her selfe she ventred, 
And streight her streets wee entred, 

And to the market place we marched free : 
Neuer a French-man durst withstand, 
To hold a wepon in his hand, 30 

For all the gold that euer hee did see. 

Their song being ended, our King cast them a purse with fifty 
faire angells for a reward, commending both their skill and good 
voyces, and after much pleasant communication, they had liberty 
to depart ; and when they came home, they told to their Master 
all their merriment before the King, and what reward his Grace 
had bestowed on them ; and powring the gold downe vpon the 
Table, the same being truly told by their Master, euery mans 
share came iust to five pound apiece. Which, when round Robin 
saw, he swore he would bestow a supper vpon his Master and 3 
Mistresse that night, though it cost him two angels ; which his 
fellowes hearing, and seeing Robins liberall heart to be such, said 
they would ioyne with him, and laying their money together, 
would haue all the Shoomakers in Westminster to beare them 
company. 

Content (quoth Robin) with all my heart ; 

And tiventy shillings I will spend for my part : 

And as I am true man, and sung before our King, 

As much shall each of you spend before our parting. 

So shall we haue musicke and gallant cheere, 4 

Secke and Sugar, Claret wine, strong Ale and Beare. 

This being concluded, they met all together at the signe of the 
Bell, where they were so merry as might be, at what time Robin 
began to blame his Master, that had not in three yeeres space 
gotten his Mistresse with childe. 



I jo The Gentle Craft. 



Hold thy peace (quoth he) all this while I haue but iested, but 
when I fall once in earnest, thou shalt see her belly will rise like a 
Tun of new Ale : thou knowst I am the Cocke of Westminster. 

/ (quoth Robin) you had that name, 

More for your rising, than your goodnesse in Venus game. 

The company at this laughd heartily, but seuen yeeres after 
this iest was remembred ; for in all that space had not his wife 
any child : Wherefore Robin would often say, that either his 
Master was no perfect man, or else his Mistresse was in her in- 

10 fancy nourished with the milk of a Mule, which bred such barren- 
nesse in her ; for till her dying day she neuer had child. 

And after they had liued together, many yeeres, at last, Richard 
Casteler dyed, and at his death he did diuers good and godly 
deeds : among many other things he gaue to the City of Westminster 
a worthy gift to the cherishing of the poore inhabitants for euer. 
He also gaue toward the reliefe of the poore fatherlesse children 
of Christs Hospitall in London, to the value of forty pound land 
by the yeere ; and in the whole course of his life he was a very 
bountifull man to all the decayed housekeepers of that place, 

20 leaning behind him a worthy example for other men to follow. 



CHAP. V. 

The pleasant Story of Peachey the famous Shoemaker of 
Fleet-street in London. 

MVch about this time, there liued in London a rich Shoomaker, 
and a gallant housekeeper ; who, being a braue man of 
person, bore a mind agreeable thereunto, and was therefore of 
most men called lusty Peachey : hee kept all the yeere forty tall 
men on worke, beside Prentises, and euery one hee clothed in 
tawny coats, which he gaue as his liuery to them, all with black 

30 caps and yellow feathers ; and euery Sunday and holiday, when 
this gentleman-like Citizen went to Church in his black gown 
garded with Veluet, it was his order to haue all his men in their 
liueries to wait vpon him, with euery man his sword and buckler, 
ready at any time, if need required. 

It came to passe vpon S. Georges day, that this iolly Shoomaker 
(being seruant to the Duke of Suffolk) went to the Court with all 
his men after him, to giue attendance vpon his noble Master, 
which some yong Gentlemen, more wanton than wise, beholding 
& enuying his gallant mind, deuised how they might picke some 

40 quarrell, thereby to haue occasion to try his manhood : 

(Quoth they) Did you euer know a shoomaker, a sowter, a 
cobling companion, braue it so with the best, as this fellow doth ? 
see with what a train of hardie squires he goes, what squaring lads 



The Gentle Craft. 171 



they be : they look as if they would fight with Gargantua,w\& make 
a fray with the great Turk, and yet I durst lay my life they dare 
scantly kill a Hedgehog : mark him I pray, I warrant you there 
is neuer a Knight in this countrey that goes with so great a train. 

Swounes (quoth one) it were a good sport to draw, & try what 
they can do. 

My Masters be aduised (quoth another) and attempt nothing 
rashly : I tell you this fellow is a hardy Coine, he is a currant 
mettle yfaith, and whensoeuer you try him, He warrant you shall 
finde he will not flie a foot. 10 

With that "comes by lusty Tom Stuteley and Strangwidge^ two 
gallant Sea Captaines, who were attired all in Crimson Veluet, in 
Marriners wide slops that reacht to the foot, in watched silk thrumb 
hats and white feathers, hauing Pages attending with their weapons, 
who seeing a cluster of Gentlemen in hard communication at the 
Court gate, askt what was the matter ? 

Marry Captaine (quoth they) we are all beholding to yonder 
lusty Gallant that hath so many waiting on him with Tawny Coats : 

Sblood, what is he (quoth Stutely] ? 

He seemes to be a gallant man (said Strangwidge) whatsoeuer 20 
he be : and were it not I see him in the Duke of Suffolks liverie, 
I should haue taken him by his train to be some Lord at the 
least : 

Nay (quoth Stutely] he is some Knight of good liuing. 

Gentlemen (quoth they) how your iudgements deceiue you : it 
is certaine he is as good a Shooemaker as any is in Fleetstreet. 

What ? is he but a Shooemaker (quoth Stutely] ? O how that 
word makes me scratch my elbo : Can a Shooemaker come to the 
Court with more Seruingmen at his heeles then Captaine Stutely ? 
See how it makes my blood rise : O the passion of my heart, how 30 
the villaine squares it out ? see, see, what a company of handsome 
fellowes follow him, it is twenty pound to a penny but they were 
better borne then their Master : 

Not so (quoth the Gentleman) but I think their birth and 
bringing vp was much alike, for they be all Shooemakers & his 
stoole companions : 

Now, by this iron and steell (quoth Stutely] were it not that he 
is attendant on the good Duke, I would haue him by the eares 
presently. I will lay an hundred pound, and stake it downe 
straight, that Captaine Strangwidge and I will beat him and all 40 
his forty men. 

The Gentlemen being ready to set this match forward, greatly 
commended the Captaines high courage : notwithstanding they 
would not hazard their money on such a desperate match. 

Well Gentlemen (quoth they) you say he dwels in Fleetstreet, 
and that he is a Shoemaker, neuer trust vs more if we become not 
his customers, but the Grossest customers shall he finde vs that 
euer came to his shop for shooes. 



172 The Gentle Craft. 



Nay (quoth Stuteley] we will bespeak Boots of him, & thus we 
will raise our quarrell : when they are made, if they come not on 
easie and sit on our legs neatly, we will make them pluck them 
off againe, & presently we will beat them in peeces about his 
pate, which if he seeme to take in dudgin, and with his men follow 
vs into the street for reuenge, if we make them not leap before vs 
like Monkies, and force them run away like sheep-biters, let vs 
lose our credits and Captainships for euer. 

But what if you should chance to kill any of them (said the 
10 Gentlemen) : 

Swounes (quoth they) what care we, we are bound to sea on 
a gallant voyage, wherein the King hath no small venture, and 
without vs it cannot go forward, so that it is not the death of 
twenty men can stay vs at home, and therefore when they should 
be seeking of vs in Fleetstreet, we would be seeking out the Coast 
of Florida. 

You say well Captaines (quoth they) and, no doubt if you do 
any such thing we shall heare of it : for the report thereof will be 
famous through London. 

ao Within a while after Stutely and Strangwidge, hauing thus 
determined, came into Fleetstreet^ and making inquiry for 
Peachies shop, they were by euery man directed to the house : 
where, when they were come, they called for the goodman of the 
house : the foreman of the shop demanded what their will was ? 

Why knaue (quoth they) what carest thou, let vs speak with thy 
Master. 

Gentlemen (quoth he) if you lack any such commodity as we 
make, you shall finde me sufficient to seme you, for to that end 
hath my Master set me in the shop. 

30 Why, lack-sauce (quoth Stutely] you whorson peasant, know 
you to whom you speak ? 

The fellow being very cholerick, and somewhat displeased at 
these disdainfull speeches, made him this round answer : Ask you 
to whom I speak (quoth he) ? 

I, goodman flat-cap (said Strangividge) we ask to whom you 
speak ? 

Sir (quoth he) I speak to a Veluet foole, a silken slaue that 
knowes not how to gouerne his tongue : 

With that Stutely swore like a madman and presently drew out 
40 a dudgin haft dagger that he had by his side, and began to lay at 
the fellow, which one of his fellowes seeing, flung a Last at his 
head and feld him to the ground : Strangividge thereupon drew 
his sword, but by that time the fellow had took downe his sword 
and buckler, which hung in the shop hard at hand, and therewith 
so well defended himselfe, that Strangwidge could do him no 
hurt : and by that time Stutely recouering crald vp againe. 

But Peachie hearing a great hurly burly in the shop, came forth 
32. chtleeick 



The Gentle Craft. 173 



and demanded the cause of the quarrell ? his seruants told him 
that those Gentlemen had giuen the Journeymen very ill words : 

How can they chuse but speak ill (quoth Peachie) for it may be 
they neuer learnd to speak well : whereupon he went vnto them 
saying; how now, Captaines, how grew this quarrell twixt you 
and my men ? 

Thy men (quoth Stutely] ? thy Roags, and thy selfe is no better 
that brings them vp : 

Sir (quoth Peachie) you wrong me too much, and get you 
quickly from my doore, or, by this sunne that shines, ile set you 10 
packing, & therefore neuer think to outface me with great looks, 
for I tell thee Stutely and Strangwidge both, did you look as big 
as the Deuill I feare you not. And you forgot your maners too 
much to giue me such base tearms, for I would you well knew I 
keepe forty good fellowes in my house, that in respect of their 
manhood may seeme to be your equals. 

intollerable Comparison (quoth Stutely} flesh and blood 
cannot beare such abuse. Ile tell thee what (quoth he) if we two 
beat not thee and thy forty men, I durst be hangd vp at thy doore. 

Fie, fie, tis too much oddes (quoth Peachy] dare you two take ao 
ten ? nay dare you fight with fiue ? 

Take that and try (quoth Strangwidge) and therewithall gaue 
him a sound blow on the eare : 

Nay this is too much (quoth Peachy] put vp this and put vp all : 
Stutely and Strangwidge (quoth he) if you be men, meet me in 
Lincolnes Inne-fields presently : 

Content (quoth they) & thereupon went their wayes. 

Peachie fetching straight his sword and buckler, calld his man 
lohn Abridges to go with him, charging all the rest not to stir out 
of doores, and so into the fields they went, where immediately 30 
they met with these lusty Caueliers. The Captaines seeing him 
come only with one man, askt if there were all the helpe he had ? 

1 will request no more (quoth Peachie) to swinge you both out 
of the fields. 

Brag is a good Dog (quoth Stutely] but tell vs, hast thou made 
thy Will and set thy house in order ? 

What if I haue not (quoth Peachie] ? 

Why then (quoth Strangwidge] for thy wife and childrens sake 
go home againe and do it, or else get more aide about thee to 
preserue thy life. 40 

Why how now Master (quoth lohn Abridges] come you into the 
field to fight with women ? why these be two disguised butter 
whores ile lay my life, that haue more skill in scoulding then in 
fighting : but heare you (quoth he) if you be men, leaue your foule 
words, and draw your faire weapons, and, because I will spare 
your middle peece, if I strike a stroke below the girdle, call me 
Cut: 

9. your wong itjy 33. if there well 1639 



174 The Gentle Craft. 



Sblood shall we be thus out-braued (quoth Stutely] ? and there 
with drawing their weapons, they fell to it lustily, where Peachie 
and his man laid so brauely about them, that they beat both the 
Captaines out of breath, in which fray, Stutely was wounded in 
the head, and Strangwidge in the sword arme, but at last they 
were parted by many Gentlemen that came in good time to 
preuent further mischiefe. 

The Captaines got them straight to the Surgion, & Peachie with 
his man went directly home : and while they were a dressing, 
10 Peachie hearing how they were hurt, sent to Stutely a kerchiefe by 
one of his men, and by another a scarffe to Strangividge, by the 
third he sent a bottle of Aqua vitae, wishing them to be of good 
cheare, for hee intended to be better acquainted with them ere 
long. The Captaines finding these fauours to be but flouts, were 
more grieued thereat, then at their hurt, and therefore, with many 
disdainfull speeches, they refused his profferd curtesie. 

And you shall vnderstand that afterward Peachies men by two 
and two at a time, did often meet and fight with them, and so 
narrowly would they watch for them, that they could be in no 
20 place in peace, insomuch that the Captaines found fighting work 
enough, &: a great deale more then willingly they would, whereby 
they receiued many scarres and wounds in the body, so that 
lightly they were neuer out of Surgions hands. Vpon a time 
it chanced that, being vpon the point of their voyage, and shortly 
to go to sea : Stuteley and Strangwidge hauing beene at the Court, 
and newly come from my Lord-Admirals lodging, before they 
came to Charing-crosse, they were encountred by a couple of 
Peachies men, who presently drew vpon them, and laid so freely 
about, that the two Captaines were glad at length to house them- 
30 selues for their refuge. 

Now a plague on them (quoth Stuteley} shall we neuer be in 
quiet for these quoystrels? neuer were we so ferrited before, 
swownes we can no sooner look into the streets, but these shoe 
makers haue vs by the eares : a pox on it that euer we medled 
with the rascals : s blood they be as vnluckie to be met, as a Hare 
on a iorney, or a sergeant on a Sunday morning, for euer one 
mischiefe or other followes it, Captaine Strangwidge (quoth he) 
there is no other shift but to seek their friendship, otherwise we 
are in danger euery houre to be maimed, therefore, to keep our 
40 lims sound against we go to Sea, tis best to finde meanes to quiet 
this grudge. 

Then (said Strangwidge) it were good to do so, if a man knew 
how : but you may be sure they will not easily be intreated, seeing 
we haue so mightily abused them in speech. 

Thus they cast in their mindes diuers times by what meanes 
they might be reconciled : and albeit they sent diuers their friends 
vnto Master Peachie, and by his men, yet they would not yeeld, nor 
giue consent to be appeased, nor to put vp such wrong as they had 



The Gentle Craft. 175 

receiued without further reuenge : so that the Captaines were at 
length constrained to make sute to the Duke of Suffolk to take vp 
the matter : who most honorably performed their request : and so 
the grudge ended betwixt them, to the great credit of Master 
Peachie, and all his men. 



CHAP. VI. 

How Harrie Neuell^ and 'Tom Drum came to serue 
Peachey of Fketstreet. 

THe fame of Peachey running through England by meanes of 
the frayes which he and his men had with Stuteley and 10 
Strangwidge, it made many of that occupation desirous to come 
and dwell with him, for beside that he was a tall man of his hands, 
he was also an excellent good workman, & therewithall a bountiful! 
house keeper. Among many other that was desirous of his seruice, 
there was one called Tom Drum, that had a great minde to be his 
man, a very odde fellow, and one that was sore infected with the 
sin of cogging : this boasting companion, sitting on a time sadly 
at work in his Masters shop at Pet-worth, and seeing the Sun shine 
very faire, made no more to doe but suddenly shrowded vp 
S. Hughes bones, & taking downe his pike-staffe, clapt his pack at 20 
his back, and called for his Master, who, comming into the shop, 
and seeing his man prepared to be prauncing abroad, demanded 
what the matter was that he followed not his businesse. 

O Master (qd. he) see you not how sweetly the Sun shines, 
how trimly the trees are deckt with green leaues ? 

Well & how then (quoth his Master) ? 

Marry sir (quoth he) hauing a great mind to heare the small 
birds sing, and seeing the weather fitter to walk then to work, 
I called you forth to take my leaue and to bid you farewell, I hope 
sir, I haue no wager in your hand. 30 

Why no (quoth his Master) thou wilt be sure to take an order 
for that, and therefore seeing thou wilt be gone, adue. 

God be with you good master (quoth he) and farewell all good 
fellowes of the gentle craft, and therewith he departed. 

The iourneymen of the Towne hearing that Tom Drum went 
away, according to their ancient custome they gathered themselues 
together to drink with him, and to bring him out of town : and 
to this intent vp they go with him to the signe of the Crowne, 
where they parted not till they had drunk a Stand of Ale drie. 

Which being done, they bring him a mile on his way, carrying 4 
a gallon of beere with them : & lastly there once againe they drink 
to his good health, and to Crispianus soule : and to all the good 



176 The Gentle Craft. 



fellowes of Kerbfoord : which being done, they all shook him by 
the hand, and with hallowing and whooping, so long as they can 
see him, they bid him a hundred times farewell. 

So soone as he was gone out of their whooping, the sweat 
reeking in his hand, and the Ale in his head, he trips so light in 
the highway, that he feeles not the ground he goes on : and, there 
fore, being in a merry vaine, and desirous to driue out the weary 
way, as he walks he begins thus pleasantly to sing 

The Primrose in the greene Forrest, 
10 the Violets they be gay : 

The double Dazies and the rest, 

that trimly decks the way, 
Doth moue the spirits with brane de light s^ 

whose beauties Darlings be : 
With hey trick sie, trim goe tricksie, 

vnder the greenewood tree. 

The singing of this song awaked a young Gentleman whom 
sorrow had laid asleepe on a greene bank by the high wayes 
side. Who hauing vnaduisedly displeased his Parents, in a cholerick 
20 humour departed from them, betaking himselfe to trauell, thereby 
to try how fortune would fauour him abroad : but hauing now 
spent all his money, he was in a wofull taking, not knowing what 
to do, for neuer had he beene brought vp to any trade, whereby he 
might be able to get a penny at his need. Wherefore being in 
this distresse, he was fully purposed to go to London, and there to 
learne some occupation, whereby he might keep himself a true 
man, and not to be driuen to seek succour of his friends. 

Now therefore when he heard Tom Dntm so trimly tune it on 
the way, raising himselfe from the sad ground, he awaited his 
3 o comming, at whose sudden sight Tom Drum started like one that 
had spied an Adder : & seeing him prouided with a good sword and 
buckler, supposed he had beene one that waited for a fat purse ; 
for which cause he began thus to enter parly with him. 

Good fellow (quoth he) God giue you good morrow, but ill 
speed. 

Why saist thou so (quoth Harrie] ? 

Because (said Tom) by the good light of the day thou maist see 
to passe beside me, and that by thy speeding ill, I may speed the 
better : 

4 o What hast thou such store of money (quoth Harrie} that thou 
art loath to lose it ? 

No by my faith (quoth he) I haue so little that I cannot spare 
it : for I assure thee all my store is but one poore pennie, and 
that thou maist see vnder my little finger. 

Why then (quoth Harrie) if I were minded to assault thee, it 
should be more to rob thee of thy manhood then thy money : but 
tell me what pack is that thou bearest at thy back ? 



The Gentle Craft. 177 



Marry they be Saint Hughes bones : 

Saint Hughes bones (quoth Harrie) what is that ? 

A kind of commodity (said Tom) which I cannot misse, for they 
be my working tooles. 

I pray thee (said Harrie] what occupation art thou ? 

Sir (quoth he) I am a Goldsmith that makes rings for womens 
heeles : 

What meanest thou by that (said Harrie} ? 

I am (quoth Tom) of the Gentle Craft, vulgarly called a Shoe 
maker. 10 

The happier thou art (quoth Harrie] that thou hast a trade to 
Hue by, for by that means thou carriest credit with thee in euery 
place : but tell me good friend what is thy name, and how far dost 
thou trauell this way ? 

Sir (quoth he) I trauell to the next towne, but my iorney is to 
London, & as for my name, I am not ashamed to shew it : For 
my name is a Nowne substantiue that may be felt, heard, or 
vnderstood, and to speak the truth I am called : whoe there 
I trust, sir you ask for no hurt, you are no Bayliffe nor Bayliffs 
man, are ye ? 20 

No not I (said Harrie]. 

Gods blessing on you (quoth he) I loue you the better : for I was 
neuer so fraid lest my Hostesse of the George in Petworth had 
sent you for to arrest me, for I think I owe her some ten Groats 
of the score, set vp in very faire Chalk, as one of the principals of 
her house is able to testifie : but I pray God send her meat, for 
I verely think I shall neuer send her monie. 

But yet (quoth Harrie] I know not how to call your name : 

Verily (said he) I am called Thomas Drum or Tom Drum, chuse 
you whether : 3 

Well Thomas (quoth Harrie] I perceiue thou art a man & a good 
fellow ; therefore I will not be strange to open my need vnto thee. 
I haue beene vnto my parents vntoward, and more then that, 
not knowing when I was well, wilfully I came from them : and 
now that I haue spent all my money and worne myselfe out of 
credit, I haue vtterly vndAne my selfe, for I am not worth a groat, 
nor no man will trust me for two pence. 

Why then (quoth Toni] thou art not worth so much as goodman 
Luters lame nagge, for my Lord of Northumberlands huntsman 
would haue giuen halfe a Crowne for him to haue fedde his 40 
dogges : notwithstanding be of good cheere, if thou wilt goe to 
London with me, I will beare thy charges, and, Ifaith, at the next 
towne we will be merry and haue good cheere. 

Alas (quoth Harry] how can that be, seeing you haue but one 
penny ? 

I tell thee what (quoth Tom) wert thou a Shoomaker as I am, 
thou mightst goe with a single penny vnder thy finger, and trauell 
all England ouer, and at euery good towne haue both meate and 

917.6 N 



178 The Gentle Craft, 



drinke and lodging of the best, and yet haue thy penny in store, 
as when we come to Gilford you shall soone see. 

Beleeue me (quoth Harry] that is more then any tradesmen in 
England els can doe. 

Tush (quoth Tom) shoemakers will not see one another lacke, 
for it is our vse if wee know of a good fellow that comes to towne, 
wanting either meate or money, and that he make himselfe knowne, 
he shall neede to take no further care, for he shall be sure that 
the iorneymen of that place will not onely giue him kinde 
10 welcome, but also prouide him all things necessary of free cost : 
And if he be disposed to worke among them, he shall haue 
a Master prouided by their meanes, without any sute made by 
himselfe at all. 

Verily (quoth Harry) thou dost rauish me with the good report 
of thy passing kind and curteous trade, and I would spend part of 
my gentle bloud, to be of the gentle Craft : and for thy curtesie, 
if thou wouldst teach it mee, I would annoint thee a gentleman 
foreuer : 

Wilt thou say and hold (quoth Tom) ? 
20 Or els hang me (said Harry) : 

Then (said he) annoint me a Gentleman, and I will shape thee 
for a Shoemaker straight. 

Thereupon Harry tooke his knife, and, cutting his finger, all 
to smeared Tom-Drums face with his bloud, that hee made him 
looke like the Image of Bred-streete corner, or rather like the 
Sarazines-head without New-gate. 

Tom Drum, seeing him doe so, said he might by that means as 
well annoint him a loyner, as a Gentleman. 

Nay (said Harry] I do not deceiue thee I warrant thee, seeing 

30 this blood did spring from a Gentleman, if thou wilt not beleeue 

me, aske all the men in the towne-Malin, and they will say the like. 

Well, He take thy word (quoth Tom). And therefore looke that 
presently thou strip thy selfe, for I will cast thee in a Shoomakers 
mould by and by : 

Harry perceiuing his meaning did what he willed, and so he 
was suted in Toms attire, and Tom in his ; so that Harry bore 
the pike staffe and Saint Hughes bones : and Tom swaggered with 
his sword and buckler ; and comming in this sort to Gilford, they 
were both taken for shoemakers and very hartely welcomed by 
40 the iorneymen of that place, especially Harry, because they neuer 
saw him before : And at their meeting they askt him and if he 
could sing, or sound the Trumpet, or play on the Flute, or recon 
vp his tooles in rime, or manfully handle his pike staffe, or fight 
with a sword and buckler ? 

Beleeue me (quoth Harry) I can neither sound the Trumpet, 
nor play on the Flute : and beshroe his nose that made me 
a shoemaker, for he neuer taught me to recon vp my tooles in 
rime nor in prose. 



The Gentle Craft, 179 



Tom hearing him say so : told them that he made him of an 
old seruing man a new shoemaker : 

When was that (quoth they). 

Marry (saith he) when I was annointed a Gentleman, I thinke 
this face can shew, that I haue gentle blood about me : 

Why then (quoth they) thou art but a painted Gentleman, but 
we must account this young man wise, that to auoid misery 
betakes himselfe to follow mistery, for cunning continueth when 
fortune fleeteth, but it will be hard for such as neuer were brought 
vp to the bodily labour to frame their fine fingers to any course 10 
faculty. 

Not a whit (quoth Harry] for labour by custome becommeth 
easie. 

Thou saist true (said Tom). I durst lay a good wager I haue 
made more shooes in one day then all the iorneymen here haue 
done in a month : 

With that one of the iorney-men began to chafe, saying, how 
many a paire of shooes hast thou made in a day ? 

I made, quoth Tom, when the daies were at longest, eight score 
paire of shooes in one day. 20 

monstrous detestable lye (quoth they) and thereupon one ran 
into the chimney and cried, come againe Clement, come againe. 

Whom calst thou (quoth Tom) ? 

1 call Clement carry lye, that runnes Poste betwixt the Turke, 
and the Deuill ; that he may take his full loading ere he goe, for 
the best iorneyman that euer I knew, neuer made aboue ten paire 
in a day in his life : and I will lay my whole yeeres wages with 
thee, that thou canst not make twenty paire in a day as they ought 
to be : I should be ashamed but to doe as much as another, and 

I neuer saw him yet that could out worke me, yet dare not I take 30 
vpon me to make a doozen paire of shooes in a day : but it is an 
old saying, they brag most that can doe least. 

Why thou Puppie (quoth Tom) thou house Doue, thou Cricket, 
that neuer crept further then the chimney corner, tell me what 
Countries hast thou trauelled ? 

Far enough (quoth he) to proue as good a work-man as thou art : 

I deny that (quoth Tom) for I haue been where I haue scene 
men headed like Dogs, and women of the same shape, where if thou 
hadst offered them a kisse, they would haue beene ready to haue 
snapt off thy nose ; othersome I haue seen, that one of their legs 40 
hath been as good as a penthouse to couer their whole bodies, 
and yet I haue made them shooes to serue their feet, which I am 
sure thou couldest neuer do : nay, if thou wilt go with me, if thou 
seest me not make an hundred paire of shooes from sunrising to 
sunsetting ; count me worse then a stinking Mackrell. 

Now verily thy talke stinkes too much (quoth they) and if thou 
canst do so, neuer make further iorney, but try the matter heere. 

I tell you (quoth Tom) I cannot try it in England^ nor yet in 

N 2 



i8o The Gentle Craft. 



France, Spaine, or Italy, nor in any part of the lowe countries, nor 
in high Germany, Sweathland, or Polonia. 

We think no lesse (quoth they) nor in any part of the world 
beside. 

Yes (quoth Tom) I can do it as we trauell to Russia, for there 
euery day is fiue and fiftie of our dayes in length : nay lie tell 
you further, quoth Tom, in some parts of the world where I haue 
been, it is day for halfe a yeare together, and the other halfe yeare 
is continually night : and goe no further, quoth he, but into the 
10 further part of Scotland, and you shall find one day there (in the 
month of lune) to be foure and twenty houres long, and there 
fore, my Masters while you Hue, take heed how you contrary a 
traueller, for therein you shall but bewray your owne ignorance, 
and make yourselues mocking stockes to men of knowledge. 

And trauellers (quoth they) vncontrouled, haue liberty to vtter 
what lies they list. 

Masters tell me (quoth Tom} were you not borne in Arcadia ? 

No (quoth they) but why aske you ? 

Because (said Tom) that countrey doth more abound in plenty 
20 of Asses, where they swarme as thicke as Bees in Cicily : 

We haue cause to giue you thanks (quoth they) for calling vs 
Asses so kindly : 

Not so (said Tom) I did but aske a question ; but seeing you are 
so cunning, tell mee what Countrey breeds the best Hides, and 
Leather, and from whence haue we the best Corke ? 

Our best Corke comes from Portugall (qd. they) but the best 
Leather grows in our owne land : 

I deny it (quoth Tom) there is I confesse good Corke in Portugal!, 
but the best grows in Sparta but for Hides and Lether there is 
30 none comparable to that in Siciona : where I haue made a man a 
paire of shooes that hath lasted him a twelue month to toyle in 
euery day. O tis a gallant Countrey, for I tell you what, there is 
neuer a shoomaker in England that kept so many men as I did at 
that time. 

Then said the rest, thou speakest thou knowest not what : 
Master Peachy of Fleet-streete keeps continually forty men a work, 
and the green-King of Saint-Martins hath at this time little lesse 
then threescore iourney men. 

That is pretty well (quoth Tom) but what say you to him that 
40 for halfe a yeere together, kept waiting on him aboue a hundred 
men that neuer did him stitch of work ? this was a shoomaker of 
some account : 

But who was that (quoth they) ? 

Marry (quoth Tom) simple though I stand heere, it was my selfe, 
and yet I neuer made brags of it. 

O what a shamelesse Iyer art thou (quoth they) we neuer knew 
thee able to keep one man. 

39. That is] Then i 



The Gentle Craft. 181 



Now, by this bread (said Tom) you do me mighty wrong, & were 
it not that ye be all of this gentle Craft, which science I doe so 
greatly loue and reuerence, this Iron and steele should make it good 
vpon your flesh, for I tell you once againe, I haue beene Master 
of an hundred men, and put sixteene score to the hundred : 

I pray you tell vs (quoth they) what men were they? 

What men were they (quoth Tom) they were vermin : 

In troth (quoth they) we thought as much, and we commend 
you for telling truth, and we suppose if you were well searcht we 
should find twenty vermin waiting on you still. But tell vs Tom, 10 
art thou minded to be Master Peachies man ? 

I am (quoth he) except he will make me his fellow. 

By the Masse (quoth they) then wert thou best to haue thy 
wards ready, and thy hilts sure, for he receiues no seruant before 
he tries his man-hood ; 

So much the better (quoth Tom) and for that purpose I poste vp 
to London. 

Thus hauing had at Gilford very good cheere, the iourney-men 
of the towne paid for all, and beside gaue them money in their 
purses to spend by the way ; and so toward London they went with 20 
all speed. 



CHAP. VII. 

How the wilde Knight Sir lohn Rainsford for burying 
a Massing Priest aliue, was faine to leaue his Lady 
and forsake his house, till he had obtained his pardon 
of the King: who meeting with Henry Neuell y and 
Tom Drum, went with him to serue Peachy of Fleet- 
street^ where for a while he became a Shoomaker. 

XOu shall vnderstand that at this time there liued a gallant 
Knight called Sir lohn Rainsford^ who was for his courage 30 
r aliant heart inferiour to few men liuing : he kept a bountifull 
house, and a braue company of tall men to waite vpon him. To 
all the poore round about where he dwelt, he was very charitable, 
releeuing them daily both with money and meate ; he was a famous 
Courtier, and in great fauour with the King, and the onely thing 
that disgraced his vertues, was this, that he was something wild in 
behauiour and wilfull in his attempts, often repenting sadly what 
he committed rashly. 

It came to passe vpon a time that as this couragious Knight was 
riding home to his own house, there was at a certaine village, a 40 
corps carried to be buried, the deceased father of flue small 
children and the late husband of a wofull Widdow, whose pouerty 



1 82 The Gentle Craft, 



was such, that she had no money to pay for his buriall : which 
thing Sir lohn the parish Priest doubting, would not by any meanes 
doe his duty to the dead man, except he might first haue his 
money. 

The Widdow and her children, with many teares intreated him 
to do his office, but he would not be perswaded, saying ? What you 
beggers, would you haue me open my sacred lips to inuocate and 
call vpon the King of Heauen to receiue thy husbands soule, and 
to perswade our great Grandmother the earth to wrap his cold 
10 body in her warme bosome, for nothing ? I tel thee, no : first shall 
his soule frie in the flames of purgatory, till it be as thin as a 
pancake, and his body remaine aboue ground till the Crowes haue 
pickt his carrion carkasse to the bare bones : and therefore leaue 
your puling, and prate no more, least you make me as chollericke 
as a quaile ; 

And therewithall, as he was going away, the poore Widdow 

falling on her knees, pluckt him by the gowne, saying : good Sir 

lohn, for sweet Saint Charity, say one Ave Maria, or one Pater 

nosier, and let my poore husbands corps be couered, though it be 

20 but with one handfull of holy ground. 

Nay dame (quoth he) do you remember at the last shrift how 
you serued me ? you would not : no forsooth you would not : 
and now good Mistris I will not : no penny, no Pater Nosier ; that 
is flat : I pray you now see if your honesty be sufficient to keepe 
your husband from the Crowes. I thought a time would come at 
length to cry quittance for your coynes : and with that word away 
he went. 

The poore Widdow seeing his obstinacy, with a heauy heart 
turned into the high wayes side, which was hard adioyning to the 
30 Church-yard, and there she and her children wofully begged of 
the passers by some money to bury their fathers dead body. 

At last Sir lohn came riding with all his men, of whom the 
poor Widdow in this manner began to aske his almes : 

Good Sir (quoth she) if euer womans misery mooued your heart 
to pitty, giue me one penny for Gods sake, toward the burying of my 
poore husband : in like manner the children cried, saying, one 
penny for Christ his sake, good Master one penny. 

Sir lohn, hearing their lamentable cry, and seeing the dead 
corps lying there, askt why the Priest did not bury it ? 
40 O Sir Knight (quoth she) I haue no money to pay for the buriall, 
and therefore the Priest will not doe it. 

No (quoth Sir lohn) ? by Gods blessed mother I sweare He 
make him bury the dead or He bury him aliue : whereupon he 
willed one of his men presently to goe to the Parsonage for the 
Priest, and to bring him thither immediately. His men did so, 
and foorth came Sir lohn, in his gowne and corner cap, roughly 
demanding who would speake with him ? 

That would I (quoth Sir lohn Rainesford} : therefore tell me, 



The Gentle Craft. 183 



how comes it to passe, that according to order you put not this 
dead corps into the pit ? 

Sir (quoth he) because according to order they will not pay me 
for my paines. 

Aboue all men (quoth Sir lohn) Priestes should respect the 
poore and charitably regard the state of the needy, because they 
themselues doe teach charity to the people, and perswade men 
vnto works of mercy : and therefore Sir John, seeing good deeds 
are meritorious, doe you win heauen by this good work, let the 
dead possesse their due : 10 

I so they shall (said the Priest) so I may not loose my due : for 
I tell you further, I count it little better then folly, to fill my 
soule with pleasure by emptying my purse with coine : 

Wilt thou not bury him (said the Knight) : 

No not without money (said the Priest) ; 

I pray thee (said the Knight) let me intreat thee for this time 
to doe it, because the woman is poor. 

Then let me intreat you to pay me (quoth the Priest) because 
you are rich. 

Sir lohn Rainsford seeing him stand so peremptory on his 20 
points, swore a deep oath, that it were best for him to bury him, 
or (quoth he) He bury thee; 

Bury me (said the Priest) a fig for you, and bury blind bayard 
when he is dead, or the dogs that your Hauks will not eate. 

The Knight at these words being maruelous angry commanded 
his men to take him vp & cast him into the graue : his men made 
no more to do, but presently vpon their Masters word tooke vp 
the Priest, and, wrapping him round in his gowne, put him quicke 
into the graue, and the rest cast earth vpon him as fast as they 
could, at what time the Priest cried out, hold, hold, for Gods sake, 30 
let me rise and I will bury him. 

Nay soft (quoth the Knight) thou art not like to rise, no rising 
heere before the generall resurrection, that thou shalt rise to iudge- 
ment. 

And therefore quicke as he was they buried him, which being 
done, he commanded the Sexton to make another graue for the 
dead man, and sending for another Priest he askt him if he wold 
bury the dead without money, who, making twenty legs, shiuering 
and shaking with feare, answered : I forsooth, with all my heart, 
for they are knaues and no Christians that will not doe it. 40 

Now when the dead man was buried, the Knight gaue the poore 
Widdow an angell in gold to comfort her and her children, and 
so rode his way. 

When he came home, he told his Lady what he had done ; who 
greatly grieuing thereat, wisht he had paid for twenty burials, 
rather then he had made that one buriall. 

Tis done now (said the Knight) and vndone it cannot be againe, 
though with griefe I should kill my selfe. 



184 The Gentle Craft. 



Now you shall vnderstand that the Deane of the Dioces, hauing 
word hereof, rode vp presently to London and made a great 
complaint thereof vnto the King, which when his grace had con 
sidered, he was very wroth thereat, and therefore sent down 
purseuants to apprehend the Knight, but he before had forsaken 
his house, and wandred in disguise vp and downe the Countrey. 
His Lady in the meane space made great suite for his pardon, 
being therein assisted by diuers great Counsellors, and Noble 
Lords, who much lamented the Knights case : notwithstanding 
10 they could hardly forbeare laughing many times when they thought 
vpon this mad pranke. 

But as Sir lohn disguisedly wandred, he chanced twixt Gilford 
and London to light in the company with Harry Neuell and Tom 
Drum: But Harry, vewing him well in the face, discried by 
his countenance what he was, and maruelling much to see him in 
such distresse, made himselfe not known, but sounded him in this 
sort. 

Sir (quoth he) whither do you wander this way, or to what place 
trauell you? 

20 Gentle youth (quoth he) fitly dost thou aske me whither I wander, 
seeing, indeed, we doe all but wander in this vale of misery : dost 
thou demand whither I trauell ? nay, rather aske wherefore I 
trauell, or wherewith I trauell? and then could I soone answer 
thee: 

Sbones (quoth Tom) I durst lay a haporth of Ale, that the 
Peasant is in labour with loue. 

Nay (quoth Sir lohn) hadst thou said I trauelled with griefe, and 
that I was in labour with sorrow, then hadst thou said right, for I 
may say to thee, I haue had a sore labour continually this month 
3 o in paine, and yet is not the time of my deliuerance come, wherein 
I should be freed from this vntoward child of care : thou didst 
thinke I was in loue, O would to God it were so, for while I was 
in loue my dayes ran foorth in plesant houres, but I am cast off 
like a lumpe of earth from the gardiners spade : I loue, but I am 
not beloued, but rather hated and despised. 

Tush (quoth Tom) bridle these foolish passions, for He tell thee 

what, hunger asswageth loue, and so doth time, but if thou be not 

able to doe any of these, then to take an halter, which if thou 

doest vse as it ought, if euer thou complaine more of sorrow or 

40 care, neuer trust my word for a cupple of blacke puddings. 

Belike (said Sir lohn) thou hast been some hangman that thou 
art so cunning in the nature of an halter : but howsoeuer thou 
accountest it good, yet it is an 111 word foure times a yeer at 
Newgate, and as small comfort is it to me to heare it rehearst at 
this time. 

Indeed (said Harry] these are vnsauory tearmes to be spoken to 
a sorrowfull man : neither haue any of vs great cause to be merry 
at this meeting, considering the hard cases *wee are in, that are 



The Gentle Craft. 185 



both masterlesse, and moneylesse, which if God doe not soone 
send vs, will cause our sodaine misery. 

With that the Knight turning his head, pluckt his hat to his eyes 
to hide the teares that trickled down his face, saying, O my masters, 
want of money cannot make a man miserable, if he haue health 
and liberty, to worke for his liuing, but indeed, the frownes of 
a good Master, the displeasure of a good Master, the hate of 
a good Master, may easily make a seruant miserable, as by mine 
own experience I haue seen, & to my grief but lately felt. 

What man, be blith (said Tom) and neuer grieue so much for the 10 
111 will of a Master. God keepe me from being of thy mind, for 
if I should haue grieued at the 111 will of euery Master that I haue 
serued, I verely thinke I should haue kild a proper man long ere 
this ; for I am sure I haue had as many Masters as there are 
Market townes in England. 

And yet perhaps (quoth Harry] none so good a Master as his 
was. 

Neuer did man speake truer word, said the Knight, for he was 
to me good kind and liberall, but howsoeuer he hath banisht me 
his house, yet shall my heart serue him while I Hue : now doth it 20 
come in my mind, how happy they are that liue in his fauour : how 
blessed they be that enioy his presence ; O were my head once 
againe shadowed vnder his faire roofe, it would expell all vnquiet 
thoughts, which like milstones presseth downe my hearts comfort. 

What, would you goe dwell with him againe (quoth Tom) ? fie, 
what a base mind doe you beare ; were it to me, by this flesh and 
bloud, I would rather run as far as Jerusalem to seeke a Master. 

Tom, Tom (said the Knight) I know this, wealth makes men 
lofty, but want makes men lowly, and commonly gentle. Masters 
haue proud seruants, but had I beene as wise, as I was wilfull, I 3 
might haue led a happy life, but if teares might satisfie for mine 
offence, I would quickly recouer his fauour. 

Hereupon the wofull Knight would haue parted their company, 
but Harry, secretly conferring with him had knowledge how his 
griefe grew, and making themselues known the one to the other, 
.agreed to goe to London together, and there to try what fortune 
would befall them. 

The Knight tooke great comfort by this conference, and hauing 
store of gold about him, made them great cheere at Kingstone, and 
in the end was content to take their counsaile : and comming into 4 
Fleet-sir eete> Tom Drum brought them to Peachies house, where 
such meanes was made : that at last vpon the tryall of their 
manhood, they were all entertained ; and so well Peachy liked of 
Sir lohn that he vowed he should not be his man, but his fellow. 

Within short time after, the French-men had landed in the He 
of Wight, about two thousand men of warre, who burned and 
spoyled the Country very sore, for which cause the King had made 
ready an army of men to goe thither. Peachy at his owne proper 



1 86 The Gentle Craft. 

cost, set forth thirty of his owne seruants, well armed at all essayes, 
and himselfe as Captaine ouer them mustred before the King : 
who liked so well of them, that he chose out seauen of that 
company for his owne Guard ; at what time Sir lohn, in disguised 
manner shewed there such good seruice, that thereby he won his 
Maiesties high fauour, and was by him most graciously pardoned. 
Peachy was hereupon made the King's Shoomaker, who liued long 
after in great fauour and estimation, both with his Maiesty & all 
the honourable Lords of the Court. 



10 CHAP. VIII. 

Of 'Tom Drums vants, and his rare intertainment at 
Mistris Farmers house, the faire Widdow of Fleet- 
street. 

THere liued in Fleet-streete at this time a faire Widdow, who 
was famous for her beauty, as she was esteemed for her 
wealth ; she was beloued of many Gentlemen and sued vnto by 
diuers Cittizens, but so deepe was the memory of her late husband 
ingrauen in her heart, that she vtterly refused marriage leading a 
sober and solemne life. 

20 Harry Neuell hauing his heart fired with the bright beams of 
this blazing Comet, sought all meanes possible to quench the heate 
thereof with the floudes of her fauourable curtesie : and lacking 
meanes to bring himselfe acquainted with so curious a peece, 
bewrayed by his outward sighs, his inward sorrows : which vpon 
a time Tom Drum perceiuing, demanded the cause of his late 
conceiued griefe, saying, How now Hall, what wind blowes so 
bleake on your cheekes now ? tell me mad wag, hath Cupid and 
you had a combate lately? why lookest thou so sad? hath the 
blind slaue giuen thee a bloody nose, or a broken head ? 

30 Oh, no Tom (quoth he) that little tyrant aimes at no other part 
but the heart, therefore tis my heart, and not my head that 
bleeds. 

With whom Hall, with whom art thou in loue, tell me man ? it 
may be I may pleasure thee more in that matter then my Lord 
Maior: therefore, Ifaith Harry say who is it? neuer be afraid 
man to vnbuckle your Budget of close counsell to me, for if I 
bewray your secrets call me dogs-nose and spit in my face like a 
young kitling. I tell thee Harry, I am holden in greater account 
among women then you are aware, and they will more willingly 

40 shew their secrets to me then to their ghostly father. 

But art thou so in fauour with fine wenches (quoth Harry] ? 
Ifaith Sir I (quoth Tom) and I tro I haue not liued thus long, 



The Gentle Craft. 187 



but I know how to make a woman loue me, by a cunning tricke 
that I haue : I durst lay my life, I will make a dozen maids runne 
after me twenty miles for one nights lodging, striuing, who should 
first bestow her maiden-head on me. 

That tricke surpasses of all that euer I heard (quoth Harry). 

Nay (quoth Tom) He tell thee once what a merry pranke I plaid, 
God forgiue me for it : vpon a time, on a Saterday in the morning, 
I went into East-Cheape of purpose to spie what pretty wenches 
came to Market, where I saw a great many as fresh as flowers in 
May, tripping vp and down the streets with handbaskets in their 10 
hands, in red stammell petticoates, cleane neckerchers and fine 
holland aprons as white as a Lilly : I did no more but carry the 
right leg of a Turtle vnder my left arme, and immediately the 
wenches were so inamoured with my sight that they forsooke the 
butchers shops, and indeed me into a Tauerne, where they spent 
all the money they should haue laid out at Market, onely to make 
me merry : and neuer had I so much to doe, as to be rid of their 
company, where they were ready to fall together by the eares, for 
the kisses they would haue bestowed vpon me. 

But it may be (quoth Harry) your art would faile me now, to 20 
help your friend at a dead lift : 

Not so (said Tom) and therefore if there be any in this street 
that thou hast a mind vnto, thou shalt carry but the head of a 
dead crow about thee, & it shall be of force to bring her to thy 
bed, were it fine Mistres Farmer herself. 

But art thou acquainted with her (quoth Harry) or dost thou 
thinke thou couldst prefer a friend to her speech ? 

I (quoth Tom). Why I tell thee I am more familiar with her 
then with Doll, our kitchen-drudge : why man, she will doe 
anything at my request, nay, I can command her in some sort, for 30 
I tell thee she will not scant be scene in the street, though some 
would giue her twenty pound for euery step, and I did but slightly 
request her to walke into the fields with me, and straight she went, 
and I neuer come into the house, but I haue such entertainment 
as no man hath the like : for as soone as euer she sees me set 
footing on her checkquerd pauement, presently with a smiling 
looke, she meetes me halfe way, saying, what my friend Tom-Drum'? 
honest Thomas, by my Christian soule, hartily welcome : then 
straight a chair and a cushion is fetcht for me, and the best cheere 
in the house is set on the table, and then sitting downe by my side 40 
in her silken gowne, she shakes me by the hand and bids me 
welcome, and so laying meate on my trencher with a siluer forke 
she wishes me frolicke, at what time all the secrets of her heart she 
imparts vnto me, crauing my opinion in the premises. 

I assure thee (said Harry) those are high fauours, well be 
wraying the great friendship that she beares thee, and I much 
maruell that thou, being a young man, wilt not seeke a wife that 
is so wealthy, and so make thy selfe famous, by marrying Mistris 



1 88 The Gentle Craft. 



Farmer, for it is likely she could well a way to make him her 
husband, to whom she opens her hearts secrets. 

Tis true (quoth Tom) and I know that if I spoke but halfe a 
word she would neuer deny me : nay she would spend ten of 
her twelue siluer Apostles, on condition I would vouchsafe to be 
her husband. But wot you what Harry, it is well known, though 
Lillies be faire in shew, they be foule in smell, and women, as 
they are beautifull so are they deceitfull : beside, Mistris Farmer 
is too old for me. 

10 Too old (quoth Harry) ? why man she is not so old as charing 
Crosse for her gate is not crooked nor her face withered : but were 
she an hundred yeare old, hauing so strong a body and so faire 
a face, she were not in my opinion much to be mislikt : yet in my 
conscience I thinke, since first her faire eyes beheld the bright 
sunne, she neuer tasted the fruites of twenty flourishing Somers : 
nor scant felt the nipping frostes of nineteene cold winters, and 
therefore her age need be no hurt to her marriage. 

He tell thee my mind (quoth Tom) after a woman is past six- 
teene yeeres old, I will not giue fifteene blew buttons for her : but 
20 tell me Harry, dost thou like her? if thou dost, say so, and I will 
warrant her thy owne. 

Gentle Tmn Drum (quoth Harry) the true figure of vnfained 
friendship, and the assured Map of manhood, doe but prefer me 
to her acquaintance, and I will request no greater curtesie. 

Here is my hand (quoth Tom) it shall be done, and on 
Thursday at night next we will goe thither, and then thou shalt 
see whether Tom Drum can command anything in Mistresse 
Farmers house or no. 

The day being thus set downe, Harry had prepared himselfe 
3 a faire sute of apparell against the time, and beside had bought 
certaine giftes to bestow on the faire Widdow : Tom Drum in like 
sort had drest himselfe in the best manner he might, still bearing 
Harry in hand that none in the world should be better welcome 
then he to the Widdow : which God wot was nothing so, for she 
neuer respected him but onely for the shooes he brought her : but 
you shall see how it fell out. 

The day being come, Tom taking Harry by the hand, and 

comming to the Widdows doore, took hold on the Bell and rung 

thereat so lustily, as if he had beene bound seauen yeares Prentise 

4 to a Sexton : whereupon one of the Prentises came straight to the 

doore, saying who is there ? 

Sirra (quoth Tom Drum) tis I, open the doore ; 

The fellow seeing it to be Tom Drum, with a frown askt him 
what he would haue ? who answered, he would speake with his 
Mistris. 

My Mistris is busie (quoth the fellow) cannot I doe your errand? 

No marry can you not (quoth Tom) I must speak with her my 
selfe: 



The Gentle Craft. 189 



Then stay a little (quoth the boy) and I will tell, and with that 
in he went, leauing Tom still at the doore, where they sate till 
their feet waxt cold before the boy returned. 

By the Masse (quoth Harry) whatsoeuer your credit with the 
Mistris is I know not, but the curtesie is small that is shewen you 
by her man : 

Tush (quoth Tom) what will you haue of a rude vnmannerly 
boy ? If any of the Maids had come to the doore, we had beene 
long ere this brought to their Mistris presence : therefore once 
againe I will vse the help of the Bell-rope. 10 

At his second ringing, out comes one of the Maids, saying with 
a shrill voyce : who the Diuell is at the doore, that keepes such 
a ringing ? 

Why, you queane (quoth he) tis I. 

What Tom Drum (quoth shee) what would you haue ? 

I would speak with your mistresse (quoth he) : 

Trust me (said the maid) you cannot speake with her now, she 
is at supper with two or three that are sutors ; Master Doctor 
Burket is one, and Master Alderman laruice the other : 

Tut (quoth Tom) tell me not of sutors but tell her that I am 20 
here, then good enough. 

Well, I will (quoth shee) and with that, claps to the dore againe, 
and keepes them still without. 

This geare workes but ill-fauouredly yet (said Harry] and you 
are little beholding either to the men, or to the maids, for ought 
that I see, that will not shew you so much fauour to stay within 
dores. 

Tis no matter, Harry (quoth he) but if their Mistresse should 
know this she would swinge their coats lustely for it : 

And with that one of the boyes, opening the doore, told Tom 30 
that his mistresse wold haue him send vp his errand. 

Sblood (quoth he) is she so stately that she will not come downe? 
I haue scene the day when she would haue bin glad to haue 
spoken with me : 

I (quoth the fellow) it may be so, when you haue brought her 
a new paire of shoes, that hath pincht her at the toes. 

Come Harry (said Tom) I will take the paines for this once to 
goe vp to her. 

By my faith but you shall not (said the fellow) : and therefore 
keepe you backe, for you come not in here : 40 

Tom Drum seeing himselfe thus disgracd before his fellow 
Harry (being very angry) askt if this were the best entertainment 
that they could affoord their Mistresses Friends? And there- 
withall began to struggle with them : which their mistresse hearing, 
started from the table, and suddenly came to see what the matter 
was, who being certified of Tom Drums sawcinesse began thus 
sharpely to check him, 

Why, fellow (quoth she) art thou mad, that thus vnciuilly thou 



I go The Gentle Craft. 



behauest thyself ? what hast thou to say to me, that thou art thus 
importunate ? 

No hurt (quoth he) but that this gentleman and I would haue 
bestowed a galland of wine to haue had three or foure houres 
talke with you. 

I tell thee (said she) I am not now at leasure, and therefore 
good honesty trouble me no more : neither is it my wont to be 
won with wine at any time ; 

Gods Lord (quoth he) are you grown so coy? if you and I were 
lo alone I know I should finde you more milde : what must no man 
but Doctor Burket cast your water? is his Phisicke in most 
request ? well I meane to be better entertained ere I goe, for there 
is neuer a Flamming of them all shall out face me, by the morrow 
Masse I sweare. 

Mistris Farmar seeing him so furious, answered he should haue 
present entertainment according to his desert ; whereupon she 
made no more to doe, but quietly went to her seruants, and willed 
them to thrust him out by the head and shoulders : which presently 
they performed. But Harry was by her very modestly answered, 
io that if he had occasion of any speech with her, the next day he 
should come and be patiently heard and gently answered : with 
which words after she had drunke to him in a gobblet of Claret 
wine, he departed, and, going home, he told Tom Drum he was 
highly beholding to him for his curtesie in preferring his sute to 
Mistris Farmer-. 

Surely (quoth hee) you are in very high fauour with the faire 
woman, and so it seemed by your great entertainment : I pray 
thee Tom, tell me how tasted the meat which she set on thy 
trencher with her siluer forke : and what secret was that shee told 
30 in thy eare ? trust me, thou art precious in her eies, for she was 
as glad to see thee, as one had giuen her a rush, for when after 
many hot wordes she heard thee draw thy breath so short, she for 
very pitty tumbled thee out into the street to take more ayre : 

Well (quoth Torn) floute on, but I am well enough serued, He 
lay my life, had I not brought thee with me, neuer a man should 
haue had more welcome then I : and now I consider with my 
selfe that it did anger her to the heart when she saw I was pur 
posed to make another co-partner of her presence : but it shall 
teach me wit while I Hue, for I remember an old saying, loue and 
40 Lordship brookes no fellowship. 

But when this matter was made known to the rest of the 
iorneymen, Tom Drums entertainment was spoke of in euery 
place, insomuch that it is to this day a prouerb amongst vs, that 
where it is supposed a man shall not be welcomed, they will say 
he is like to haue Tom Drums entertainment. And to auoid the 
flouts that were daily giuen him, poore Tom Drum forsooke 
Fleet-street, and at last went into Scotland^ being prest for a 
Drummer at Muskelbrough field, where the noble Duke of 



The Gentle Craft, 191 

Sommerset & the Earle of Warwick were sent with a noble army, 
where Englishmen and Scots meeting, there was fought a cruell 
battle, the victory whereof fell to the Englishmen : at what time 
there was slaine of the Scots to the number of 14 Thousand, and 
fifteene hundred taken prisoners, where we will leaue Tom Drum 
till his returne, making mention how Harry Neuell behaued him- 
selfe in the meane space in London. 



CHAP. IX. 

How Harry Neuell wooed Mistris Farmer and deceiued 
Doctor Burket: and how they were both beguiled by "> 
a Prentice that dwelt in the house, who in the end 
married her. 

Mistris Farmer fieri ng the hearts of many with her beauty, 
was wondrously wooed by Doctor Burket, who would giue 
er diuers rich gifts, the which though they were faire and 
costly, yet Mistris Farmer would hardly accept them, but euen 
what he in a manner by perforce constrained her to take, least by 
his cunning he should insert therein some matter more then 
ordinary, that might mooue any motion of loue, contrary to her 
naturall inclination : 20 

VpOn a time Harry Neuell comming thether, and finding the 
Doctor very diligent to breed the Widdows content, whereby he 
greatly hindred his proceedings, cast in his mind how he might 
disburden the house of the Doctor and get opportunity to prefer 
his owne sute. At last lighting on a deuice fit for the purpose, .in 
this sort he delt with the doctor ; 

There was an Egyptian woman that at Black-wall was in trauell 
with child, and had such hard labour, that she was much lamented 
among all the wiues that dwelt thereabout. Harry Neuell com 
ming that way, and hearing thereof, thought it a fit matter to 3 
imploy Doctor Burket about, while in the meane space he might 
the better bewray his affection to the Widdow. 

Whereupon he sent one to him attyred like a seruing man, 
booted and spurd, who comming to the Widdows house all in 
a sweate, laid load on the doore demanding for Master Doctor : 

What would you with him (quoth one of the Maids)? 

Marry (quoth he) my Lady Sunborne hath sent for him in all 
post hast, and therefore I pray you let me speake with him. 

I will presently doe your errand (said the maid) whereupon 
running vp she told him that my Lady Sunborne hath sent a 4 
messenger in very great hast to speake with him. Doctor Burket^ 
hearing that and being well acquainted with the Lady Swinborne^ 



i g2 The Gentle Craft. 



took leaue of the Widdow & went to the messenger, saying how 
now good fellow, what would my good Lady haue with me ? 

Sir (said the messenger) she would desire you if euer you did 
tender the life of a Lady, to make no delay, but presently to 
put your selfe a horse-back & come to her, for she is wondrous 
sick : 

I am sory for that (said the Doctor) ; & surely I will make all 
speed possible to come to her : whereupon the Doctor tooke 
horse and immediatly went with the seruingman. 

10 Harry hearing of his departure, came to the Widdow with 
a smiling countenance and thus merily began to wooe her. 

Now Mistris Farmer, happy it is that a yong man once in 
a moneth may find a moment of time to talk with you : truth it is 
that your good graces haue greatly bound me in affection to you, 
so that onely aboue all the women in the world I haue setled my 
delight in your loue, & if it shall please you to requite my good 
will with the like kindnesse, I shall account my birthday blessed, 
& remaine your faithfull friend for euer. 

Gentle man (quoth she) for your good will, I thank you, but I 

20 would haue you vnderstand, that the lesse you loue me, the better 
I shall like you, for your delights & mine are not alike, I haue 
setled my fancy on a single life, being a Widdow vnmeete to 
marry, & vnapt to loue ; once indeed I had learned that lesson, 
but my schole master being vntimely dead that taught me, I grew 
forgetfull of all those principles & then I swore neuer to follow 
that study more : wherefore if you will become a faithfull friend 
to me, let me be assured thereof by this, that from henceforth you 
will not any more trouble me with this matter, & thereby you 
shall bind me to think the better of you while I know you : & doe 

30 not think I speak this of any affection proceeding from myself to 
any other, or for the desire of any benefit preferred by any other 
to me. 

Faire Mistris (quoth Harr)^] I know it is the custome of women 
to make their denials vnto their louers, & strictly to stand on nice 
points, because they will not be accounted easily won, or soone 
entreated : alack deere Dame, consider nature did not adorne your 
face with such incomparable beauty, & framed euery other part so 
full of excellency, to wound men with woe, but to worke their con 
tent. Wherefore now in the April! of your yeares, and the sweet 

40 summer of your dayes, banish not the pleasures incident to bright 
beauty, but honour London streets with the faire fruite of your womb 
& make me blessed by being father to the issue of your delicate 
body ; & though your beauty as the spring doth yet yearely grow, 
yet in the black winter of old age it will not be so, & we see by 
daily experience, that flowers not gathered in time rot & consume 
them selues : wherfore in my opinion you should doe the world 
intolerable wrong to liue like a fruitlesse figtree. 

Nay then Sir (quoth she) I perceiue you will grow troublesome, 



The Gentle Craft. 193 



and shew your selfe no such man as you professe your selfe : and 
seeing among many I request but one thing at your hands, and 
you refuse to doe it for my sake, I may say your frindship is more 
in words then in works; wherefore I perceiue I must be con 
strained to call my Maid for a cup of voyding beere ere you will 
depart. 

Nay Mistris (quoth he) I will saue you that labour, seeing your 
loue commands me ; & I pray God grant you a more fauourable 
mind at our next meeting, & with these words he departed. 

Now you shall vnderstand that this gallant Widdow had in her 10 
house a very proper youth which was one of her aprentices, who 
had a long time borne his Mistris great good will : whereupon he 
became so diligent & carefull about all things committed to his 
charge, that thereby he won much commendations among all the 
neighbors, & was for the same highly esteemed of his Mistris : 
who after he had long concealed his grief, at last vnburdened 
himselfe of some sorrow, by making a friend priuy to his passions, 
who comforted him in this sort : 

Tush man (quoth he) what though she be thy Mistris & thou 
her prentise, be not ashamed to shew thy affection to her : she is ao 
a woman wise & modest, and one that howeuer she answers thy 
demand, will not think worse of thee for thy good will : therefore 
try her, thou knowest not how fortune may fauour thy sute, and 
the worst is she can but say thee nay : 

O (quoth he) if I were out of my years, I could haue some 
heart to wooe her, but hauing yet three quarters of a yeere to 
serue, it may be some hindrance to my freedome if she should 
proue froward. 

Tush stand not on those tearms (said his friend Francis] she 
will neuer requite a kindnes with such discurtesie, and therefore 30 
William^ proue not a foole by being too fearefull. 

my deare friend Francis (quoth he) how can I suppose I 
should speed well, seeing she disdains Doctor Burket, and refuses 
Master Alderman, & will shew no countenance to gallant Master 
Neuell; 

What a bad reason is this (quoth Francis] some cannot abide 
to eate of a Pig : some to taste of an Eele, othersome are sicke if 
they see but a Crab, and diuers cannot away with cheese; yet 
none of them all but doe Hue by their victuals ; euery man hath 
his fancy, & euery woman will follow her own mind, and therefore, 40 
though she find not an Alderman or a Doctor for her diet yet she 
may think William her man a fit morsell for her own tooth. 

1 wis (quoth William) thy reasons are good, and I haue ad- 
uantage aboue all other suters to follow my sute, being in the 
house daily with her, and euery euening when they are away : 
beside she hath appointed me this after noone to come to her Closet, 
that I may shew her my reckoning and accounts & in what sort her 
state standeth : wherefore seeing I haue such occasion, I will no 

917.6 o 



194 The Gentle Craft. 



longer trifle out the time : but so soon as that businesse is ended 
put my selfe to the hazard of my happy fortune : wherefore good 
Francis farewell till I see thee againe, fr how I speed, at our next 
meeting thou shalt know. 

The time at last being come that Mistris Farmer had appointed 
to haue her books cast ouer, getting into her closet shee whistled 
for her Maid, & bad her call vp William ; (quoth she) let him 
bring his books of account with him : 

The maid did as her Mistris commanded, & vp comes William 

jo with his books vnder his armes : & after he had very reuerently 

don his duty to his Mistris, she bad him sit downe saying, now 

William let me see these reckonings iustly cast vp, for it is long 

since I haue cast an eye into mine estate. 

Mistris (quoth he) doubt not but your estate is good and your 
accounts iustly kept for I haue had as great regard thereto as the 
goods had been my owne. 

Therein (quoth she) I am the more beholding to thee, neither 
shal thy true seruice goe vnrewarded if I Hue ; or if I dye thou 
shalt not be altogether forgotten. 

20 These kind speeches greatly comforted Williams heart, where- 
vpon he fell to his reckonings roundly, till, his mind running too 
much on his Mistris beauty, sometimes he would misse and count 
three-score, and foure-score, nine-score. 

Nay there you faile (quoth his Mistris) and ouer-tell forty, for 
three and foure is but seauen. 

Tis true indeed Mistris (said he) and three times seauen is inst 
nue and twenty. 

I tell thee (quoth she) tis but one and twenty, what fellow, begin 
you to dote in your yong yeares ? 

30 O my deere Mistris (said he) blame me not if I doe so, seeing 
your sweet presence hath made farre wiser then my self to 
dote : O my good Mistris pardon my presumption, for being thus 
bold to vnburden my hearts griefe vnto you, my hearty loue to 
your sweet selfe is so great, that except you vouchsafe fauourably 
to censure, and kindly to iudge thereof, that the sorrowes of my 
mind will wound my very soule, and make my life loathsome 
vnto me. 

Wherefore my good Mistris, despise not your poore seruant, 
but yeeld vnto him such succour, as may prolong his dayes with 
40 many blessed houres. 

His Mistris obscuring her beauty with lo wring browes, (like 
foggy vapours that blot the sky) made him this answer : How now 
Sirra ? hath my too much mildnesse made you thus sawcy ? can 
you set your loue at no lower a pitch, but you must mount to be 
Master of your Mistris ? 

No Mistris (quoth he) no master, but your seruant for euer. 

Goe to, leaue your prating (quoth she) or I will breake thy head 
I sweare, haue I refused as thou seest, a graue and wealthy 



The Gentle Craft. 195 



Alderman that might make me a Mistris of worship and dignity, 
and denied master Doctor of his request, who as thou knowest is 
at this day esteemed the cunningest Physition in London^ and 
diuerse other honest and well landed Gentlemen, and among the 
rest young Master Neuell, who as some say, is descended of 
a noble house, and whose loue I dare sweare is to me most 
firmely deuoted, so that in my heart I am perswaded he loues the 
ground the better that I tread on : & should I (I say) forsake all 
these to make my foot my head, and my seruant my superiour, to 
marry thee which art a Prentice boy ? i o 

Nay Sir (quoth she) seeing you are grown so lusty, tis time to 
tame you and looke to your steps : therefore I charge you leaue 
the shop and get you into the kitchin to help the Maid to washe 
the dishes and scowre the Kettles ; and whereas since my hus 
bands decease I haue giuen foure nobles a yeare to a water bearer, 
I will make thee saue me that charges, for it is well scene, that 
too long the water Tankard hath beene kept from thy lazy 
shoulders, and if thou scornest to doe this, get where thou wilt ; 
but if thou wilt remaine with me, so long as thou hast a day to 
serue thou shalt be thus imployed. 20 

Hereupon she called vp her man Richard to supplie his place, 
and to be fore-man of the shop, gracing him with the keyes of the 
counting house ; which William seeing, sadly went out of her 
sight, wofully to himselfe bewayling his hard fortune, but yet such 
was his loue to his Mistris, that he rather chose to be drudge in 
her kitchin, then to change her seruice for any other. All the 
seruants in the house much mused at this alteration : but to no 
creature did his Mistris tell the cause thereof, but kept it secret to 
her selfe : toward the euening, foorth he must needs goe for water, 
at what time he wanted no flouts of all his fellows, nor of many of 30 
the neighbors seruants : where meeting with his friend Francis^ 
discoursed to him the whole cause of his disgrace : he greatly 
chafing thereat, perswaded him neuer to endure such base 
drudgery, but rather to seeke preferment in some other place. 
Notwithstanding William would not follow his counsell, but 
rather chose patiently to abide all brunts. 

Night being come, and supper ended, William was set to 
performe his penance for his presumption in loue. that is to say, 
to scrape the trenchers, scowre the kettles and spits, and to wash 
vp the dishes : which he went about with such good will, that it 40 
seemed to him rather a pleasure then a paine. 

His Mistris closset, joyning to the kitchin, had a secret place 
therein to look into the kitchin, where closely sitting, she earnestly 
beheld her man how he bestirred himselfe in his busines : Where- 
vpon she entered into this consideration with her selfe. Now fie 
for shame, how 111 doth it beseeme me to set so handsome a youth 
to such drudgery ? if he bore a man's mind he would neuer indure 
it, but being of a base and seruile condition, he doth easily indure 

o 2 



196 The Gentle Craft. 



the yoake of seruitude, and yet I am too blame so to thinke, for 
if he had stubbornly disobeyed my commandement, how could 
I otherwise iudge, but that in pride and disdaine he thought him- 
selfe too good to be at any direction : some seruants would in 
such a case haue giuen me many foule words, and rather male- 
partly set me at nought and forsake my seruice, then to haue 
indured the tearms of disgrace that he hath done by this means : 
but heereby it is euident that loue thinks nothing too much. 
Well Will (quoth she) the vertue of thy mind shall breed better 
10 thoughts in thy Mistris, which shall make her reward thy good 
will in a large measure : see, see, how neately he goes through his 
work, how handsomely he handles euerything : and surely well 
may I suppose that he which is so faithfull a seruant, would 
certainly proue a kind husband, for this hath beene no slender 
triall of his constant heart. 

With that hearing the Maid and some other of the seruants 
talke with him, she lending a heedfull eare to their speech, heard 
them speake to this purpose : 

Good Lord William (quoth one) I maruell much that you, 
20 being of so good parents and hauing so little a while to serue, will 
be thus vsed at her hands ? it were too much if you were but this 
day bound prentice, to be set to such slauery : 

I sweare (quoth another) I haue three times longer to serue 
then you and if she should bid me doe as thou dost, I would bid 
her doe it herselfe, with a morin : 

He tell you what (quoth the third) He be plaine and vse but few 
words, but I would see my faire Mistris with the black Deuill 
before I would doe it. 

Well well my masters (quoth William) you are mad, merry wags 

30 but I take it as great fauour done me by my Mistris thus to imploy 

me, that thereby I might haue knowledge how to decke vp 

a kitchen that meeting with a bad huswife to my wife, I know how 

to instruct her in houshold affaires : 

I care for no such fauour (said he). 

Their Mistris hearing all, said nothing but determined to try 
them all what they would doe ere it were long wherefore being 
now greatly affectioned to her man, couered her loue with such 
discretion, that none could perceiue it : For Master Doctor being 
newly returned, came thither puffing and blowing, saying he was 
40 neuer so serued since he was borne ; (quoth he) since I was here, 
I haue at least ridden an hundred miles with an arrant knaue that 
carried me I knew not whether : he rode with me out of Bishops- 
gate foorth right as far as Ware, 'and then compassing all Suffolke 
and Norfolke, he brought me backe againe through Essex, and so 
conducted me to Slack-wall in Middlesex to seeke out my Lady 
Swinborne, my good Lady and Mistris : at last I saw it was no 
such matter, but the villaine being disposed to mocke me, brought 
me to a woman Egiptian, as blacke as the great Diuell, who lay 



The Gentle Craft. 197 



in child-bed and was but deliuered of a child of her owne colour : 
to the which in despite of my beard they made me be God-father, 
where it cost me three crownes, and I was glad I so escaped, and 
who was the author of all this deceipt but Master Neuelll but if 
euer I come to giue him Phisicke, if I make him not haue the 
squirt for flue dayes, count me the veriest dunce that euer wore 
veluet cap. 

Master Doctor (quoth she) I am very sorie you were so vsed, 
notwithstanding to make Master Neuell and you friends I will 
bestow a breakefast vpon you to morrow, if it please you to accept 10 
my offer. 

Faire Widdow (quoth he) neuer a one in the world would haue 
vrged me to be friends with him but your selfe, and I am con 
tented for your sake to doe it : and thus till next morning he took 
his leaue. 

Next day as soone as she was vp she called vp one of her men 
saying, Sirra run quickly, take a basket and fetch me a bushel of 
oysters from Billinsgate ; 

The fellow frowning said, I pray you send another, for I am 
busie in the shop. 20 

Why knaue (quoth she) He haue thee goe. 

(Quoth he) make a drudge of some other and not of me, for to 
be plaine I will not goe. 

No (quoth she) Call me John hither : 

When he came, she desired him very gently to fetch her 
a bushel of oysters. 

Why Mistresse (quoth he) my friends sent me not here to be 
a Porter to fetch Oisters from Billingsgate. I tell you true, I 
scorne you should require any such matter of me. 

Is it true (quoth she) ? very well, I will remember this when you 30 
forget it. 

Thus, when she had tried them all, she called her man William, 
saying : sirra goodman scullian take the great close basket, and 
fetch me a bushell of oysters from Billinsgate, & look you tarry 
not. 

I will forsooth Mistris (quoth he) & presently away he went 
with such good will as none could go with better, being maruellous 
glad that she would request anything at his hands. 

When he was come againe, with a smiling countenance she 
said, what Wilkin art thou come already ? it is well done, I pray 40 
thee bring some of them vp into my Closset, that I may taste how 
good they be : 

Yes forsooth (quoth William) and after her he went, the Maide 
likewise carried vp a couple of white manchets, and with a Diaper 
napkin couered the table. 

Now Maid (quoth she) fetch me a pint of the best red wine : 

I will forsooth (said the Maid). 

24. lohn] Richard 1639 : but cf. p. 200 I. 41. 



198 The Gentle Craft. 



Mistris (said WilKam) if it please you, I will open your Oysters 
for you ; 

I pray you, do (quoth she) : 

Then taking a towell on his arme, and a knife in his hand, 
being glad he had gotten so good an office, shewed himselfe so 
feat and expert in his occupation, that he opened as fast as his 
Mistresse could eat. 

Beleeue me William (quoth she) you are nimble at an oyster, 
and quick in caruing vp shell-fish, though dull in casting vp 
10 accounts, I pray thee tell me how many shels are in three and 
thirtie oysters ? 

Threescore and six (said William} \ 

You are a witty youth (quoth she) if thy speech be true it must 
then needs follow that I haue eaten three and thirty oysters, haue 
also deuoured threescore and six shels, which is too much for 
one womans breakfast in a cold morning in conscience, and 
therefore I had need quickly to giue ouer, least I break my belly 
with oyster shels : whereupon she cald her maid, saying : come 
hither loane, and bring me a goblet of wine that I may wash 
20 Williams shels from my stomack. 

Indeed Mistris (quoth he) if you take my words so, I spoke 
without book : 

It is true (quoth she) for they are alwaies without that are 
neuer within, and either thy knowledge is small, or thy blindnesse 
great, or oyster shels very soft, that I should eat so many and 
neuer feele one : for surely, if there be threescore and six 
oystershels in three and thirty oysters, there must needs be as many 
more in three and thirty oysters : and to affirme my words true, 
behold here the shels that were out of the oysters, now shew me 
30 those that were within the oysters. 

William, seeing his Mistris thus pleasant, began to gather some 
courage to himselfe, and therefore thus vttered his mind : Deare 
Mistris, needs must I proue both blinde in sight, and dull in 
conceipt, while your faire eyes that giues light to the Sunne 
obscure themselues, and dark the glory of their shine, when I seek 
to receiue comfort thereby : and the want of your good will makes 
my wits so weak, that like a barren tree it yields no fruit at all. 

True (quoth she) : three times seuen is iust fiue and twenty : but 
tell me what is the cause that moues thee to desire my fauour, 
40 and to request my good will ? 

Good Mistris pardon me (quoth he) and I will tell you : 

Whereupon she replied, saying, trust me William, my pardon is 
easier to be gotten then the Popes, and therefore be not afraid to 
proceed. 

Why then my deare Mistris, seeing you haue so graciously 
granted liberty to my hearts aduocate, to pleade at the bar of your 
beauty, and to open the bill of my complaint : know this, that hope 
against hope perswaded me to labour for your loue, that gaming 



The Gentle Craft. 199 



the same I might be called a blessed man by winning such a 
wife. 

What W 7 /// (quoth she) art thou not ashamed, that such a youth 
as thy selfe, a lad, a stripling, a prentice boy, should in the ig 
norance of his age, cumber himselfe with the cares of the world, 
and wantonly take a wife, that knowes not how to guide himselfe ? 
I tell thee fellow, first learne to thriue, and then wiue. 

O my deare Mistris (said William) let not pleasant youth which 
is the glory of many be a disgrace to me : neither without triall 
deere Mistris disable not my manhood, which now I take to be in 10 
his chiefe prime. 

Nay (quoth she) if thou wilt haue thy manhood tried, prepare 
thy selfe for the warres, and purchase honour by beating down 
our countries foes, and so shalt thou weare the golden wreath of 
honour foreuer. 

In troth Mistris (quoth he) I had rather haue my manhood tried 
in another place. 

Yfaith where (quoth shee) ? 

By my troth (said he) in your soft bed, which is far better then 
the hard field : 20 

Why thou bold knaue (quoth she) it were a good deed to make 
you a bird of Bridewell for your saucinesse. 

Beleeue me Mistris (quoth he) I am sorie you should be offended, 
rather will I get me into a corner and die through disdaine, then 
stay in your sight and grieue you, and with that away he went. 

She seeing him so hastily depart, called him againe saying : 
William come hither, turne againe you faint-hearted coward, what, 
art thou afraid of Bridewell! vse thy selfe well, and I will be thy 
friend : 

The young man that with these words was reuiued like a sick 30 
man out of a dead sound, turning merrily to his Mistris, gaue her 
a kisse, saying : on that condition I giue you this. 

How now sir (quoth she) I called you not back to be so bold : 
in good sadnesse do so againe, and I will giue you on the eare. 

Nay, Mistris (quoth he) if that be all the danger, take then 
another, and lay me on the eare (so I may lay you on the lips) 
and spare not : 

Nay, then (said his Mistris) I see my too much softnesse makes 
thee saucy, therefore for feare thou shouldest catch a surfet, I 
charge thee on paine of loues displeasure, to get you downe about 40 
your businesse, and see that all things be in readinesse against 
my friends come : why goe you not ? what stand you in a maze ? 
pack I say and be gone. 

And thus my deare Mistris (quoth he) parts my soule out of 

Paradise, and my heart from heauens ioy : notwithstanding you 

command and I consent and alwayes let me finde fauour, as I am 

forward to follow your precepts, and there withall away he went. 

He was no sooner gone, but she hauing determined what to 



2OO The Gentle Craft. 



do, sent for her friends, at what time the Alderman comming 
thither, and Master Doctor, she had also inuited Master Peachie 
and his Wife, and with them came gallant young Neuill 

When they were all set at the table, after they had well tasted 
of the delicates there prepared : Mistris Farmer told them for two 
causes she had requested their companie that day to breakfast : 
the one was, that master Doctor and young Neuill might be made 
friends : and the other that in their sight she might make her 
selfe sure to her husband, that they might be witnes of their vowes. 
jo The companie said, they should be very glad to see so good 
a work performed : whereupon shee calling vp all her men seruants, 
spake to this purpose. My good friends and kinde neighbours, 
because I will haue none ignorant of that which is to be effected, 
1 haue presumed to bring my seruants into your presence, that 
they also may beare record of the reconciliation betwixt Master 
Doctor and Master Neuill^ and therefore my Masters, if your 
hearts consent to an unitie, declare it by shaking hands, that it 
may not bee said, that my house was the breeder of brawles, and 
on that condition I drink to you both : the Gentlemen both 
20 pledged her, and according to her request ended the quarrell. 

When this was done, she merrily told them, that among her 
men she had chosen her Master : albeit quoth she, this matter may 
seeme strange in your sight, and my fancie too much ruled by 
follie, yet this my determination I purpose by Gods grace to follow, 
hoping it shall breed no offence to any in the companie, in such 
a chance to make mine own choice. 

Her man Richard, & the rest that supposed themselues most 
graced by her fauours, began at this speech to look something 
peart, and all the companie held opinion that she bore the best 
30 minde to the foreman of her Shop : for first of all turning her 
speech to him, she said : Richard come hither, thou hast greatly 
to praise God for making thee so proper a man, thou art a neat 
fellow, and hast excellent qualities, for thou art not proud, nor 
high minded, but hast a care to thy businesse, and to keepe the 
Shop : and because I haue committed great matters into thy 
hands, I pray thee go downe and look to thy charge, for I haue 
nothing more to say to thee at this time. 

The fellow at these words lookt as blew vnder the eyes, as a stale 
Codshead vnder the gill : and going downe the staires shook his 
40 head like one that had a flea in his eare. 

Now come hither John (quoth she) I must needs say thou art 
come of good parents, & thou knowst they bound thee not Prentice 
to fetch oysters from Billinsgate like a Porter, nor to haue thy 
daintie ringers set to drudgerie, therefore good lohn get you downe 
after your fellow, for here is nothing for you to doe at this time. 

Her man William, that all this while was playing the scullion 
in the kitchin was then sent for, who comming before the company 
with his face all begrimd, and his cloathes all greasie, his Mistris 



The Gentle Craft. 201 



spake in this manner What a slouenlie knaue comes here ? were not 
this a fit man think ye to be Master of this house and Lord of my 
loue ? 

Now by my troth (said Mistris Peachie] I neuer saw a more vn- 
handsome fellow in my life : fie how hee stinkes of kitchin stuffe : 
what a face and neck hath he ? a bodie might set Leekes in the 
very durt of his lips. I thinke in my conscience three pound of 
Sope, & a barrell of Water is little enough to scowre him cleane : 
the like flowts vsed all the rest at poore William, to which his 
Mistris made this answer. 10 

Good Lord my masters, how much do your sights deceiue you ? 
in my sight he looks the loueliest of them all, hauing a pleasant 
countenance, and a good grace, and so pleasing is he in euery part 
to my sight, that surely if hee will accept of mee for his wife, I 
will not refuse him for my husband : her friends looking one vpon 
another, and maruelling at her speech, thought verily she* had but 
iested, till such time she took him by the hand, and gaue him a 
kisse. 

Whereupon William spake thus vnto her : faire Mistris, seeing 
it hath pleased you, beyond my desert, and contrarie to my ao 
expectation, to make me so gracious an offer, worthie I were to 
Hue a beggar if I should refuse such a treasure : and thereupon 1 
giue you my heart and my hand : 

And I receiue it (quoth she) for it is thy vertue and true 
humilitie that hath conquered my former conceipts, for few men 
would haue wonne a wife as thou didst. 

No, how did he win you (said Harrie Neuill) ? 

By fetching oysters from Billingsgate (quoth she) which I know 
you would not haue done, seeing all the rest of my seruants scornd 
to do it at my request : 30 

Sblood (quoth Harrie] by feching of oysters : I would haue 
fe^cht oysters, and mustles, and cockles too, to haue got so good 
a bargaine. 

The Alderman and the Doctor lookt strangely at this matter : 
neuerthelesse seeing it was not to be helpt, they commended her 
choice, saying it was better for a man in such a case, to be 
fauourable in a womans eyes, then to haue much gold in his 
coffers. 

Then did she set her black man by her white side, and calling 
the rest of her seruants (in the sight of her friends) she made them 40 
do reuerence vnto him, whom they for his drudgerie scorned so 
much before : so the breakfast ended, she wild them all next 
morning, to beare him companie to Church, against which time, 
William was so daintily trickt vp, that all those which beheld him, 
confest he was a most comely, trim, and proper man, and after 
they were married, they liued long together in ioy and prosperous 
estate. 

Harrie Neuill became so grieued hereat, that soone after he went 



202 The Gentle Craft. 



from Master Peachie, and dwelt with a Gold smith, and when he 
had beene a while there, committing a fault with his Masters 
daughter, he departed thence and became a Barber-Surgion : but 
there his Mistris and he were so familiar, that it nothing pleased 
his Master, so that in halfe a yeare he sought a new seruice and 
became a Cook : and then a Comfetmaker dwelling with master 
Baltazar, where after he grew something cunning, hauing done 
some shrewd turne in that place, he forsooke that seruice, and 
became a Smith, where their maide ludeth fell so highly in loue 
ro with him that he for pure good will which he bore her, shewed his 
Master a faire paire of heeles : and then practised to be a loyner, 
where he continued till hee heard his Father was sick, who for his 
abominable swearing had cast him from his fauour, but after he 
had long mist him, and that he could heare no tidings of his 
vntoward and wilde wanton Sonne, hee sent into diuers places to 
enquire for him, and at last; one of his seruants lighted where he 
was, by which meanes he came to his father againe : 

Who in a few yeares after, leauing his life, this sonne Harrie 
became Lord of all his lands : and comming vpon a day to London 
20 with his men waiting vpon him, he caused a great dinner to be 
prepared, and sent for all those that had been his masters and 
mistresses : who being come, he thus began to commune with 
them My good friends, I vnderstand that a certaine kinsman of 
mine was sometimes your seruant, and as I take it, his name was 
Harrie Neuell : who as I heare, vsed himselfe but homely toward 
you, being a very wilde and vngracious fellow, the report whereof 
hath beene some griefe to me, being one that alwayes wisht him 
well : wherefore look what damage he hath done you I pray you 
tell me, and I am content with reason to see you satisfied, so that 
30 he may haue your fauours to be made a freeman. 

Surely sir (said Peachie] for mine own part I can say little, saue 
only that he was so full of loue, that he would seldome follow his 
businesse at his occupation : but that matter I freely forgiue and 
will not be his hindrance in any thing. 

Marry sir (said the Goldsmith) I cannot say so : for truly sir he 
plaid the theefe in my house, robbing my daughter of her maiden 
head, which he nor you is neuer able to recompence, though you 
gaue me a thousand pound, yet, I thank God she is married and 
doth well. 

' 4 o I am the glader of that (said the Gentleman) and for that fault 
I will giue toward her maintenance forty pound. 

The Barber hearing him say so, told him that hee had iniured 
him as much, and had beene more bold a great deale then became 
him, whereby (quoth he) I was made a scorne among my neigh 
bours. 

Tush you speake of ill will (said the Gentleman) if your wife will 
say so I will beleeue it : 

1 6. his seruants lighted] this seruants lighed 1639 



The Gentle Craft. 203 



To which words the woman made this answer, Good sir, will 
you beleeue me there was neuer so much matter, the youth was an 
honest faire conditioned young man, but my husband bearing a 
naughty iealous minde, grew suspicious without cause, onely 
because he saw that his seruant was kinde and gentle vnto me, 
and would haue done any thing that I requested : notwithstanding 
I haue had many a fowle word for his sake, and carried some 
bitter blowes too, but all is one, I am not the first woman that 
hath suffered iniury without cause : 

Alas good soule (said the Gentleman) I am right sorry for thy 10 
griefe, and to make thee amends, I will bestow on thee twentie 
Angels, so your husband will not take it in dudgin ; 

The woman with a low cursie gaue him thanks, saying : truly sir 
I am highly beholding to you, and truly I shall loue you the better 
because you are so like him. 

The smith likewise for his maide said all that he might, to whose 
marriage the Gentleman gaue twentie pound : 

Thus after hee had fully ended with them all, hee made himselfe 
knowne vnto them, at what time they all reioyced greatly, and then 
after he had bestowed on them a sumptuous dinner, they all 20 
departed. And euer after, this Gentleman kept men of all these 
occupations in his own house, himself being as good a workman 
as any of them all. 



CHAP. X. 
Of the greene king of S. Martins and- his merry feats. 

THere dwelt in S. Martitis a iolly Shooemaker, hee was 
commonly called the Greene king, for that vpon a time he 
sjhewed himselfe before King Henry, with all his men cloathed in 
greene, he himselfe being suted all in greene Satten. He was 
a man very humorous, of small stature, but most couragious, and 3 
continually he vsed the Fencing-schoole. When he went abroad, 
he carried alwayes a two handed sword on his shoulder, or vnder 
his arme : he kept continually thirtie or fortie seruants, and kept 
in his house most bountifull fare : you shall vnderstand that in his 
young yeares, his father dying, left him a good portion, so that he 
was in great credit and estimation among his neighbours, and that 
which made him more happie, was this, that God blest him with 
the gift of a good wife, who was a very comely young woman, and 
therewithall very carefull for his commoditie : but he whose minde 
was altogether of merriment, little respected his profit in regard of 4 
his pleasure : insomuch that through his wastefull expence he 
brought pouertie vpon himselfe ere he was aware, so that he could 
not do as he was accustomed : which when his daily companions 
perceiued, they by little and little shund his company, and if at 



204 The Gentle Craft. 



any time he passed by them, perhaps they would lend him a nod, 
or giue him a good morrow and make no more a doe. 

And is it true (quoth the Greene king) doth want of money part 
good company, or is my countenance chaunged, that they do not 
know me ? I haue scene the day when neuer a knaue of them all, 
but would haue made much of my dog for my sake, and haue 
giuen me twenty salutations on a Sunday morning, for one poore 
pint of Muskadine : and what, hath a thred bare cloake scarde all 
good fellowship ? why though I haue not my wonted habites, 
jo I haue still the same heart : and though my money be gone, my 
mind is not altred : why then what lacks are they, to reiect mee ? 
I, I, now I finde my wiues tale true, for then she was wont to say, 
Husband, husband, refraine these trencher flies, these smooth 
faced flatterers, that like drones, Hue vpon the hony of your labour 
and sucke away the sweetnes of your substance. I wis, I wis, if 
once you should come in want, there is not the best of them all, 
that would trust you for ten groates : by which saying He lay my 
life she is a witch, for it is come as iust to pas as Marlins 
prophesie ; fie, I would the other day but haue borrowed 1 2 d. & 
2Q I tride 13 frinds, & went without it : it being so, let them go hang 
themselus, for I wil into Flanders, that is flat, and leaue these slaues 
to their seruill conditions, where I will try if a firkin barrell of butter 
bee worth a pot of strong beere, and a loade of /fo/te^cheese better 
then a gallon of Charnico : and if it be, by the crosse of this sword, 
I will neuer staine my credit with such a base commodity againe. 

With that he went to his wife, saying : woman dost thou heare ? 
I pray thee looke well to thy busines till 1 come againe : for 
why ? to driue away melancholy, I am minded to walke a mile or 
twaine : 

30 But husband (quoth she) were you there where you layd your 
plate to pawne ? I pray you is it not misused ? and is it safe ? 

Woman (quoth he) I was there, and it is safe I warrant thee, 
for euer comming into thy hands againe, thou knowest I borrowed 
but twentie marke on it, and they haue sold it for twentie pound : 
tis gone wife, tis gone. 

O husband (quoth she) what hard fortune haue we, to be so ill 
delt withall ? and therewithall she wept. 

Fie (quoth he) leaue thy weeping, hang it vp, let it goe, the best 

is, it neuer cost vs groate : were our friends liuing that gaue vs 

40 that, they would giue vs more : but in vaine it is to mourn for 

a matter that cannot be helpt, farewell wife, looke to thy house and 

let the boyes plie their worke. 

The greene king, hauing thus taken his leaue, went toward 
Billmgsgate^ of purpose to take Barge : where by the way hee met 
with Anthony rit?w*BQw^ the firkin Fidler of Finchlane : 

W T hat master (quoth he) well met, I pray whither are you walking? 
and how doe all our friends in saint Martins ? Will you not haue 
a crash ere you goe ? 



The Gentle Craft. 205 



Yfaith, Anthony (quoth he) thou knowest I am a good fellow, 
and one that hath not been a niggard to thee at any time, there 
fore if thou wilt bestow any musick on me, doe ; and if it please 
God that I return safely from Flanders againe, I will pay thee well 
for thy paines ; but now I haue no money for musick. 

Gods-nigs (quoth Anthony] whether you haue money or no, you 
shall haue musick, I doe not allways request coyne of my friends 
for my cunning : what, you are not euery body, and seeing you are 
going beyond sea, I will bestow a pinte of wine on you at the 
Salutation : i 

Saist thou so Anthony (quoth he) in good sooth I will not refuse 
thy curtesie, and with that they stept into the Tauern, where 
Anthony cald for wine : and drawing forth his Fiddle began to 
play, and after he had scrapte halfe a score lessons he began to 
sing. 

When should a man shew himselfe gentle and kinde. 
When should a man comfort the sorrowful/ minde ? 
O Anthony now , now, now. 
O Anthony now, now, now. 

When is the best time to drinke with a friend 1 20 

When is it meetest my money to spend ? 
O Anthony nmu, now, now. 
O Anthony now, now, noiv. 
When goes the King of good fellowes away ? 
That so much delighted in dauncing and play ? 
O Anthony now, noiv, noiv. 
O Anthony now, now, now. 
And when should I bid my Master farewell ? 
Whose bountie and curtesie so did excelll 
O Anthony now, now, noiv. 3<> 

O Anthony noiv, noiv, now. 

Loe ye now Master (quoth he) this song haue I made for your 
sake, and, by the grace of God when you are gone I will sing it 
euery Sunday morning vnder your wiues window, that she may 
know we dranke together ere you parted : 

I pray thee do so (said the Greene king) and do my commenda 
tions vnto her, and tell her at my returne I hope to make merry. 

Thus after they had made an end of their wine, and paid for the 
shot, Anthony putting vp his Fiddle departed, seeking to change 
musicke for money : while the Greene king of Saint Martins 4 
sailed in Grauesend Barge. But Anthony in his absence sung this 
song so often in Saint Martins, that thereby he purchast a name 
which he neuer lost till his dying day, for euer after men called 
him nothing but Anthony now now. 

But it is to be remembred that the Green kings wife became so 
carefull in her businesse, and gouerned her selfe with such wisdome 
in all her affaires, that during her husbands absence she did not 



20 6 The Gentle Craft. 



onely pay many of his debts, but also got into her house euery- 
thing that was necessary to be had, the which her diligence won 
such commendations, that her credit in all places was verie good, 
and her gaines (through Gods blessing) came so flowing in, that 
before her husband came home, she was had in good reputation 
with her neighbours : and hauing no need of any of their fauours, 
euery one was ready to proffer her curtesie, saying good neighbour 
if you want anything tell vs, and looke what friendship we may doe 
you, be sure you shall find it. 

10 I neighbour (quoth she) I know your kindnesse and may speake 
thereof by experience : well may I compare you to him that 
would neuer bid any man to dinner, but at two of the clocke in 
the after noone, when he was assured they had fild their bellies 
before, and that they would not touch his meate, except for 
manners sake : wherefore for my part I will giue you thankes, 
when I take benefit of your proffer. 

Why neighbour we speake for good will (quoth they) : 

Tis true (quoth shee) and so say they that call for a fresh quart 
to bestow on a drunken man, when they know it would doe him 
20 as much good in his bootes as in his belly. 

Well neighbour (quoth they) God be thanked that you haue no 
cause to vse friends. 

Mary Amen (quoth shee) for if I had, I think I should finde 
few here. 

These and the like greetings were often betwixt her and her 
neighbors ; til at last her husband came home, & to his great 
comfort found his estate so good, that he had great cause to 
praise God for the Game, for a warme purse is the best medicine 
fora cold heart that may be. The greene king therefore bearing 
30 himselfe as braue as euer he did, hauing sworne himselfe a 
faithfull companion to his two - handfsworde, would neuer goe 
without it. 

Now, when his auncient acquaintance saw him again so gallant, 
euery one was ready to curry fauour with him, and many would 
proffer him the wine. And where before they were wont scornefully 
to thrust him next the kennell, and nothing to respect his pouerty, 
they gaue him now the vpper hand in euery place, saluting him 
with cap and knee : but he remembring how sleightly they set by 
him in his neede, did now as sleightly esteeme their flattery, saying : 
40 I cry you mercy, me thinkes I haue scene your face, but I neuer 
knew you for my friend. 

No (quoth one) I dwell at Aldtrsgate^ and am your neere 
neighbor, 

And so much the worse (said the Greene king) : 

Wherefore (quoth the other) ? 

Because (said he) I thinke the place meete for an honester man. 

I trust sir (said his neighbour) you know no hurt by me. 

Nor any goodnes (quoth the greene king) but I remember you 



The Gentle Craft. 207 

are he, or one of them of whom once I would haue borrowed fortie 
pence, yet could not get it, if thereby I might haue saued fifty 
Hues : therefore goodman hog, goodman cog, or goodman dog, 
chuse you which, scrape no acquaintance of me, nor come any 
more in my company, I would aduise you, least with my long 
sword I crop your cowards legs, and make you stand, like Saint 
Martins begger, vpon two stilts. 

The fellow hearing him say so, went his waves, and neuer durst 
speake to him afterward. 



C H A P. X I. 10 

How the Greene King went a walking with his wife, 
and got Anthony now now to play before them, in 
which sort hee went with her to Bristol. 

THe Green king being a man that was much giuen to goe 
abroad, his wife vpon a time, thus made her mone to him : 
good Lord husband (quoth she) I thinke you are the vnkindest 
man aliue, for as often as you walke abroad, you were neuer the 
man that would take me in your company : it is no small griefe to 
me, while I sit doating at home, euery Sunday and Holy-day, to 
see how kindely other men walke with their wiues, and louingly 20 
beare them company into the fields, that thereby they may haue 
some recreation after their weekes weary toyle : this pleasure haue 
they for their paines, but I poore soule could neuer get such 
curtesie at your hands : either it must needs be that you loue me 
but little, or else you are ashamed of my company, and I tell you 
true you haue no reason either for the one or the other. 

Certainly wife (said hee) I should be sorrie to driue any such 
conceit into thy head, but seeing you find your selfe grieued in this 
kinde, let me intreat thee to be content, and then thou shah 
perceiue that my loue is not small toward thee, nor my liking so bad 30 
to be ashamed to haue thee goe by my side : Thursday next is 
Saint lames day, against which time prepare thy selfe to goe with 
me to the faire, where, by the grace of God, He bestow a fat Pig 
vpon thee, and there I meane to be merry : and doubt not but 
I will walke with thee till thou art weary of walking. 

Nay (quoth shee) I should neuer be weary of your company, 
though I went with you to the Worlds end : 

God a mercy for that wife, quoth hee, but so doing I doubt 
I should trie you a very good foote-woman, or a bad flatterer. 

Thus it past till Thursday came, in the meane season meeting 40 
with two or three other shoomakers, he asked them if they would 
walke with him and his wife to Saint lames faire : 
29. then] when 1639 



2o8 The Gentle Craft. 



That wee will with all our hearts : 

But will you not like flinchers flie from your words (quoth he) ? 

To that (they said) if they did they would forfeit a gallon of 
wine. 

Tush (said the greene king) talke not to me of a gallon of wine, 
but will you bee bound in twenty pound a peece to performe it ? 

Why what needs bands for such a matter (quoth they) ? we trust 
you will take our wordes for more then that. 

My masters (said the greene king) the world is growne to that 

10 passe, that words are counted but wind, and I will trust you as 

little on your word as Long Meg on her honesty : therefore if you 

will not be bound, chuse, I will make no account of your company. 

The men hearing him say so, knowing him to be a man of 
a merry mind, after their wits were all washt with wine, to the 
Scriueners they went, and bound themselues in twenty pound 
according to his request. They had no sooner made an end of 
this merry match, but as they stumbled into another Tauerne, who 
should they meet but Anthony now now : who as soon as he spide 
the green King smiling with a wrie mouth, he ioyfully imbract 
20 him with both his hands, saying : what my good master well met, 
when came you from the other side the water ? by my troth you 
are welcome with all my heart. 

God a mercy good Anthony (quoth he) but how chance you 
come no more into Saint Martins ? 

O Master (quoth he) you know what a dainty commoditie I made 
at your parting to Grauesendbarge ? 

Yes mary (said the greene king) what of that ? 

Why (quoth he) by singing it vnder your window, all the merry 

shoomakers in Saint Martins tooke it by the toe, and now they 

30 haue made it as common as a printed Ballad, and I haue gotten 

such a name by it that now I am called nothing but Anthony now 

now. 

Why Master ile tell you, it hath made me as well acquainted 
in Cheapeside as the cat in the creame-pan : for as soone as the 
Goldesmiths wiues spie mee, and as I passe along by the Mar- 
chants daughters, the apes will laugh at me as passes : beside that 
all the little boyes in the streets will run after mee like a sort of 
Emits. Anthony now now, sayes one : Anthony now now, another : 
good Lord, good Lord, you neuer knew the like : heare ye master, 
40 I am sure that song hath gotten mee since you went more pence 
then your wife hath pins : and seeing you are come againe, I will 
make the second part very shortly. 

But hearest thou, Anthony (said he) ? if thou wilt come to me on 
Saint lames his day in the Morning, thou shalt walke with vs to 
the faire, for I meane to make merry with my wife that day : 

Master (quoth he) by cock and pie I will not misse you. And 
thus after they had made Anthony drinke, he departed. 

Saint lames his day at last being come, he cald vp his wife 



The Gentle Craft. 209 



betimes, and bad her make ready, if she would to the faire : who 
very willingly did so : and in the meane space her husband went 
to his cubbert, and tooke thereout forty faire soueraignes, and 
going secretly to one of his seruants, he willed him to take good 
heed of his house, and to see that his fellowes plide their 
businesse : for (quoth he) I goe with my wife to Saint lames faire, 
and perhaps you shall not see vs againe this sennight : 

Well Master said the fellow, I will haue regard to your busines 
I warrant you. 

Wherewith he cald his wife, saying : come wife will you walke ? 10 

With a good will husband (quoth she) I am ready : 

With that Anthony now now, began to scrape on his treable 
viall, and, playing a huntsup, said good morrow master good 
morrow, foure a clocke and a faire morning. 

Well said Anthony (quoth he) we be ready for thy company, 
therefore along before, and let vs heare what musicke you can 
make. 

Fie husband (quoth she) take not the Fidler with you, for shame : 

Tush be content (quoth he) Musicke makes a sad mind merrie : 

So away they went, and at Saint Giles in the fields he met the 30 
rest of his company : well found, my masters (quoth he) I perceiue 
you haue a care of your bonds : 

So away they went with the Fidler before them, & the Greene 
king with his two hand sworde marching like a master of fence 
going to play his prize : when they came to the high way turning 
downe to Westminster, his wife said : yfaith husband we shall 
come to the faire too soone, for Gods sake let vs walke a little 
further. 

Content wife (quoth he) whereupon they went to Kensington, 
where they brake their fast, and had good sport by tumbling on 3 
the greene grasse, where Anthony brake his Fiddle, for which 
cause the Greene king gaue him ten shillings, and willed him to 
goe back and buy a new one. 

And now my friends (quoth he) if you will walke with mee to 
Brainford I will bestow your dinner vpon you, because I haue 
a minde to walke with my wife ? 

They were content, but by that time they came there, the 
woman began to wax somewhat wearie, & because the day was 
farre spent before they had dined, they lay there all night : where 
he told his friends that the next morning he would bring his wife 4 
to see the George in Colebrook, and then would turne home : but 
to be briefe, when he came there, he told them flatly he meant to 
goe to Saint lames his faire at Bristow : for (quoth he) my wife 
hath longed to walke with me, and I meane to giue her walking 
worke enough. 

But sir (quoth they) we meane not to goe thither : 

Before God but you shall (quoth hee) or forfeit your band. 

The men seeing no remedy, went along to Bristow on foote, 

917.6 p 



210 The Gentle Craft. 



whereby the poore woman became so weary, that an hundred 
times she wisht she had not come foorth of doores : but from that 
time till she died, she neuer intreated her husband to walke with 
her againe. 

An hundred merry feates more did he, which in this place is too 
much to be set downe. For afterward Tom Drum comming from 
the winning of Mustkborow^ came to dwell with him, where he 
discoursed all his aduentures in the wars : and according to his 
old cogging humor, attributed other mens deeds to himselfe, for 

10 (quoth he) it was I that killed the first Scot in the battell, yet I was 
content to giue the honour thereof to Sir Michaell Musgraue, 
notwithstanding (quoth he) all men knowes that this hand of mine 
kild Tom Trotter, that terrible traytor, which in despite of vs, kept 
the Castell so long, & at last as he cowardly forsooke it, and 
secretly sought to flye, with this blade of mine I broacht him like 
a roasting pigge. Moreouer, Parson Ribble had neuer made 
himselfe so famous but by my meanes. These were his daily 
vaunts, till his lies were so manifest that hee could no longer 
stand in them. 

ao But after the Greene king had long liued a gallant housekeeper, 
at last being aged and blinde, he dyed, after he had 
done many good deedes to diuers 
poore men. 



FINIS. 



THOMAS 

OF 

READING. 

OR, 
The fi-xe worthie Yeomen 

of the Weft. 

Now thtfift tmiecorrefted and enlarged 
By T.T) 




Printed by W.I. for T, P. 
i 6 a . 



The pleasant Historic of the sixe 

worthy Yeomen of the West. 

IN the dayes of King Henry the first, who was the first King 
that instituted the high Court of Parliament, there liued nine 
men, which for the trade of Clothing, were famous throughout all 
England. Which Art in those daies was held in high reputation, 
both in respect of the great riches that thereby was gotten, as also 
of the benefite it brought to the whole Common-wealth : the 
yonger sons of Knights & Gentlemen, to whom their Fathers 
would leaue no lands, were most commonly preferred to learn this 10 
trade, to the end that therby they might Hue in good estate, & 
driue forth their daies in prosperity. 

Among all Crafts this was the onely chiefe, for that it was the 
greatest merchandize, by the which our Countrey became famous 
through all Nations. And it was verily thought, that the one halfe 
of the people in the land liued in those daies therby, and in such 
good sort, that in the Common-wealth there were few or no 
beggers at all: poore people, whom God lightly blesseth with 
most children, did by meanes of this occupation so order them, 
that by the time that they were come to be sixe or seuen yeares of 20 
age, they were able to get their owne bread : Idlenesse was then 
banished our coast, so that it was a rare thing to heare of a thiefe 
in those daies. Therefore it was not without cause that Clothiers 
were then both honoured and loued, among whom these nine 
persons in this Kings daies were of great credit, viz. Tho. Cole 
of Reading^ Gray of Glocester^ Sutton of Salisburie, Fitzallen of 
Worcester^ (commonly called William of Worcester) Tom Done of 
Excester, and Simon of South-hampton, alias Supbroath : who were 
by the King called, The sixe worthy Husbands of the West. 
Then were there three liuing in the North, that is to say, Cutbert 30 
of Kendall^ Hogekins of Hallifax, and Martin Byram of Man 
chester. Euery one of these kept a great number of seruants at 
worke, spinners, carders, weauers, fullers, dyers, sheeremen, and 
rowers, to the great admiration of all those that came into their 
houses to behold them. 

Now you shall vnderstand, these gallant Clothiers, by reason of 
their dwelling places, separated themselues in three seuerall com 
panies : Gray of Glocester, William of Worcester, and Thomas of 
Heading^ because their Journey to London was all one way, they 
eonuersed commonly together. And Doue of Excester^ Sutton of 4 
Salisburie) and Simon of South-hampton, they in like sort kept 
company the one with the other, meeting euer all together at 



214 The pleasant History 

Basingstoke : and the three Northerne Clothiers did the like, who 
commonly did not meet till they came to Bosome Inne in London. 
Moreouer, for the loue and delight that these Westerne men had 
each in others companie, they did so prouide, that their Waines 
and themselues would euer meet vpon one day in London at 
larrats Hall, surnamed the Gyant, for that hee surpassed all other 
men of that age, both in stature & strength : whose merriments 
and memorable deedes, I will set downe vnto you in this following 
discourse. 



10 How King Henry sought the fauour of all his subiects, 
especially of the Clothiers. CHAP, i . 



is King Henry > who for his great learning and wisdome was 
X called Beauclarke, beeing the third Son to the renowned Con 
querour : after the death of his brother William Rufus, tooke vpon 
him the gouernement of this Land, in the absence of his second 
brother Robert Duke of Normandie^ who at this time was at wars 
amongst the Infidels, and was chosen King of lerusale m, the which 
he, for the loue he bare to his owne countrey, refused, and with 
great honour returned from the holy Land ; of whose comming 
20 when King Henrie vnderstood, knowing hee would make claime 
to the crowne, sought by all meanes possible to winne the good 
will of his Nobilitie, and to get the fauor of the Commons by 
curtesie : for the obtaining whereof hee did them many fauours, 
thereby the better to strengthen himselfe against his brother. 

It chanced on a time, as he, with one of his sonnes, and diuers 
of his Nobilitie, rode from London towards Wales, to appease the 
fury of the Welshmen, which then began to raise themselues in 
armes against his authority, that he met with a great number of 
Waines loaden with cloath, comming to London , and seeing them 
30 still driue one after another so many together, demaunded whose 
they were : 

The Waine-men answered in this sort : Coles of Reading (quoth 
they.) 

Then by and by the King asked another, saying : Whose cloth 
is all this ? 

Old Coles (quoth he) : 

And againe anone after he asked the same question to others, 
and stil they answered, Old Coles, 

And it is to be remembred, that the King met them in such 
40 a place, so narrow and streight, that he with the rest of his traine, 
were faine to stand as close to the hedge, whilest the carts passed 
by, the which at that time being in number aboue two hundred, 
was neere hand an houre ere the King could get roome to be gone : 
so that by his long stay, he began to be displeased, although the 



of Thomas of Reading. 215 

admiration of that sight did much qualifie his furie ; but breaking 
out in discontent, by reason of his stay, he said, he thought Old 
Colt had got a Commission for all the carts in the country to cary 
his cloth. 

And how if he haue (quoth one of the Wain men) doth that 
grieue you good sir ? 

Yes, good sir (said our King) what say you to that ? 

The fellow seeing the King (in asking that question) to bend his 
browes, though he knew not what he was, yet being abasht, he 
answered thus : Why sir, if you be angry, no body can hinder you; ro 
for possible sir, you haue anger at commaundement. 

The king seeing him in vttering of his wordes to quiuer and 
quake, laughed heartily at him, as well in respect of his simple 
answere, as at his feare : and so soone after the last Wain went by, 
which gaue present passage vnto him and his Nobles : and there 
upon entring into communication of the commoditie of cloathing, 
the King gaue order at his home returne, to haue Old Cole brought 
before his Maiestie, to the intent he might haue conference with 
him, noting him to be a subiect of great abilitie : but by that time 
he came within a mile of Stanes, he met another company of ao 
waines in like sort laden with cloth, whereby the King was driuen 
into a further admiration : and demanding whose they were, 
answere was made in this sort : 

They be goodman Suttons of Salisbury ', good sir : and by that 
time a score of them were past, he asked againe, saying : whose 
are these ; 

Suttons of Salisburie (qd. they) and so still, as often as the King 
asked that question, they answered, Suttons of Salisburie. 

God send me many such Suttons (said the King). 

And thus the farther he trauelled Westward, more Waines and 30 
more he met continually : vpon which occasion he said to his 
Nobles, That it would neuer grieue a King to die for the defence 
of a fertile Countrie and faithfull subiects. I alwaies thought 
(quoth he) that Englands valor was more than her wealth, yet now 
I see her wealth sufficient to maintaine her valour, which I will 
seeke to cherish in all I may, and with my sword keepe my selfe 
in possession of that I haue, Kings and Louers can brooke no 
partners : and therefore let my Brother Robert thinke, that although 
hee was Heire to England by birth, yet I am King by possession. 
All his fauourers I must account my foes, and will serue them as 4 
I did the vngratefull Earle of Shrewsbury, whose lands I haue 
seized, and banisht his body. 

But now we will leaue the King to his iourney into Wales, and 
waiting his home returne, in the meane time tell you the meeting 
of these iolly Clothiers at London. 



2 1 6 The pleasant History 



How William of Worcester^ Gray of Gloucester, and old 
C0/e of Reading^ met altogether at Reading^ and of 
their communication by the way as they rode to 
London. CHAP. 2. 

WHen Gray of Glocester, and William of Worcester were 
come to Reading, according to their custome, they alwaies 
called olde Cole to haue his companie to London, who also duely 
attended their comming, hauing prouided a good breakefast for 
them : and when they had well refreshed themselues, they tooke 

i o their horses and rode on towards the Cittie : and in their iourney 
William of Worcester asked them if they had not heard of the earle 
of Moraigne his escape out of the land : 
What is he fled (qd. Gray) ? 

I muse much at this matter, being in such great regard with the 
King as he was : but I pray you, do you not know the cause of his 
going (qd. Cole) ? 

The common report (quoth Gray] is this, that the couetous 
earle, who through a greedy desire, neuer left begging of the King 
for one thing or other, and his request being now denied him, of 

ao meere obstinacie and wilfull frowardnesse, hath banished himselfe 
out of the land, & quite forsaken the Countrey of Cornwall, hauing 
made a vow neuer to set foote within England againe, and as 
report goeth, he with the late banisht Earle of Shrewsbury, haue 
ioyned themselues with Robert duke of Normandie, against the 
King, the which action of theirs hath inflamed the Kings wrath, 
that their Ladies with their Children are quite turned out of doores 
succorlesse and friendlesse, so that as it is told me, they wander 
vp and downe the countrie like forlorne people, and although 
many doe pittie them, yet few doe releeue them. 

30 A lamentable hearing (qd. William of Worcester] and with that 
casting their eies aside, they espied Tom Doue with the rest of his 
companions come riding to meete them, who as soone as they were 
come thither, fell into such pleasant discourses, as did shorten the 
long way they had to Colebroke, where alwaies at their comming 
towards London they dined : and being once entred into their Inne, 
according to olde custome, good cheere was prouided for them : 
for these Clothiers were the chiefest guests that trauailed along the 
way : and this was as sure as an act of Parliament, that Tom Doue 
could not digest his meat without musicke, nor drinke wine without 

40 women, so that his hostesse being a merrie wench, would often 
times call in two or three of her neighbours wiues to keepe him 
company ; where, ere they parted, they were made as pleasant as 
Pies. 
And this being a continuall custome amongst them when they 



of Thomas of Reading. 217 

came thither, at length the womens husbands beganne to take 
exceptions at their wiues going thither: whereupon great con- 
trouersie grew betweene them, in such sort, that when they were 
most restrayned, then they had most desire to worke their 
willes : 

Now gip (quoth they) must we be so tied to our taske, that we 
may not drinke with our friends ? fie, fie, vpon these yellowe hose, 
will no other die serue your turne ? haue wee thus long bin your 
wiues, and doe you now mistrust vs? verily you eate too much 
salt, and that makes you grow cholericke, badde liuers iudge all 10 
others the like, but in faith you shall not bridle vs so like asses, 
but wee will goe to our friends, when we are sent for, and doe you 
what you can. 

Well (quoth their husbands) if you be so head-strong, we will 
tame you : it is the duty of honest women to obey their husbands 
sayings. 

And of honest men (quoth they) to thinke well of their wiues ; 
but who doe sooner empeach their credite, then their husbands, 
charging them, if they doe but smile, that they are subtile ; and if 
they doe but winke, they account them wiley, if sad of counten- ao 
ance, then sullen : if they bee froward, then they are counted 
shrewes : and sheepish if they bee gentle : if a woman keepe her 
house, then you will say shee is melancholy, if shee walke abroad, 
then you call her a gadder ; a Puritane, if shee be precise : and a 
wanton, if she be pleasant : so there is no woman in the world that 
knowes how to please you : that we thinke our selues accurst to 
be married wiues, liuing with so many woes. These men, of whose 
company you forewarne vs, are (for ought that euer we saw) both 
honest and courteous, and in wealth farre beyond your selues : 
then what reason is there, why we should restraine to visit them ? 30 
is their good will so much to be requited with scorne, that their 
cost may not be counteruailed with our company ? if a woman be 
disposed to play light of loue, alas, alas doe you thinke that you 
can preuent her ? Nay wee shall abide by it, that the restraintjaf 
libertje inforceth women to be lewd : for where__a woman cannot 
be trusted, she cannot thinke her selfe beToued, and if not beloued, 
what cause hath she to care for such a one ? therefore husbands, 
reforme your opinions, and doe not worke your owne woes, with 
our discredit. The Clothiers, we tell you, are iolly fellowes, and 
but in respect of our curtesie, they would scorne our company. 4 

The men hearing their wiues so well to plead for themselues, 
knew not how to answere, but said, they would put the burden on 
their consciences, if they deale vniustly with them, and so left them 
to their owne wills. The women hauing thus conquered their 
husbands conceits, would not leaue the fauour"of their friends for 
frownes, and as aboue the rest Tom Doue was the most pleasantest, 
so was he had in most reputation with the women, who for his sake 
made this Song : 



2 1 8 The pleasant History 

Welcome to towne, Tom Doue, Tom Doue, 

The merriest man aliue, 
Thy company still we loue, we lout, 

God grant thee well to thriue, 
And neuer will depart from thee, 

For better or worse, my ioy, 
For thou shalt still haue our good will, 

Gods blessing on my sweet Boy. 

This song went vp and downe through the whole country, and 
10 at length became a dance among the common sort, so that Tom 
Done, for his mirth and good fellowship, was famous in euery 
place. 

Now when they came to London, they were welcome to the host 
larrat the Gyant, and assoone as they were alighted, they were 
saluted by the Merchants, who waited their comming thither, and 
alwaies prepared for them a costly supper, where they commonly 
made their bargaine, and vpon euery bargaine made, they still 
vsed to send some tokens to the Clothiers wiues. The next 
morning they went to the hall, where they met the Northern 
ao Clothiers, who greeted one another in this sort. 

What, my Masters of the West, well met : what cheere ? what 
cheere ? 

Euen the best cheere our Merchants could make vs : (quoth 
Gray.) 

Then you could not chuse but fare well (quoth Hogekins} : 

And you be weary of our company, adieu (quoth Suttori) : 

Not so, said Martin, but shall wee not haue a game ere wee 
goe? 

Yes faith for an hundred pounds. 

30 Well said, old Cole (said they) : and with that Cole and Gray 
went to the dice with Martin and Hogekins ; and the dice running 
on Hogekins side, Coles money beganne to waste. 

Now by the Masse (quoth Cole) my mony shrinks as bad as 
Northerne cloth. 

When they had played long, Gray stept to it, and recouered 
againe the money that Cole had lost. But while they were thus 
playing, the rest being delighted in contrarie matters, euery man 
satisfied his owne humour. 

Tom Doue called for musicke, William of Worcester for wine, 
40 Sutton set his delight in hearing merry tales, Simon of South-hampton 
got him into the kitchin, and to the pottage pot hee goes, for he 
esteemed more a messe of pottage, then of a vension pastie. Now 
sir, Cutbert of Kendall 'was of another minde, for no meat pleased 
him so well as mutton, such as was laced in a red petticoate. 
And you shall vnderstand, that alwaies when they went to dice, 
they got into Bosomes Inne ; which was so called of his name that 
kept it, who being a foule slouen, went alwaies with his nose in his 
bosome, and one hand in his pocket, the other on his staffe, 



of Thomas of Reading. 219 

figuring forth a description of cold winter, for he alwaies wore two 
coates, two caps, two or three paire of stockings, and a high paire 
of shooes, ouer the which he drew on a great paire of lined slippers, 
and yet would oft complaine of cold, wherfore of all men generally 
he was called Old Bosome, and his house Bosomes Inne. 

This lump of cold ice had lately married a yong wife, who was 
as wily as she was wanton, and in her company did Cutbert onely 
delight, and the better to make passage to his loue, he would often 
thus commune with her : I muse good wife (quoth he). 

Good wife (quoth she) ? Verily sir, in mine opinion, there is none 10 
good but God, and therefore call me Mistresse. 

Then said Cutbert, Faire Mistris, I haue often mused, that you 
being a proper woman, could find in your heart for to match with 
such a greazie Carle as this, an euill mannered mate, a foule lump 
of kitchin stuffe, and such a one as is indeede, a scorne of men ; 
how can you like him that all women mislikes? or loue such a 
loathsome creature ? me thinks verily it should grieue you to lend 
him a kisse, much more to lie with him. 

Indeed sir (quoth she) I had but hard fortune in this respect, but 
my friends would haue it so, and truly my liking and my loue 20 
toward him are alike, he neuer had the one, nor neuer shall get 
the other : yet I may say to you before I married him, there were 
diuers proper young men that were sutors vnto me, who loued mee 
as their Hues, and glad was he that could get my company, those 
were my golden dayes, wherein my pleasure abounded, but these 
are my yeres of care and griefe, wherein my sorrowes exceede. 
Now no man regards mee, no man cares for me, and albeit in 
secret they might beare mee good will, yet who dares shew it ? and 
this is a double griefe, he carries ouer me so iealous a minde, that 
I cannot looke at a man, but presently hee accuseth me of in- 30 
constancie, although (I protest) without cause. 

And in troth (qd. Cutb.) he should haue cause to complaine for 
somewhat, were I as you. 

As sure as I Hue, and so he shall (quoth she) if he doe not 
change his byas. 

Cutb. hearing her say so, beganne to grow further in requesting 
her fauour, wishing he might be her seruant and secret friend, and 
the better to obtain his desire, he gaue her diuers gifts, insomuch 
that she began something to listen vnto him : and albeit she liked 
well of his speeches, yet would she blame him, and take him vp 40 
very short sometimes for the same, till in the end, Cutbert shewed 
himselfe to be desperate, saying hee would drowne himselfe rather 
than Hue in her disdaine. 

O my sweet heart not so (qd. shee) God forbid I should be the 
death of any man : Comfort thy selfe, kind Cutbert, and take this 
kisse in token of further kindnesse, and if thou wilt haue my fauour, 
thou must be wise and circumspect, and in my husbands sight I 
would alwaies haue thee to find fault with my doings, blame my 



2 2 o The pleasant History 

bad huswifries, dispraise my person, and take exceptions at euery 
thing, whereby he will be as well pleased, as Simon of South- 
hampton with a messe of pottage. 

Deere Mistresse (quoth he) I will fulfill your charge to the 
vttermost, so that you will not take my iest in earnest. 

Shee answered, Thy foulest speeches I will esteeme the fairest, 

and take euery dispraise to be a praise from thee, turning each 

word to the contrarie : and so for this time adieu, good Cutb. for 

supper time drawes nere, and it is meet for me to looke for my 

10 meat. 

With that down comes old Bosome, calling his wife, saying, Ho 
Winifred, is supper readie ? they haue done playing aboue : 
therefore let the Chamberlaine couer the Table. 

By and by husband (qd. she) it shall be done straight way. 

How now my Masters who wins (qd. Cutb.). 

Our mony walkes to the West (qd. Martin} : Cole hath woone 
li. of me, and Gray hath gotten well : 

The best is (qd. Hogekins] they will pay for our supper : 

Then let vs haue good store of Sacke (qd. Sutton). 
20 Content (said Cole) for I promise you, I striue not to grow rich 
by dice-playing, therefore call for what you wil, I will pay for all. 

Yea (said Simon") \ Chamberlaine, I pray thee bring a whole 
bottle of pottage for me. 

Now Tom Done had all the fidlers at a becke of his finger, which 
follow him vp and down the citie, as diligent as little chickens after 
a hen, and made a vow, that there should want no musicke. And 
r at that time there liued in London a musician of great reputation, 
named Reior, who kept his seruants in such costly garments, that 
they might seeme to come before any Prince. Their coates were 
30 all of one colour ; and it is said, that afterward the Nobilitie of 
this Land, noting it for a seemely sight, vsed in like maner to keepe 
their men all in one liuerie. This Reior was the most skilfullest 
musician that liued at that time, whose wealth was very great, so 
that all the Instruments whereon his seruants plaid, were richly 
garnished with studdes of siluer, and some gold : the bowes 
belonging to their Violines were all likewise of pure siluer. He 
was also for his wisedome called to great office in the cittie, who 
also builded (at his owne cost) the Priory & Hospitall of Saint 
Bartholomew in Smithfield. His seruants being the best consorts 
4<> in the Citie, were by Tom Doue appointed to play before the young 
Princes. 

Then supper being brought to the bord, they all sat down, and 
by and by after comes vp their host, who tooke his place among 
them : and anone after, the good-wife in a red peticote and 
a wastcoate, comes among them as white as a Lilly, saying, My 
Masters, you are welcome, I pray you be merry. 

Thus falling close to their meate, when they had well fed, they 
found leysure to talke one with another : at what time Cutb. began 



of Thomas of Reading. 221 

thus to finde fault, Ywis, my hoast (quoth he) you haue a wise 
huswife to your wife, heere is meate drest of a new fashion : God 
sends meate, and the diuell sends cookes. 

Why what ails the meate (quoth she) serues it not your turne ? 
better men then your selfe are content withall, but^a Jpaultrie 
companion is euer worst to please. 

Away, you sluttish thing (qd. Cutb.} your husband hath a sweet 
iewell of you : I maruell such a graue ancient man would match 
himselfe with such a young giglot, that hath as much handsomenes 
in her, as good huswifry, which is iust nothing at all. 10 

Well sir (saide shee) in regard of my husbands presence I am 
loth to aggrauate anger, otherwise I would tell thee thy owne. 

Goe to, what neede all this (quoth the company) ? in good faith, 
Cutbert, you are too blame, you find fault where none is. 

Tush, I must speake my mind (quoth Cutberf) I cannot 
dissemble, I trust the good man thinkes neuer the worse of me : 
so I haue his good will, what the foule euill care I for his wifes. 

Enough (quoth Tom Done] let vs with musicke remoue these 
brabbles, we meane to be merry, and not melancholy. 

Then said olde Cole, Now trust me, Cutbert, we will haue your jo 
hostesse and you friends ere we part : here woman I drinke to 
you, and regard not his words, for he is babbling wheresoeuer he 
comes. 

(Quoth the woman) nothing grieues me so much, as that hee 
should thus openly checke mee, if he had found any thing amisse, 
he might haue spied a better time to tell me of it then nowe, ywis 
hee neede not thrust my bad huswifrie into my husbands head, 
I Hue not so quietly with him, God wot : and with that she wept. 

Come Cutb, (quoth they) drinke to her, and shake handes and 
be friendes. 30 

Come on, you puling baggage (quoth he) I drinke to you, here 
will you pledge mee and shake hands ? 

No, (quoth shee) I will see thee choakt first, shake hands with 
thee ? I will shake hands with the diuell assoone. 

Goe to (said her husband) you shall shake hands with him 
then : If you will not shake hands, ile shake you : what, you young 
huswife ? 

Well husband (said she) it becomes a woman to obey her 
husband, in regard whereof, I drink to him. 

Thats well said (quoth the company) : & so she tooke her leaue 40 
and went downe. 

And within a while after, they paid the shot, and departed 
thence to larrats Hall, where they went to their lodging ; and 
the next day they tooke their way homeward all together : and 
comming to Cokbrooke^ they tooke vp their lodging, and it was 
Coles custome to deliuer his money to the goodwife of the house 
to keepe it till morning, which in the end turned to his vtter 
destruction, as hereafter shall be shewed. 



222 The pleasant History 



How Grayes wife of Glouester, with one or two more of 
her neighbours went to the Faire, where seruants 
came to be hired, and how she tooke the Earle of 
Shrewesburies Daughter into her seruice. CHAP. 3. 

IT was wont to be an old custome in Glouster shire, that at 
a certaine time in the yeare, all such young men and Maidens 
as were out of seruice, resorted to a faire that was kept neere 
Gloucester, there to be readie for any that would come to hire 
them, the yong men stood all on a row on the one side, & the 
10 Maidens on the other. It came to passe, that the Earle of 
Shrewsburies daughter, whose Father was lately banished, being 
driuen into great distresse, and weary with trauaile, as one whose 
delicate life was neuer vsed to such toyle, sate her downe vpon the 
high way side, making this lamentation. 

O false and deceitfull world (quoth she) ! who is in thee that 
wishes not to be rid of thee, for thy extremities are great ? Thou 
art deceitfull to all, and trustie to none. Fortune is thy treasurer, 
who is like thy selfe, wauering and vnconstant, she setteth vp 
tyrants, beateth downe Kings : giueth shame to some, and renowne 
20 to others : Fortune giueth these euils, and we see it not : with her 
hands she toucheth vs, and we feele it not, she treades vs vnder 
foote, and we know it not : she speakes in our eares, & we heare 
her not : she cries aloud, and we vnderstand her not : And why ? 
because we know her not, vntill miserie doth make her manifest. 

Ah my deare father, well maist thou do. Of all misfortunes it 
is most vnhappy to be fortunate : and by this misfortune came my 
fall. Was euer good Lady brought to this extremity ? What is 
become of my rare Jewels, my rich aray, my sumptuous fare, my 
waiting seruants, my many friends, and all my vaine pleasures? 
30 my pleasure is banisht by displeasure, my friends fled like foes, 
my seruants gone, my feasting turned to fasting, my rich array 
consumed to ragges, and my iewells deckes out my chiefest 
enemies : therefore of all things the meanest state is best, pouerty 
with suretie, is better than honour mixed with feare : seeing God 
hath allotted me to this misery of life, I will frame my heart to 
embrace humility, and carry a mind answerable to my misfortunes, 
fie on this vaine title of Ladiship, how little doth it auaile the 
distressed? No, no, I must therefore forget my birth and pa 
rentage, and think no more on my fathers house, where I was 
40 wont to bee serued, now will I learne to serue, and plaine Meg shall 
be my name, good Lord grant I may get a good seruice, nay any 
seruice shall serue, where I may haue meate, drinke, and apparel. 

She had no sooner spoke these words, but she spied a couple 
of Maidens more comming towards her ; who were going to the 



of Thomas of Reading. 223 

faire : and bidding her good morrow, asked her if she went to the 
faire. 

Yea mary (qd. she) I am a poore mans child that is out of 
seruice, and I heare that at the Statute, folkes do come of purpose 
to hire seruants. 

True it is (said the Maidens) and thither go we for the same 
purpose, and would be glad of your company. 

With a good will, and I am right glad of yours (said she) 
beseeching you good Maidens, you will doe me the fauour, to tell 
me what seruice were best for me : for the more too blame my *o 
parents, they would neuer put me forth to know any thing. 

Why what can you doe (quoth the maidens) can you brew and 
bake, make butter and cheese, and reape corne well ? 

No verily (said Margaret} but I would be right glad to learne 
to doe any thing whatsoeuer it be : 

If you could spin or card (said another) you might do excellent 
well with a clother, for they are the best seruices that I know, there 
you shall bee sure to fare well, and so Hue merrily. 

Then Margaret wept saying alas, what shall I do ? I was neuer 
brought vp to these things. -* 

What can you doe nothing (quoth they) ? 

No truly (quoth she) that is good for any thing, but I can read 
and write, and sowe, some skill I haue in my needle, and a little 
on my Lute : but this, I see will profit me nothing. 

Good Lord (quoth they) are you bookish ? wee did neuer heare 
of a Maide before that could reade and write. And although you 
can doe no other thing, yet possible you may get a seruice, if you 
can behaue your selfe manerly. 

I pray you (qd. another) seeing you are bookish, will you doe 
so much as to reade a loue-letter that is sent me, for I was at 3 
a friends of mine with it, and he was not at home, and so I know 
not what is in it. 

I pray you let me see it (quoth Margaret} and I will shew you. 

Whereupon she readeth as followeth. 

O lenny my ioy, I die for thy loue, 

And now I heare say that thou dost remoue : 

And therefore, lenny, I pray thee recite. 

Where shall I meete thee soone at night. 

For why, with my Master no more will I stay, 

But for thy hue I will runne away : 40 

lenny, lenny, thou puttest me to paine, 
That thou no longer wilt here remaine. 

1 will weare out my shooes of Neats Leather, 
But thou and I will meete together, 

And in spight of Fortune, Rat, or Mouse, 
Wee will dwell together in one house. 



224 The pleasant History 



For who doth not esteeme of 
Shall hatie no sendee done of me : 
Therefore good lenny haue a care, 
To meete poore Fragment at the faire. 

Now alas, good soule (quoth lenny) I think he be the kindest 
young man in the world. 

The rest answered, that he seemed no lesse. 

And surely it appeareth that he is a pretty wittie fellow (quoth 
one of them) how finely he hath written his letter in rime, trust 
10 me, I will giue you a good thing, and let me haue a copy of it to 
send to my sweet heart : 

That you shall with all my heart : & so comming to the faire, 
they tooke vp their standing. 

Within a while after, goodwife Gray of Gloucester came thither 
to store herselfe of diuers commodities : and when shee had 
bought what she wold, she told her neighbor she had great need 
of a Maid seruant or twaine : therefore (qd. she) good neighbor 
goe with me, and let me haue your opinion. 

With a good wil (said her neighbor) and together they went, 
ao and looking and viewing the Maidens ouer, she tooke speciall 
notice of Margaret. 

Beleeue me (quoth she) there stands a very proper Maiden, and 
one of a modest and comely countenance. 

Verily (said her neighbor) so she is, as euer I looked vpon. 

The Maiden seeing them to view her so well, was so abashed, 
that a scarlet colour ouerspred her lilly cheeks, which the woman 
perceiuing came vnto her, and asked if she were willing to seme. 

The Maid with a low curtesie, and a most gentle speech, 
answered it was the onely cause of her comming. 
30 Can you spinne or card (said good-wife Gray} ? 

Truly Dame (said she) though my cunning therein be but small, 
my goodwill to learne is great, and I trust, my dilligence shall 
content you. 

What wages will you take (quoth goodwife Gray) ? 

I will referre that (said Margaret) to your conscience and 
courtesie, desiring no more then what I shall deserue. Then 
asking what country woman she was, the Maiden wept, saying, 
Ah good Dame, I was vntimely borne in Shropshire, of poore 
parents, and yet not so needie as vnfortunate, but death hauing 
40 ended their sorrowes, hath left me to the crueltie of these enuious 
times, to finish my Parents Tragedie with my troubles. 

What Maiden ! (qd. her dame) haue you a care to doe your 
busines, and to Hue in Gods feare, and you shall haue no care to 
regard fortunes frownes, and so they went home together. 

Now, so soone as the goodman saw her, hee asked his wife 
where she had that Maiden. She said, at the Faire. 

Why then (quoth he) thou hast brought al the Faire away, and 



of Thomas of Reading. 22 $ 

I doubt it were better for vs, to send the Faire to another Towne, 
then to keepe the Faire here. 

Why man (quoth she) what meane you by that ? 

Woman, I meane this, that she will proue a Loadstone, to draw 
the hearts of all my men after her, and so we shal haue wise 
seruice done of all sides. 

Then said his wife, I hope, husband, Margaret will haue 
a better care both to her owne credit, and our commodity then so, 
and so let her alone to looke to such matters. 

Is thy name Margaret (quoth her Master)? proper is thy name to 10 
thy person, for thou art a pearle indeed, orient, and rich in beautie. 

His wife hearing him say so, began to change her opinion : 
What husband (quoth she) is the winde at that doore ? Begin you 
to like your maid so well ? I doubt I had most need to looke to 
your selfe : before God, I had rather then an angell I had chosen 
some other : but heare you maid ; you shall packe hence, I will 
not nourish a snake in my bosome, and therefore get you gone, 
I will none of you, prouid a seruice where you may. 

The Maiden hearing her say so, fell downe one her knees, and 
besought her, saying, O sweet dame, be not so cruel to me, to 20 
turne me out of doores, now : alas, I know not where to go, or 
what to do, if you forsake me. O let not the fading beauty of my 
face dispoyle me of your fauour : for rather then that shall hinder 
my seruice, this my knife shall soone disfigure my face, and I will 
banish beautie as my greatest enemy. And with that, her 
aboundant teares stopped her speech, that shee could not vtter 
one word more. 

The woman seeing this, could not harbour any longer, nor 
could her Master stay in the roome for weeping. 

Well, Margaret (said her dame) (little knowing that a Lady 30 
kneeled before her) vsing thy selfe wel I will keepe thee, and thou 
shalt haue my good will, if thou gouerne thyselfe with wisedome ; 
and so she sent her about her businesse. 

Her husband comming to supper, said. How now wife, art thou 
so doubtfull of mee, that thou hast put away thy Maiden ? 

I wis (qd. she) you are a wise man, to stand praising of a 
Maidens beauty before her face : 

& you a wise woman (qd. he) to grow iealous without a cause. 

So to supper they went, and because Margaret shewed her selfe 
of finest behauiour aboue the rest, she was appointed to waite on 4 
the table. And it is to be vnderstood, that Gray did neuer eate 
his meat alone, but still had some of his neighbors with him, 
before whom he called his maid, saying, Margaret, come hither. 
Now because there was another of the same name in the house, 
she made answere. 

I call not you Maiden (qd. he) but Margaret with the lilly white 
hand. 

After which time she was euer called so. 

917.6 Q 



226 The pleasant History 



How the Kings Maiestie sent for the Clothiers, and of 
the sundry fauours which he did them. CHAP. 4. 

King Henry prouiding for his voyage into Fraunce, against 
King Lewis and Robert Duke of Normandie his owne brother, 
committed the gouernment of the Realme in his absence, to the 
Bishop of Salisbury, a man of great wisedome and learning, whom 
the King esteemed highly, and afterward he thought good to send 
for the chiefe Clothiers of England, who according to the Kings 
appointment came to the Court, and hauing licence to come 
10 before his Maiestie, he spake to this effect. 

The strength of a King is the loue and friendship of his people, 
and he gouernes ouer his Realme most surely, that ruleth iustice 
with mercy : for he ought to feare many, whom many do feare : 
therfore the gouernors of the Common-wealth ought to obserue 
two speciall precepts : the one is, that they so maintain the profit 
of the Commons, that whatsoeuer in their calling they doe, they 
referre it thereunto : the other, that they be alwaies as well carefull 
ouer the whole Common-wealth, as ouer any part thereof; lest 
while they vphold the one, the other be brought to vtter decay. 
20 And forasmuch as I doe vnderstand, and haue partly scene, that 
you the Clothiers of England are no small benefit to the wealth 
publike, I thought it good to know from your owne mouthes, if 
there be any thing not yet graunted that may benefit you, or any 
other thing to be remoued that doth hurt you. 

The great desire I haue to maintaine you in your trades, hath 
moued me hereunto. Therefore boldly say what you would haue 
in the one thing or the other, and I will grant it you. 

With that, they all fell downe vpon their knees, and desired God 
to saue his Maiestie, and withall, requested three daies respite to 
30 put in their answere : which was graunted. And thereupon they 
departed. 

When the Clothiers had well considered of these matters, at 
length they thought meete to request of his Maiestie for their first 
benefite, that all the Cloth-measures through the Land might be 
of one length, whereas to their great disaduantage before, euery 
good towne had a seuerall measure, the difficulty thereof was such, 
that they could not keepe them in memory, nor know how to 
keepe their reckonings. 

The second thing whereof they found themselues grieued, was 
40 this, that the people would not take crackt money, though it were 
neuer so good siluer? whereupon it came to passe, that the 
Clothiers and diuers others receiuing great summes of money, do 
take among it much crackt money, it serued them to no vse, 
because it would not goe currant, but lay vpon their hands with 
out profit or benefit, whereof they prayed reformation. 



of Thomas of Reading. 227 

The third was a griefe, whereof Hodgekins of Halifax com- 
playned, and that was, That whereas the towne of Halyfax liued 
altogether vpon Cloathing, and by the reason of false borderers, 
and other euill minded persons, they were oft robbed, and had 
their Clothes carried out of their fieldes, where they were drying, 
That it would please his Maiestie to graunt the towne this priuilege, 
That whatsoeuer he was that was taken stealing their Cloth, might 
presently without any further tryall be hanged vp. 

When the day of their appearance approached, the Clothiers 
came before the King, and deliuered vp their Petition in writing, 10 
which his Maiestie most graciously perusing, saide, hee was ready 
to fulfill their request : and therefore for the first point of their 
Petition, he called for a staffe to be brought him, and measuring 
thereupon the iust length of his owne arme, deliuered it to the 
Clothiers, saying. This measure shall bee called a yard, and no 
other measure throughout all the Realme of England shall be vsed 
for the same, and by this shall men buy and sell, and we will so 
prouide, that whosoeuer he be that abuseth our subiects by any 
false measure, that he shall not onely pay a fine for the same to the 
King, but also haue his body punished by imprisonment. 20 

And as concerning the second point of your Petition, because 
of my sudden departure out of the Land, I know not better how 
to ease you of this griefe (of crackt money) this decree I make, 
because they account crackt money not currant, I say, none shal 
be currant but crackt money. And therefore I will giue present 
charge, that all the money thorow the Land shall be slit, and so 
you shall suffer no losse. 

But now for your last request for the towne of Halifax, where 
by theeues your Clothes are so often stolne from you, seeing the 
lawes already prouided in that case, are not sufficient to keepe 30 
men in awe, it is indeed high time to haue sharper punishment for 
them. 

With that Hodgekins vnmannerly interrupted the King, saying 
in broad Northerne speech, Yea gude faith, mai Liedge, the faule 
eule of mai saule, giff any thing will keepe them whiat, till the 
karles be hanged by the cragge. What the dule care they for 
boaring their eyne, sea lang as they mae gae groping vp and downe 
the Country like fause lizar lownes, begging and craking ? 

The King smiling to heare this rough-hewen fellow made this 
reply : Content thee Hodgekins, for we will haue redresse for all : 4 
and albeit that hanging of men was neuer scene in England, yet 
seeing the corrupt world is growne more bold in all wickednesse, 
I thinke it not amisse to ordain this death for such malefactors : 
and peculiarly to the towne of Hallifax I giue this priuiledge, That 
whosoeuer they finde stealing their Cloth, being taken with the 
goods, that without further Judgment, they shall be hanged vp. 

Thus (said our King) haue I granted what you request, and if 
hereafter you find any other thing that may be good for you, it 

Q 2 



228 The pleasant History 

shall be granted ; for no longer would I desire to Hue among you, 
then I haue care for the good of the Common-wealth, at which 
word ended, the King rose from his royall throne, while the 
Clothiers on their knees prayed for both his health, and happy 
successe, & shewed themselues most thankefull for his highnesse 
fauour. His maiestie bending his body towards them, said that at 
his home returne, he would (by the grace of God) visit them. 



How the Clothiers had prouided a sumptuous feast for 
the Kings sonnes, Prince William and Prince Richard, 
10 at Gerrards Hall, shewing also what chaunce befell 
Cutbert of Kendall at that same instant. CHAP. 5. 

THe Clothiers departing from the Court in a merry mind, 
ioyfull of their good successe, each one to other praised and 
magnified the Kings great wisedome and vertue, commending also 
his affability and gentle disposition, so that Hodgekins affirmed on 
his faith, that hee had rather speake to his Kings Maiestie, then to 
many Justices of peace. 

Indeed (said Cole] he is a most mild and mercifull Prince, & 
I pray God he may long raigne ouer vs. 
20 Amen said the rest. 

Then said Cole, My Masters, shall we forget the great curtesie 
of the Kings sonnes, those sweet and gentle Princes, that still 
shewed vs fauour in our suite? in my opinion, it were reason 
to gratifie them in some sort, that we may not vtterly bee con 
demned of ingratitude : wherefore (if you thinke good) wee will 
prepare a banquet for them at our hoast Garrats, who as you 
know, hath a faire house, and goodly roomes : Besides, the man 
himselfe is a most couragious mind and good behauiour, sufficient 
to entertain a Prince : his wife also is a dainty fine Cooke : all 
30 which considered, I know not a fitter place in London. 

Tis true (quoth Sutton) and if the rest be content, I am pleased 
it shal be so. 

At this they all answered, Yea, for (quoth they) it will not be 
passing forty shillings a peece, and that we shall recouer in our 
crackt money. 

Being thus agreed, the feast was prepared. 

Tom Done (quoth they) we will commit the prouiding of musicke 
to thee : 

And I (said Cole) will inuite diuers of our Merchants and their 
40 wiues to the same. 

That is well remembred (said Gray). 

Vpon this they called to the hoast and hostis, shewing their 
determination, who most willingly said, all things should be made 



of Thomas of Reading. 229 

ready, but I would haue two daies liberty (said the good wife) to 
prepare my house and other things. 

Content (said the Clothiers) in the meane space we will bid our 
guests, and dispatch our other affaires. 

But Simon of Southampton charged his hostise, that in any case 
she should not forget to make good store of pottage. 

It shall be done (quoth she). 

It is to be remembred, that while this preparation was in hand, 
that Cutb. of Kendall had not forgot his kindnes to his hostisse 
of Bosomes Inne. Therefore finding time conuenient when her ro 
husband was ouerseeing his haymakers, he greeted her in this 
sort, Sweet hostesse, though I were the last time I was in towne, 
ouer bold with you, yet I hope it was not so offensiue to you, as 
you made shew for. 

Bold, my Cutb. (quoth she)? thou hast vowed thy selfe my 
seruant : and so being, you are not to be blamed for doing what 
I wild you. By my honestie, I could not chuse but smile to my 
selfe, so soone as I was out of their sight, to thinke how prettily 
you began to brabble. 

But now (quoth he) we will change our chidings to kissings, and 30 
it vexeth mee that these cherry lippes should be subiect to such 
a Lobcocke as thy husband. 

Subiect to him (quoth she) ! In faith sir, no, I will haue my lips 
at as much liberty as my tongue, the one to say what I list, and 
the other to touch whom I like : In troth, shall I tell thee, Cutb. 
the churl es breath smels so strong, that I care as much for kissing 
of him, as for looking on him : t'is such a mis-shapen mizer, and 
such a bundle of beastlinesse, that I can neuer thinke on him 
without spitting. Fie vpon him, I would my friends had carried 
me to my graue, when they went with me to the Church, to make 30 
him my husband. And so shedding a few dissembling teares, she 
stopt. 

What my sweet Mistrisse (quoth he) weepe you ? Nay sit downe 
by my side, and I will sing thee one of my country ligges to make 
thee merry. 

Wilt thou in faith (quoth shee ?) 

Yes verily (said Cutbert) : 

And in troth (quoth she) if you fall a singing I will sing with you. 

That is well, you can so suddenly change your notes (quoth 
Cutbert) then haue at it. 4 

Man. Long haue I lou'd this bonny Lasse, 

Fet durst not shew the same. 
Worn. There in you proue your selfe an Asse, 
Man. / was the more to blame. 

Yet still will I remaine to thee> 

Trang dilly do y trang dilly : 
Thy friend and louer secretly -, 
Worn. Thou art my owne sweet bully. 



230 The pleasant History 

Man. But when shall I enioy thee, 

delight of thy faire loue ? 
Worn. Euen when thou seest that fortune doth, 

all manner lets remoue. 
Man. O, I will fold thee in my armes, 

Trang dilly do, trang dilly, 
And keepe thee so from sudden harmes, 
Worn. Thou art my owne sweet bully. 

Worn. My husband he is gone from home, 
10 you knoiv it very well. 

Man. But when will he returne againe ? 
Worn. In truth I cannot tell. 

If long he keepe him out of 'sight ', 
Trang dilly do, trang dilly, 
Be sure thou shalt haue thy delight. 
Man. Thou art my bonny lassie. 

While they were singing this song, her husband being on a 
sudden come home, stood secretly in a corner and heard all, and 
blessing himselfe with both his hands, said, O abhominable 
20 dissimulation, monstrous hypocrisie, and are you in this humour ? 
can you braule together and sing together? Well (quoth he) 
I will let them alone, to see a little more of their knauery. Neuer 
did Cat watch Mouse so narrowly, as I will watch them : And 
so going into the Kitchin, hee asked his wife if it were not dinner 
time. 

Euen by and by, husband (quoth she) the meat will be ready. 

Presently after comes in Hodgekings and Martin, who straight 

asked for Cutbert of Kendall. Answere was made, that he was in 

his Chamber. So when they had called him, they went to dinner : 

30 then they requested that their host and hostesse would sit with 

them. 

Husband (said she) you may goe if you please : but as for me, 
I will desire pardon. 

Nay, good wife, goe vp (said her husband). What woman, you 
must beare with your guests. 

Why husband (qd. she) do you thinke that any can beare the 
flirts & frumps, which that Northerne tike gaue me the last time 
he was in towne ; now God forgiue me, I had as liefe see the 
diuell as to see him : therefore good husband goe vp your selfe, 
4 and let me alone, for in faith, I shall neuer abide that lacke while 
I Hue. 

Vpon these words away went her husband, and though he said 
little, hee thought more. Now when he came vp, his guests bade 
him welcome. 

I pray you sit downe, good mine hoast (quoth they) where is 
your wife ? what will she sit with vs ? 

No verily (said he) the foolish woman hath taken such a dis- 



of Thomas of Reading. 231 

pleasure against Cutbert, that she sweares she will neuer come in 
his company. 

Is it so (said the other) ? then trust mee we are well agreed : and 
I sweare by my fathers sale (qd. hee) that were it not meere for 
good will to you, then loue to her, I would neuer come to your 
house meere. 

I beleeue it well (said old Bosome). And so with other com 
munication they droue out the time, till dinner was ended. 

After they were risen, Martin & Hodgekins got them forth about 
their affaires, but Cut. tooke his host by the hand, saying, My 10 
host, ile go talk with your wife ; for my part I thought we had bin 
friends : but seeing her stomack is so big, and her heart so great, 
I will see what she will say to me ; and with that hee stept into 
the kitchin, saying, God speed you hostise. 

It must be when you are away then (said she). 

What is your reason (said the other) ? 

Because God neuer comes where knaues are present. 

Gip goodly draggletaile (qd. he) had I such a wife, I would 
present her tallow-face to the deuell for a candle 

With that she bent her browes, and like a fury of hell began to ao 
flie at him, saying, Why you gag-tooth iacke, you blinking com 
panion, get thee out of my kitchin quickly, or with my powdred 
beefe broth, I will make your pate as bald as a friers. 

Get me gon (quoth hee) ? thou shalt not bid me twice : out you 
durty heeles, you will make your husbands haire growe through 
his hood I doubt : 

And with that he got him into the Hall, and sat him downe on 
the bench by his hoast, to whom he said : Tis pittie, my Oast, 
that your aged yeeres that loues quietnesse, should be troubled 
with such a scolding queane. 30 

I, God helpe me, God helpe me (quoth the old man) and so 
went towards the Stable : which his wife watching, suddenly stept 
out and gaue Cutbert a kisse. 

Within an houre after, the old man craftily called for his Nag 
to ride to field : but assoone as he was gone, Cutbert and his 
Hostesse were such good friends, that they got into one of the Ware 
houses, and lockt the doore to them : but her husband hauing set 
a spie for the purpose, suddenly turned backe, and called for 
a capcase which lay in the Warehouse. The seruant could not 
find the key by any meanes. Whereupon hee called to haue the 40 
locke broke open. Which they within hearing, opened the doore 
of their owne accord. 

So soone as her husband spied her in that place, with admiration 
he said : O the passion of my hart, what do you here ? what you 
two that cannot abide one another ? what make you so close to 
gether ? is your chiding and rayling, brabling, and brauling, come 
to this ? O what dissemblers are these ! 

Why, my host (qd. Cutbert ) what need you take the matter so 



232 The pleasant History 

hotte? I gaue a Cheese to my country man Hodgekins^ to lay vp, 
and deliuered it to your wife to be kept ; and then is it not reason, 
that she should come and seeke me my Cheese ? 

O (quoth the old man) belike the dore was lockt, because the 
cheese should not run away. 

The doore (said his wife) vnknown to vs clapt to it selfe, and 
hauing a spring locke, was presently fast. 

Well huswife (qd. he) I will giue you as much credit as a 
Crocadile, but as for your companion, I will teach him to come 
10 hither to looke cheeses. 

And with that he caused his men to take him presently, and to 
bind him hand and foote. Which being done, they drew him vp 
in a basket into the smoky louer of the hall, and there they did let 
him hang all that night, euen till the next day dinner time, when 
he should haue beene at the banquet with the princes : for neither 
Hodgekins nor Martin could intreat their inflamed hoast to let him 
downe. 

And in such a heate was he driuen with drawing him vp, that he 
was faine to cast off his gownes, his cotes, and two paire of his 
so stockings, to coole himselfe, making a vow he shold hang there 
7. yeares, except the kings sonnes came in person to beg his 
pardon, which most of all grieued Cutbert. When Cole and the 
rest of the Westerne Yeomen heard hereof, they could not chuse 
but laugh, to thinke that he was so taken tardy. 

The yong princes hauing giuen promise to be with the clothiers, 
kept their houre, but when all the rest went to giue them enter 
tainment, Simon was so busie in supping his pottage, that he could 
not spare so much time. Which when the princes saw, with 
a smiling countenance they said, Sup Simon, theres good 
30 broath, 

Or else beshrew our hostesse : (quoth he) neuer looking behind 
him to see who spake, till the Prince clapt him on the shoulder. 
But good Lord, how blank he was when he spied them, knowing 
not how to excuse the matter. 

Well, the princes hauing ended their banket, Garrat comes and 
with one of his hands tooke the table of sixteene foote long quite 
from the ground ouer their heads, from before the princes, and set 
it on the other side of the hall, to the great admiration of all them 
that beheld it. 

4 The princes being then ready to depart, the Clothiers moued 
them in pleasant maner, to be good to one of their company, that 
did neither sit, lie, nor stand. 

Then he must needes hang (qd. the Princes). 

And so he doth, most excellent princes (qd. they) ; and there- 
withall told them the whole matter. 

When they heard the storie, downe to Bosomes Inne they go, 
where looking vp into the roofe, spied poore Cutbert pinned vp in 
a basket, and almost smoaked to death, who although he were 



of Thomas of Reading. 233 

greatly ashamed, yet most pitifully desired that they would get his 
release. 

What is his trespasse (said the Prince) ? 

Nothing if it shall like your Grace (qd. he) but for looking for 
a cheese : 

But he could not find it without my wife (said the goodman) : 
the villaine had lately dined with mutton, and could not digest his 
meate without cheese, for which cause I haue made him to fast 
these twenty houres, to the end he may haue a better stomacke to 
eate his dinner, then to vse dalliance. 10 

Let me intreate you (quoth the Prince) to release him : and if 
euer hereafter you catch him in the corne, clappe him in the 
pownd. 

Your Grace shall request or command any thing at my hand 
(said the old man) and so Cutbert was let downe vnbound, but 
when he was loose, he vowed neuer to come within that house 
more. 

And it is said, the old man Bosomc ordained, that in remem 
brance of this deed, euery yeare once all such as came thither to 
aske for cheeses, should be so serued : which thing is to this day 20 
kept. 



How Simons wife of South-hampton, being wholy bent to 
pride and pleasure, requested her husband to see 
London, which being granted, how she got good wife 
Sutton of Salisburie to go with her, who tooke Crab to 
go along with them, and how he prophecied of many 
things. CHAP. 6. 

THe Clothiers being all come from London, Simons wife of 
South-hampton, who was with her husband very mery and 
pleasant, brake her mind vnto him in this sort : 30 

Good Lord husband, will you neuer be so kind as let me goe to 
London with you? shall I be pend vp in South-hampton^ like a 
parret in a cage, or a Capon in a coope? I would request no 
more of you in lieu of all my paines, carke and care, but to haue 
one weeks time to see that faire Citie : what is this life, if it be not 
mixt with some delight ? and what delight is more pleasing then to 
see the fashions and maners of vnknowne places? Therefore 
good husband, if thou louest me, deny not this simple request. 
You know I am no common gadder, nor haue oft troubled you 
with trauell. God knowes, this may be the last thing that euer 40 
I shall request at your hands. 

Woman (quoth he) I would willingly satisfie your desire, but you 
i. his release] released 162 j 28. Simons] Suttons i6aj, z6ja 



234 Th e pleasant History 

know it is not conuenient for both of vs to be abroad, our charge 
is so great, and therefore our care ought not to bee small. If you 
will goe your selfe, one of my men shall goe with you, and money 
enough you shall haue in your purse : but to go with you my selfe, 
you see my businesse will not permit me. 

Husband (said she) I accept your gentle offer, and it may be 
I shal intreat my gossip Sutton to go along with me. 

I shall be glad (qd. her husband) prepare your selfe when you 
will. 

10 When she had obtained this license, she sent her man Weasell 
to Salisbury, to know of good wife Sutton if she would keepe her 
company to London. Suttons wife being as willing to go, as she 
was to request, neuer resting till shee had gotten leaue of her 
husband ; the which when she had obtained, casting in her minde 
their pleasure would be small, being but they twaine : thereupon 
the wily woman sent letters by collericke Crabbe her man, both to 
Grayes wife, and Fitzallens wife, that they would meet them at 
Reading, who liking well of the match, consented, and did so 
prouide, that they met according to promise at Reading, and from 

20 thence with Coles wife they went altogether, with each of them 
a man to London, each one taking vp their lodging with a seuerall 
friend. 

When the Merchants of London vnderstood they were in towne, 
they inuited them euery day home to their owne houses, where 
they had dilicate good cheere : and when they went abroade to 
see the commoditie? of the Cittie, the Merchants wiues euer bore 
them companie, being attired most daintie and fine : which when 
the Clothiers wiues did see, it grieued their hearts they had not 
the like. 

30 Now when they were brought into Cheap-side, there with great 
wonder they beheld the shops of the Goldsmithes; and on the 
other side, the wealthy Mercers, whose shoppes shined with all 
sorts of coloured silkes : in Watlingstreet they viewed the great 
number of Drapers : in Saint Martins Shoemakers : at Saint 
Nicholas Church, the flesh shambles : at the end of the old Change, 
the fishmongers : in Candleweeke streete the Weauers : then came 
into the lewes street, where all the lewes did inhabite : then came 
they to Blackwell hall, where the country Clothiers did vse to 
meete. 

40 Afterwards they proceeded, and came to S. Pauls Church, 
whose steeple was so hie, that it seemed to pierce the cloudes, on 
the top whereof, was a great and mightie Wether-cocke, of cleane 
siluer, the which notwithstanding seemed as small as a sparrow to 
mens eyes, it stood so exceeding high, the which goodly weather- 
cocke was afterwards stolen away, by a cunning cripple, who found 
meanes one night to clime vp to the top of the steeple, and tooke 
it downe : with the which, and a great summe of money which he 
10. Wdsell-i62}, i6}2 16. Crabbe i6ja: Crackc i6a) 



of Thomas of Reading. 235 

had got together by begging in his life time, he builded a gate on 
the North-side of the Citty, which to this day is called Criple-gate. 

From thence they went to the Tower of London, which was 
builded by lulius Ccesar, who was Emperour of Rome. And there 
they beheld salt and wine, which had lien there euer since the 
Romaines inuaded this land, which was many yeares before our 
Sauiour Christ was borne, the wine was growne so thicke, that it 
might haue beene cut like a ielly. And in that place also they 
saw the money that was made of leather, which in ancient time 
went currant amongst the people. 10 

When they had to their great contentation beheld all this, 
they repaired to their lodgings, hauing also a sumptuous supper 
ordained for them, with all delight that might bee. And you 
shall vnderstand, that when the country weauers, which came vp 
with their dames, saw the weauers of Candlewike-street, they had 
great desire presently to haue some conference with them ; & thus 
one began to challenge the other for workemanship, 

(Quoth Weasell] ile worke with any of you all for a crowne, take 
if you dare, and he that makes his yard of cloth soonest, shall 
haue it. * 

You shall be wrought withall (said the other) and if it were for 
ten crownes : but we will make this bargaine, that each of vs shall 
winde their owne quilles. 

Content (quoth Weaselt) : and so to worke they went, but 
Weasell lost. 

Whereupon another of them tooke the matter in hand, who lost 
likewise : so that the London weauers triumphed against the 
country, casting forth diuers frumps. 

Alas poore fellowes (quoth they) your hearts are good, but your 
hands are ill. 30 

Tush, the fault was in their legges (quoth another) pray you 
friend, were you not borne at home ? 

Why doe you aske (quoth Weaselt] ? 

Because (said hee) the biggest place of your legge is next to your 
shooe. 

Crab hearing this, beeing cholericke of nature, chafed like 
a man of law at the Bar, and he wagers with them four crownes to 
twaine : the others agreed, to worke they goe : but Crab con 
quered them all. Whereupon, the London weauers were nipt in 
the head like birds, and had not a word to say. 4 

Now (saith Crab} as we haue lost nothing, so you haue wonne 
nothing, and because I know you cannot be right weauers, except 
you be good fellowes, therefore if you will go with vs, we will 
bestow the Ale vpon you. 

That is spoken like a good-fellow and like a weauer (quoth the 
other). 

So along they went as it were to the signe of the red Crosse. 
36. Crab~\ Cutbert 1623, 16)2 47. along 1632 : long 162 j 



236 The pleasant History 

When they were set downe, & had drunke well, they began 
merrily to prattle, and to extoll Crab to the skies. Whereupon 
Crab protested, that he would come and dwell among them. 

Nay, that must not be (said a London weauer) : the King hath 
giuen vs priuiledge, that none should Hue among vs, but such as 
serue seuen yeeres in London. 

With that Crab, according to his old maner of prophesying, said 
thus : 

The day is very tieere at hand, 

10 When as the King of this fair e land, 

Shal priuiledge you more then so : 
Then weauers shall in skarlet goe. 

And to one brotherhood be brought, 
The first is in London wrought, 
When other trades-men by your fame, 
Shall couet all to doe the same. 

Then shall you all Hue wondrous well, 
But this one thing I shall you tell : 
The day will come before the doome, 
ao In Candleweeke street shall stand no loome. 

Nor any weauer dwelling there, 
But men that shall more credit beare : 
For Clothing shall be sore decayed, 
And men vndone that vse that trade. 

And yet the day some men shall see, 
This trade a game shall raised be. 
When as Bay life of Sarum toivne ; 
Shall by and purchase Bishops downe. 

When there neuer man did sow, 

30 Great store of goodly come shall groin ; 

And woad, that makes all colours sound, 
Shall spring vpon that barren ground. 

At that same day I tell you plaine, 
Who so aliue doth then remaine, 
A proper Maiden they shall see, 
Within the towne of Salisburie. 

Offauour sweet, and nature kind, 
With goodly eies, and yet starke blind, 
This poore blind Maiden I do say, 
40 In age shall goe in rich array. 

And he that takes her to his wife, 
Shall lead a ioyfull happy life, 
The wealthiest Clothier shall he be. 
That euer was in that country. 



of Thomas of Reading. 237 

But clothing kept as it hath beene, 
In London neuer shall be scene : 
For weauers then the most shall win, 
That workefor cloathing next the skin. 

Till pride the Common-wealth doth peele, 
And causeth husiviues leaue their wheele. 
Then pouerty vpon each side, 
Vnto those workemen shall betide. 

At that time, from an Eagles neast, 

That proudly builded in the West, 10 

A sort shall come with cunning hand, 

To bring strange weauing in this land, 

And by their gaines that great will fall, 
They shall maintaine the weauers Hall: 
But long they shall not flourish so, 
But folly will them ouerthrow. 

And men shall count it mickle shame, 

To beare that kind of Weauers name, 

And this as sure shall come to passe, 

As here is ale within this glasse. ao 

When the silly soules that sate about him heard him speake in 
this sort, they admired, and honoured Crabbe for the same. 

Why my masters (said Weasell) doe you wonder at these words ? 
he will tell you twenty of these tales, for which cause we call him 
our canuas Prophet: his attire fits his title, said they and we 
neuer heard the like in our Hues : and if this shold be true, it 
would be strange. 

Doubt not but it will be true (qd. Weasel] \ for ile tell you what, 
he did but once see our Nicke kisse Nel, and presently he powred 
out this rime : 30 

That kisse, O Nel, God giue thee toy, 
Will nine months hence breed thee a boy. 

And ile tell you what, you shall heare : we kept reckoning, and 
it fell out iust as lones buttockes on a close stoole, for which 
cause, our maids durst neuer kisse a man in his sight : 

Vpon this they broke company, & went euery one about his 
busines, the London weauers to their frames, and the countrey 
fellowes to their dames, who after their great banquetting & 
merriment, went euery one home to their owne houses, though 
with lesse money than they brought out, yet with more pride. 40 

Especially Simons wife of South-hampton, who told the rest of 
her gossips, that she saw no reason, but that their husbands 
should maintaine them, aswell as the Merchants did their wiues : 
for I tell you what (quoth she) we are as proper women (in my 



238 The pleasant History 

conceit,) as the proudest of them all, as handsome of body, as 
faire of face, our legs as well made, and our feet as fine : then 
what reason is there (seeing our husbands are of as good wealth,) 
but we should be as well maintained. 

You say true gossip (said Suttons wife) : trust me, it made me 
blush, to see them braue it out so gallantly, and wee to goe so 
homely : 

But before God (said the other) I will haue my husband to buy 
me a London gowne, or in faith he shall haue little quiet : 
fo So shall mine (said another) : 

And mine too (qd. the third) : and all of them sung the same 
note : so that when they came home, their husbands had no little 
to doe : Especially Simon, whose wife dayly lay at him for London 
apparell, to whome he said, Good woman, be content, let vs goe 
according to our place and abilitie : what will the Bailiffes thinke, 
if I should pranke thee vp like a Peacocke, and thou in thy attire 
surpasse their wiues ? they would either thinke I were madde, or 
else that I had more mony then I could well vse, consider, I pray 
thee good wife, that such as are in their youth masters, doe proue 
20 in their age starke beggars. 

Besides that, it is enough to raise me vp in the Kings booke, 
for many times, mens coffers are iudged by their garments : why, 
we are country folks, and must keepe our selues in good compasse : 
gray russet, and good hempe-spun cloath doth best become vs; 
I tell thee wife, it were as vndecent for vs to goe like Londoners 
as it is for Londoners to goe like courtiers. 

What a coyle keepe you (quoth she) ? are not we Gods creatures 
as well as Londoners ? and the Kings subiects, aswell as they ? 
then finding our wealth to be as good as theirs, why should we 
30 not goe as gay as Londoners ? No husband, no, here is the fault, 
wee are kept without it, onely because our husbands be not so 
kind as Londoners : why man, a Cobler there keepes his wife 
better then the best Clothier in this countrey : nay, I will affirme 
it, that the London Oyster-wiues, and the very kitchin-stuffe cryers, 
doe exceed vs in their Sundaies attire : nay, more then that, I did 
see the Water-bearers wife which belongs to one of our Merchants, 
come in with a Tankerd of water on her shoulder, and yet halfe 
a dozen gold rings on her fingers. 

You may then thinke, wife (quoth he) she got them not with 
40 idlenesse. 

But wife you must consider what London is, the chiefe and 
capitall Cittie of all the land, a place on the which all strangers 
cast their eies, it is (wife) the Kings chamber and his Maiesties 
royail seate : to that Cittie repaires all nations vnder heauen. 
Therefore it is most meete and conuenient, that the Citizens of 
such a Citie should not goe in their apparell like Peasents, but 
for the credit of our countrey, weare such seemely habits, as do 
carrie grauity and comelinesse in the eyes of all beholders. 



of Thomas of Reading. 239 

But if we of the countrey went so (quoth she) were it not as 
great credit for the land as the other ? 

Woman (qd. her husband) it is altogether needlesse, and in 
diuers respects it may not be. 

Why then, I pray you (quoth she) let vs goe dwell at London. 

A word soone spoken (said her husband) but not so easie to be 
performed : therefore wife, I pray thee hold thy prating, for thy 
talke is foolish : 

Yea, yea husband, your old churlish conditions will neuer be 
left, you keepe me here like a drudge and a droile, and so you 10 
may keepe your money in your purse, you care not for your 
credit, but before I will goe so like a shepheardesse, I will first 
goe naked : and I tell you plain, I scorne it greatly, that you 
should clap a gray gowne on my backe, as if I had not brought 
you two pence : before I was married you swore I should haue 
any thing that I requested, but now all is forgotten. 

And in saying this, she went in, and soone after she was so 
sicke, that needes she must go to bed : and when she was laid, 
she draue out that night with many grieuous groanes, sighing and 
sobbing, and no rest she could take God wot. And in the 20 
morning when she should rise, the good soule fell downe in 
a swowne, which put her maidens in a great flight, who running 
downe to their master, cryed out ; Alas, alas, our Dame is dead, 
our Dame is dead. 

The goodman heareing this, ran vp in all hast and there fell to 
rubbing and chafing of her temples, sending for aqua vitce, and 
saying, Ah my sweet heart, speake to me, good wife, alacke, alacke, 
call in the neighbours, you queanes (quoth he). 

With that shee lift vp her head, fetching a great groane, and 
presently swouned againe, and much a doe ywis, he had to keepe 30 
life in her : but when she was come to her selfe, How dost thou 
wife (qd. he) ? 

What wilt thou haue ? for Gods sake tel me if thou hast a mind 
to any thing, thou shalt haue it. 

Away dissembler (qd. she) how can I beleeue thee ? thou hast 
said to me as much a hundred times, and deceiued me, it is thy 
churlishnesse that hath killed my heart, neuer was woman matcht 
to so vnkind a man. 

Nay good wife, blame me not without cause ; God knoweth 
how dearely I loue thee. 40 

Loue me ! no, no, thou didst neuer carry my loue but on the 
tip of thy tongue (quoth she) I dare sweare thou desirest nothing 
so much as my death, and for my part, I would to God thou hadst 
thy desire : but be content, I shall not trouble thee long : and 
with that fetching a sigh, she swouned and gaue a great groane. 

The man seeing her in this case was wondrous woe : but so 
soone as they had recouered her, he said, O my deare wife, if any 
bad conceit hath ingendered this sicknesse, let me know it ; or if 



240 The pleasant History 

thou knowst any thing that may procure thy health, let me vnder- 
stand thereof, and I protest thou shalt haue it, if it cost me all 
that euer I haue. 

O husband (quoth she) how may I credite your wordes, when 
for a paltrie sute of apparell you denied mee ? 

Well wife (quoth he) thou shalt haue apparell or any thing else 
thou wilt request, if God send thee once health. 

O husband, if I may find you so kind, I shall thinke my selfe 
the happiest woman in the world, thy words haue greatly com- 
10 forted my heart, mee thinketh if I had it, I could drinke a good 
draught of renish wine. 

Well, wine was sent for : O Lord (said she) that I had a peece 
of chicken, I feele my stomacke desirous of some meate : 

Glad am I of that (said her husband) and so the woman within 
a few daies after was very well. 

But you shall vnderstand, that her husband was faine to dresse 
her London-like, ere he could get her quiet, neither wold it please 
her except the stuffe was bought in Cheapeside : for out of Cheap- 
side nothing would content her, were it neuer so good : insomuch, 
20 that if she thought a taylor of Cheapside made not her gowne, she 
would sweare it were quite spoiled. 

And hauing thus wonne her husband to her will, when the rest of 
the Clothiers wiues heard thereof, they would be suted in the like 
sort too ; so that euer since, the wiues of South-hampton, Salisbury, 
of Glocester, Worcester, and Reading, went all as gallant and as 
braue as any Londoners wiues. 



How the Clothiers sent the King aide into France, and 
how he ouercame his brother Robert, and brought 
him into England, and how the Clothiers feasted his 
30 Maiestie and his sonne at Reading. CHAP. 7. 

THe Kings Maiestie being at the warres in Fraunce, against 
Lewis the French King, and Duke Robert of Normandie, 
sending for diuers supplies of souldiers out of England, the 
Clothiers at their owne proper cost set out a great number, and 
sent them ouer to the King. 

Which Roger Bishop of Salisburie, who gouerned the Realme 
in the Kings absence, did certifie the King thereof, with his 
letters written in their commendations. 

And afterwards it came to passe, that God sent his Highnes 

40 victory ouer his enemies, and hauing taken his brother prisoner, 

brought him most ioy fully with him into England^ and appointed 

him to be kept in Cardife castle prisoner, yet with this fauour, 

that he might hunt and hawke where he would, vp and downe 



of Thomas of Reading. 241 

the countrey, and in this sorte hee liued a good while, of whom 
we will speake more at large hereafter. 

The King being thus come home, after his winters rest, he 
made his summers progresse into the west countrey, to take 
a view of all the chiefe townes : whereof the Clothiers being 
aduertised, they made great preparation against his comming, 
because he had promised to visite them all. 

And when his Grace came to Reading, he was entertained and 
receiued with great ioy and triumph : Thomas Cole being the 
chiefe man of regard in all the towne, the King honored his 10 
house with his princely presence, where during the Kings abode, 
he, and his son, and Nobles were highly feasted. 

There the King beheld the great number of people, that was 
by that one man maintained in worke, whose hearty affection and 
loue toward his Maiestie did well appeare, aswell by their out 
ward countenances, as their gifts presented vnto him. But of 
Cole himselfe the King was so well perswaded, that he committed 
such trust in him, and put him in great authoritie in the towne. 
Furthermore the King said, That for the loue which those people 
bore him liuing, that he would lay his bones among them when ao 
he was dead, For I know not (said he) where they may be better 
bestowed, till the blessed day of resurrection, then among these 
my friends which are like to be happy partakers of the same. 

Whereupon his Maiestie caused there to be builded a most 
goodly and famous Abbey : in which he might shew his deuotion 
to God, by increasing his seruice, and leaue example to other his 
successors to doe the like. Likewise within the towne he after 
builded a faire and goodly castle, in the which he often kept his 
Court, which was a place of his chiefe residence during his life, 
saying to the Clothiers, that seeing he found them such faithfull 30 
subjects, he would be their neighbor, and dwell among them. 

After his Maiesties royal feasting at Reading, he proceeded in 
progresse, till he had visited the whole west countries, being 
wondrously delighted, to see those people so diligent to apply 
their busines : and comming to Salisburie, the Bishop receiued 
his Maiestie with great ioy, and with triumph attended on his 
Grace to his palace, where his Highnesse lodged. 

There Sutton the Clothier presented his Highnesse with 
a broad cloth, of so fine a threed, and exceeding good workman 
ship, and therewithall of so faire a colour, as his Grace gaue 40 
commendation thereof, and as it is said, he held it in such high 
estimation, that thereof he made his parliament robes, & the first 
parliament that was euer in England, was graced with the Kings 
person in those robes, in requitall whereof his Highnes afterward 
yeelded Sutton many princely fauours. 

And it is to be remembred, that Simon of South-hampton 
(seeing the Kingr had ouerpast the place where he dwelt) came 
with his wife and seruants to Salisburie^ and against the K. going 

917.6 R 



2 AT 2 The pleasant History, 

forth of that Citty, he caused a most pleasant arbour to be made 
vpon the toppe of the hill leading to Salisburie, beset all with red 
and white roses, in such sort, that not any part of the timber 
could be scene, within the which sat a maiden attired like 
a Queen, attended on by a faire traine of maidens, who at the 
Kings approach presented him with a Garland of sweet flouers, 
yeelding him such honour as the Ladies of Rome were wont to doe 
to their Princes after their victories : which the King tooke in 
gracious part, and for his farewell from that country, they bore 

10 him company ouer part of the Plaine, with the sound of diuers 
sweet instruments of musicke. All which when his Grace vnder- 
stood was done at the cost of a Clothier, he said hee was the 
most honoured by those men, aboue all the meane subiects in his 
land : & so his highnes past on to Exceter, hauing giuen great 
rewards to these Maidens. 

Thomas Done and the residue of the Clothiers, against his 
Graces comming thither, had ordained diuers sumptuous shewes ; 
first, there was one that presented the person of Augustus Caesar 
the Emperour, who commanded after the Rornone inuasion, that 

20 their citie should be called Augustus, after his owne name, which 
before time was called Isca, and of later yeeres, Exeter. 

There his Maiesty was royally feasted seauen daies together, at 
the onely cost of Clothiers, but the diuers delightes and sundry 
pastimes which they made there before the King, and his Nobles, 
is too long here to be rehearsed, and therefore I will ouerpasse 
them to auoid tediousnesse. 

His Grace then coasting along the country, at last came to 
Gloucester, an ancient Citie, which was builded by Gloue, 
a Brittish King, who named it after his owne name, Glossier. 

30 Here was his Maiestie entertained by Gray the Clothier, who 
profest himselfe to be of that auncient family of Grayes, whose 
first originall issued out of that auncient and Honorable Castle 
and Towne of Rithin. 

Here was the King most bountifully feasted, hauing in his 
company his brother Robert (although his prisoner the same 
time.) And his Grace being desirous to see the Maidens card 
and spinne, they were of purpose set to their worke : among 
whom was faire Margaret with her white hand, whose excellent 
beauty hauing pierct the eyes of the amorous Duke, it made such 

40 an impression in his heart, that afterward he could neuer forget 
her : and so vehemently was his affection kindled that he could 
take no rest, till by writing he had bewrayed his minde : but of 
this we will speake more in another place: and the King at his 
departure said, that to gratifie them, hee would make his sonne 
Robert their Earle, who was the first Earle that euer was in 
Glocester. 

Now when his Grace was come from thence, hee went to 
Worcester, where William Fitz-allen made preparation in all 



of Thomas of Reading. 243 

honourable sort to receiue him, which man being borne of great 
parentage, was not to learne how to entertaine his Maiestie, being 
desended of that famous family, whose patrimonie lay about the 
Towne of Oswestrie, which Town his predecessors had inclosed 
with stately walls of stone. 

Although aduerse fortune had so grieuously frowned on some 
of them, that their children were faine to become tradesmen, whose 
handes were to them insteed of landes, notwithstanding God 
raised againe the fame of this man, both by his great wealth, and 
also in his posteritie, whose eldest son Henry r , the Kings god-son, 10 
became afterward the Maior of London, who was the first Maior 
that euerwas in that Cittie, who gouerned the same 23 yeares : 
and then his sonne Roger Fife-alien was the second Maior. 

The princely pleasures that in Worcester were shown the King, 
were many and maruelous, and in no place had his Maiesty 
receiued more delight then here : for the which at his departure 
he did shew himselfe very thankfull. Now when his Grace had 
thus taken view of all his good townes Westward and in that 
progresse had visited these Clothiers, he returned to London, with 
great ioy of his Commons. 30 



How Hodgekins of Hallifax came to the Court, and com 
plained to the King, that his priuiledge was nothing 
worth, because when they found any offender, they 
could not get a hangman to execute him : and how 
by a Frier a gin was deuised to chop off mens heads 
of it selfe. CHAP. 8. 

A^ter that Hodgkins had got the priuiledge for the towne of 
Halifax, to hang vp such theeues as stole their cloath in the 
night, presently without any further iudgement, all the Clothiers 
of the towne were exceeding glad, and perswaded themselues, 30 
that now their goods would be safe all night, without watching 
them at al, so that whereas before, the town maintained certaine 
watchmen to keepe their cloath by night, they were hereupon 
dismissed as a thing needlesse to be done, supposing with them 
selues, that seeing they should be straight hanged that were 
found faultie in this point, that no man would bee so desperate to 
enterprise any such act. And indeed the matter being noysed 
through the whole countrey, that they were straight to be hanged 
that vse such theeuery, it made many lewd liuers to restraine 
such theeuery. 40 

Neuertheles, there was at that same time liuing, a notable 
Theefe named Wallis, whom in the north they called Mighty 
Wallis, in regard of his valour and manhood : This man being 

R 2 



244 The pleasant History 

most subtile in such kind of knauerie, hauing heard of this late 
priuiledge, and therewithall of the Townes securitie, said that 
once he would venture his necke for a packe of Northerne 
cloth : and therefore comming to one or two of his companions, 
he asked if they would be partners in his aduenture, and if (quoth 
he) you will herein hazard your bodies, you shall be sharers in all 
our booties. 

At length by many perswasions the men consented : where 
upon late in the night, they got them all into a Farriours shop, 
10 and called vp the folkes of the house. 

What the foule ill wald you haue (quoth they) at this time of 
the night ? 

Wallis answered, saying good fellowes, we would haue you to 
remoue the shooes of our horses feete, and set them on againe, 
and for your paines you shall be well pleased. 

The Smith at length was perswaded, and when he had pluckt 
off al the shooes from their horses feete, they would needes haue 
them all set on againe, quite contrary with the cakins forward, 
that should stand backward. 

20 How ? fay, fay man (quoth the Smith) are ye sicke fules ? what 
the deele do you meane to breake your crags ? gud faith I tro the 
men be wood. 

Not so Smith (qd they) do thou as we bid thee, & thou 
shalt haue thy mony : for it is an old prouerbe, 

Be it better, or be it worse, 

Please you the man that beares the purse. 

Gud faith and see I sail (qd. the Smith) and so did as hee 
was willed. When Wallis had thus caused their Horses to be 
shod, to Hallifax they went, where they without any let laded 
30 their Horses with cloth, and so departed contrary way. 

In the morning, so soone as the Clothiers came to the field, 
they found that they were robd, whereupon one ranne to another to 
tell these things. Now when Jfodgkings heard thereof, rising vp 
in hast, he wild his neighbors to mark and to see, if they could 
not descry either the footesteppes of men or Horses. Which 
being done, they perceiued that horses had been there, and 
seeking to pursue them by their footesteppes, they went a cleane 
contrary way, by reason that the horses were shodde backward : 
& when in vaine they had long pursude them, they returned, being 
40 neuer the neere. 

Now Wallis vsed his feate so long, that at length he was taken, 
and two more with him : whereupon according to the priuilege 
of the Towne, they put Halters about the theeues neckes pre 
sently to hang them vp. 

When they were come to the place appointed, Wallis and 
the rest being out of hope to escape death, prepared themselues 
patiently to suffer the rigor of the law. And therewith the rest 



of Thomas of Reading. 245 

laying open the lewdnesse of his life, grieuously lamenting for his 
sinnes, at length commending their soules to God, they 
yeelded their bodies to the graue, with which sight the people 
were greatly mooued with pity, because they had neuer scene 
men come to hanging before : but when they shold haue beene 
tyed vp, Hodgekins willed one of his neighbors to play the 
Hangmans part, who would not by any meanes doe it, although 
he was a very poore man, who for his paines should haue beene 
possest of all their apparell. When he would not yeeld to the 
office, one of those which had his cloth stolen, was commanded 10 
to doe the deed ; but he in like manner would not, saying : 
When I haue the skill to make a man, I will hang a man, if it 
chance my workmanship do not like me. 

And thus from one to another, the office of the hangman was 
posted off. At last a Rogue came by, whom they would haue 
compelled to haue done that deed. 

Nay, my masters (qd. he) not so: but as you haue got 
a priuiledge for the Towne, so you were best to procure 
a Commission to make a hangman, or else you are like to be 
without for me. 20 

Neighbor Hodgkins (quoth one) I pray you do this office your 
selfe, you haue had most losse, and therefore you should be the 
most readie to hang them your selfe. 

No, not I (quoth Hodgkings) though my losse were ten times 
greater then it is, notwithstanding look which of these theeues will 
take vpon him to hang the other, shall haue his life saued, other 
wise they shall all to prison till I can prouide a hangman. 

When Wallis saw the matter brought to this passe, he began 
stoutly to reply, saying, My masters of the Town of Halifax, 
though your priuiledge stretch to hang men vp presently that 30 
are found stealing of your goods, yet it giues you no warrant 
to imprison them till you prouide them a hangman, my selfe, 
with these my fellowes, haue here yeelded our selues to satisfie 
the Law, and if it be not performed, the fault is yours, and 
not ours, and therefore we humbly take our leaue : from the 
gallowes the xviii of August. And with that he leapt from the 
ladder, and hirld the halter at Hodgkings face. 

When the Clothiers saw this, they knew not what to say, but 
taking them by the sleeues, entreated to haue their owne againe. 

No so (qd. Wallis) you get not the value of a packe or 40 
a bawby : we haue stolen your cloth, then why doe you not 
hang vs? here we haue made our selues ready, and if you wil 
not hang vs, chuse. A plague vpon you (quoth he) you haue 
hindred me God knowes what, I made account to dine this 
day in heauen, and you keepe me here on earth where there 
is not a quarter of that good cheare. The foule euill take 
you all, I was fully prouided to giue the gallowes a boxe on 
the eare, and now God knowes when I shall be in so good 



246 The pleasant History 

a minde againe : and so he with the rest of his companions 
departed. 

When Hodgekings saw, that notwithstanding their theeuery, 
how they flowted at their lenitie, he was much mooued in minde ; 
and as he stood in his dumps chewing his cud, making his 
dinner with a dish of melancholy, a gray Frier reuerently saluted 
him in this sort : All haile, goodman Hodgekins, happinesse and 
health be euer with you, and to all suppressors of lewd liuers, 
God send euerlasting ioyes. 

10 I am sory goodman Hodgekings, that the great priuiledge which 
our King gaue to this towne, comes to no greater purpose ; better 
far had it bin that it had neuer beene graunted, then so 
lightly regarded ; the towne hath suffered through their owne 
peeuishnesse, an euerlasting reproch this day, onely because 
foolish pitty hath hindred iustice. 

Consider, that compassion is not to be had vpon theeues and 
robbers ; pitty onely appertaineth to the vertuous sort, who are 
ouerwhelmed with the waues of miserie and mischaunce. What 
great cause of boldnesse haue you giuen to bad liuers, by letting 
20 these fellowes thus to escape, & how shall you now keepe your 
goods in safetie, seeing you fulfill not the law which should be 
your defence ? neuer thinke that theeues will make any conscience 
to carry away your goods, when they find them selues in no 
danger of death, who haue more cause to praise your pitty, 
then commend your wisedome : wherefore in time seeke to 
preuent the ensuing euill. 

For my owne part, I haue that care of your good, that I would 
worke all good meanes for your benefit, and yet not so much in 
respect of your profit, as for the desire I haue to vphold iustice, and 
30 seeing I find you and the rest so womanish, that you could not 
find in your hearts to hang a theefe, I haue deuised how to 
make a gin, that shall cut off their heads without mans helpe, 
and if the King will allow thereof. 

When Hodgekins heard this, he was somewhat comforted in 
mind, and said to the Frier, that if by his cunning he would 
performe it, he would once againe make sute to the King to 
haue his grant for the same. The Frier willed him to haue 
no doubt in him : and so when he had deuised it, he got a 
Carpenter to frame it out of hand. 

4 o Hodgekins in the meane time posted it vp to the Court, and 
told his Maiestie that the priuiledge of Hallifax was not worth a 
pudding. 

Why so (said the King) ? 

Because (quoth Hodgekins) we can get neuer a hangman to 
trusse our theeues : but if it shall like your good Grace (quoth he) 
there is a feate Frier, that will make vs a deuise, which shall 
without the hand of man cut off the cragges of all such Carles, 
if your Maiestie will please 'to allow thereof. 



of Thomas of Reading. 247 

The King vnderstanding the full effect of the matter, at length 
granted his petition : whereupon till this day, it is obserued in 
Halifax, that such as are taken stealing of their cloth, haue their 
heads chopt off with the same gin. 



How the Bailiffes of London could get no man to bee 
a Catch-pole, and how certaine Flemings tooke that 
office vpon them, whereof many of them were fledde 
into this Realme, by reason of certaine waters that 
had drowned a great part of their Countrey. CHAP. 9. 

THe Citty of London being at that time gouerned by 10 
Bailiffes, it came to passe, that in a certaine fray two of 
their Catch-poles were killed, for at that time they had not the 
name of Sergeants : and you shall vnderstand, that their office 
was then so much hated and detested of Englishmen, that none 
of them would take it vpon him : so that the Bailiffes were glad 
to get any man whatsoeuer, and to giue him certain wages to 
performe that office. 

It came to passe, as I said before, that two of their Officers 
by arresting of a man, were at one instant slaine, by meanes 
whereof the Bailiffes were enforced to seeke others to put in 20 
their roomes; but by no meanes could they get any, wherefore 
according to their wonted manner, they made proclamation, that 
if there were any man that would present himselfe before them, 
he should not onely be settled in that office during their Hues, 
but also should haue such maintenance and allowance, as for 
such men was by the cittie prouided : and notwithstanding that 
it was an Office most necessary in the Commonwealth, yet did 
the poorest wretch despise it, that liued in any estimation among 
his neighbours. 

At last a couple of Flemings, which were fled into this land, 30 
by reason that their countrey was drowned with the sea, hearing 
the proclamation, offered themselues vnto the Bayliffes, to serue 
in this place, who were presently receiued and accepted, & 
according to order had garments giuen them, which were of 
2. colors, blue & red their coates, breeches & stockings, 
whereby they were knowne and discerned from other men. 

Within halfe a yeare after, it came to passe, that Thomas 
Doue of Exeter came vp to London, who hauing by his iollity 
and good fellowship, brought himselfe greatly behind hand, was 
in danger to diuers men of the Citty, among the rest, one of his 40 
Creditors feed an Officer to arrest him. The Dutch-man that 
had not bin long experienced in such matters, and hearing how 
1 8. Officers 16)2 : Offices i6aj 



248 The pleasant History 

many of his fellowes had bin killed for attempting to arrest 
men, stood quiuering and quaking in a corner of the street to 
watch for Thomas Done, and hauing long waited, at length he 
spied him : whereupon he prepared his mace ready, and with 
a pale countenance proceeded to his office; at what time 
comming behind the man, suddenly with his mace he knockt 
him on the pate, saying, I arrest you, giuing him such a blow, 
that he fell him to the ground. 

The Catchpole thinking he had killed the man, he left his 

10 Mace behind him and ranne away : the creditor he ranne after 

him, calling and crying that he should turne againe : But the 

Fleming would not by any meanes turne backe, but got him quite 

out of the Citty, and tooke Sanctuary at Westminster. 

Doue being come to himselfe, arose and went to his Inne, no 
man hindring his passage, being not a little glad he so escaped 
the danger. Yet neuerthelesse, at his next comming to London^ 
another Catchpole met with him, and arrested him in the Kings 
name. 

Doue being dismaied at this mischieuous mischance, knew not 
ao what to doe : at last he requested the Catchpole that hee would 
not violently cast him in prison, but stay till such time as he could 
send for a friend to be his surety; and although kindnesse in 
a Catchpole be rare, yet was he won with faire words to doe him 
this fauour : whereupon Doue desired one to goe to his Host 
larrat, who immediately came vnto him, and offered himselfe to 
be Doues surety. 

The Officer, who neuer saw this man before, was much mazed 
at his sight : for larrat was a great and mighty man of body, of 
countenance grim, and exceeding high of stature, so that the 
30 Catchpole was wonderfully afraid, asking if he could find neuer 
a surety but the deuell, most fearefully intreating him to coniure 
him away, and he would doe Doue any fauour. 

What, will you not take my word (qd. larraf) ? 

Sir (qd. the Catchpole) if it were for any matter in hell, I would 
take your word as soone as any diuels in that place, but seeing it 
is for a matter on earth, I would gladly haue a surety. 

Why thou whorson cricket (quoth larref) thou maggat-a-pie, 
thou spinner, thou paultry spider, dost thou take me for a Diuell ? 
Sirra, take my word, I charge thee for this man, or else goodman 
40 butterflie, ile make thee repent it. 

The officer, while he was in the house, said, he was content, but 
as soone as he came into the street, he cried, saying : Helpe, 
helpe, good neighbors, or else the Diuill will carry away my 
prisoner : notwithstanding, there was not one man would stirre to 
be the Catchpoles aide. Which when he saw, he tooke fast hold 
on Thomas Z)oue, and would not by any meanes let him goe. 

larret seeing this, made no more to doe, but comming to the 
Officer, gaue him such a fillop on the forehead with his finger, 



of Thomas of Reading. 249 

that he fell the poore Fleming to the ground : and while he lay in 
the streete stretching his heeles, larrat tooke Doue vnder his 
arme and carried him home, where he thought himselfe as safe, as 
King Charlemaine in mount Albon. 

The next morning larret conueyed Doue out of Towne, who 
afterward kept him in the countrey, and came no more in the 
Catchpoles clawes. 



How Duke Robert came a wooing to Margaret with the 
white hand, and how he appointed to come and steale 
her away from her Masters. CHAP. 10. J0 

THe beautifull Margaret, who had now dwelt with her Dame 
the space of foure yeares, was highly regarded and secretly 
beloued of many gallant and worthy Gentlemen of the countrey, 
but of two most especially, Duke Robert, and Sir William Ferris. 

It chanced on a time, that faire Margaret with many others of 
her Masters folkes, went a hay-making attired in a red stammell 
peticoate, and a broad strawne hatte vpon her head, she had also 
a hay-forke, and in her lappe shee did carry her breake-fast. As 
she went along, Duke Robert, with one or two of his Keepers, met 
with her, whose amiable sight did now anew re-inkindle the secret 20 
fire of loue, which long lay smothering in his heart. Wherefore 
meeting her so happily, he saluted her thus friendly. 

Faire maid, good morrow, are you walking so diligently to your 
labour ? Needes must the weather be faire, when the Sun shines 
so cleare, and the hay holesome that is dried with such splendant 
rayes. 

Renowned and most notable Duke (qd. she) poore haruest 
folkes pray for faire weather, and it is the laborers comfort to see 
his worke prosper, and the more happy may we count the day, 
that is blessed with your princely presence. 3 

But more happy (said the Duke) are they which are conuersant 
in thy company. But let me intreat thee to turne backe to thy 
Masters with me, and commit thy forke to some that are fitter for 
such toyle : trust me, methinkes thy dame is too much ill aduised, 
in setting thee to such homely busines. I muse thou canst indure 
this vile beseeming seruitude, whose delicate lims were neuer 
framed to proue such painfull experiments. 

Albeit (quoth she) it becommeth not me to controule your 
iudiciall thoughts, yet were you not the Duke, I would say, your 
opinion deceiued you : though your faire eyes seem cleare, yet 4 
I deemed them vnperfect, if they cast before your mind any 
shadow or sparke of beauty in me : But I rather thinke, because 
it hath beene an old saying, that women are proude to heare 
themselues praised, that you either speake this, to driue away the 



250 The pleasant History 

time, or to wring me from my too apparant imperfections. But 
I humbly intreate pardon, too longe haue I fore-slowed my 
businesse, and shewen myselfe ouer bold in your presence ; and 
therewith, with a courtly grace, bending her knees to the courteous 
Duke, shee went forward to the field, and the Duke to the Towne 
of GlocesUr. 

When he came thither, he made his Keepers great cheare, 
intreating them they would giue him respite to be awhile with old 
Gray ; for we twaine must haue a game or two (quoth he) : and for 
10 my safe returne, I gage to you my princely word, that as I am 
a true Knight and a Gentleman, I will returne safe to your charge 
againe. 

The Keepers being content, the Duke departed, and with old 
Gray goes to the field, to peruse the Workefolkes, where while 
Gray found himselfe busie in many matters, he took opportunity 
to talke with Margaret ; she who by his letters before was priuie 
to his purpose ; guest before hand the cause of his comming : to 
whom he spake to this effect : 

Faire Maide, I did long since manifest my loue to thee by my 
ao letter ; tell me therefore, were it not better to be a Dutches then 
drudge? a Lady of high reputation, then a seruant of simple 
degree ? with me thou mightest Hue in pleasure, where here thou 
drawest thy daies forth in paine ; by my loue thou shouldst be 
made a Lady of great treasures : where now thou art poore and 
beggarly : all manner of delights should then attend on thee, and 
whatsoeuer thy heart desireth, thou shouldst haue : wherefore 
seeing it lies in thy owne choice, make thy selfe happy, by con 
senting to my suite. 

Sir (quoth she) I confesse your loue deserues a Ladies fauour, 
30 your affection a faithfull friend, such a one as could make but one 
heart and minde of two hearts and bodies ; but farre vnfit it is that 
the Turtle should match with the Eagle, though her loue be neuer 
so pure, her wings are vnfit to mount so high. While Thales 
gazed on the starres, he stumbled in a pit. And they that clime 
vnaduisedly, catch a fall suddenly : what auaileth high dignitie in 
time of aduersity ? it neither helpeth the sorrow of the heart, nor 
remoues the bodies miserie : as for wealth and treasure, what are 
they, but fortunes baits to bring men in danger ? good for nothing 
but to make people forget themselues : and whereas you alleadge 
40 pouerty to be a hinderer of the hearts comfort, I find it my selfe 
contrary, knowing more surety to rest vnder a simple habite, then 
a royall robe : and verily there is none in the world, poore, but 
they that think themselues poore : for such as are indued with 
content, are rich, hauing nothing els, but he that is possessed with 
riches, without content, is most wretched and miserable. Where 
fore most Noble Duke, albeit I account my life vn worthy of your 
least fauour, yet I would desire you to match your loue to your 
like, and let me rest to my rake, and vse my forke for my liuing. 



of Thomas of Reading. 251 

Consider, faire Margaret (quoth he) that it lies not in mans 
power to place his loue where he list, being the worke of an high 
deity. A bird was neuer seen in Pontus, nor true loue in a 
fleeting mind : neuer shall I remoue the affection of my heart 
which in nature resembleth the stone Abiston, whose fire can 
neuer be cooled : wherefore sweet Maiden giue not obstinate 
deniall, where gentle acceptance ought to be receiued. 

Faire sir (quoth she) consider what high displeasure may rise 
by a rash match, what danger a Kings frownes may breed, my 
worthlesse matching with your Roialty, may perhaps regaine your 10 
libertie, and hazard my life ; then call to mind how little you 
should enioy your loue, or I my wedded Lord. 

The Duke at these words made this reply, that if she con 
sented, she should not dread any danger. The thunder (quoth 
he) is driuen away by ringing of belles, the Lions wrath qualified 
by a yeelding body : how much more a Brothers anger with a 
Brothers intreaty? By me he hath receiued many fauors, and 
neuer yet did he requite any one of them : and who is ignorant 
that the Princely Crown which adorneth his head, is my right? 
all which I am content he shall still enioy, so he requite my ao 
kindnesse. But if he should not, then would I be like those 
men (that eating of the tree Lutes) forget the country where they 
were borne, and neuer more should this clime couer my head, but 
with thee would I Hue in a strange land, being better content 
with an egge in thy company, then with all the delicates in 
England. 

The Maiden hearing this, who with many other wordes was 
long wooed, at last consented ; where yeelding to him her heart 
with her hand, he departed, appointing to certifie her from 
Cardiffe Castle, what determination he would follow : so taking 30 
his leaue of Gray he went to his keepers, and with them posted 
to Cardiffe. 

Now it is to be remembred, that sir William Ferrers within a 
day or two after came vnto Grayes house, as it was his ordinary 
custome, but not so much ywis for Grayes company, as for the 
minde he had to Margaret his Maide, who although he were a 
married man, and had a faire Lady to his wife, yet he laid hard 
siege to the fort of this Maidens chastity, hauing with many faire 
words sought to allure her, and by the offer of sundry rich gifts 
to tempt her. But when she saw, that by a hundred denials she 40 
could not be rid of him, she now chanced on a sudden to giue 
him such an answere, as droue him from a deceit into such a 
conceit, as neuer after that time he troubled her. 

Sir William Ferrers being very importunate to haue her grant 

his desire, and when after sundry assaults she gaue him still the: 

repulse, he would needes know the reason why she would not 

loue him (quoth he) if thou didst but consider who he is that 

31. keepers] brothers i6ja, 162? '.:.' 



252 The pleasant History 

seeketh thy fauour, what pleasure he may doe thee by his purse, 
& what credit by his countenance, thou wouldst neuer stand 
on such nice points. If I be thy friend, who dareth be thy foe ? 
and what is he that will once call thy name in question for any 
thing? therefore sweet girle, be better aduised, and refuse not 
my offer being so large. 

Truly sir William (quoth she) though there be many reasons 
to make me deny your suite, yet is there one aboue the rest that 
causes me I cannot loue you. 

10 Now I pray thee, my wench let me know that (quoth he) and 1 
will amend it whatsoeuer it be. 

Pardon me sir (said Margaret} if I should speake my mind, it 
would possibly offend you, and do me no pleasure because it is 
a defect in nature, which no phisicke can cure. 

Sir William hearing on her so, being abashed at her speech, 
said, Faire Margaret, let me (if I may obtaine no more at thy 
hands) yet intreat thee to know what this defect should be, I am 
not wry-neckt, crook-legd, stub-footed, lame-handed, nor bleare- 
eyed : what can make this dislike ? I neuer knew any body that 
ao tooke exceptions at my person before. 

And the more sorry am I (quoth she) that I was so malapert to 
speake it, but pardon my presumption, good sir William, I would 
I had beene like the storke tonguelesse, then should I neuer haue 
caused your disquiet. 

Nay sweet Margaret (quoth he) tell me deare loue, I commend 
thy singlenesse of heart, good Margaret speake. 

Good sir William let it rest (quoth she) I know you will not 
beleeue it when I haue reuealed it, neither is it a thing that you 
can helpe : and yet such is my foolishnesse, had it not beene for 
30 that, I thinke verily I had granted your suite ere now. But 
seeing you vrge me so much to know what it is, I will tell you : 
it is sir, your ill-fauoured great nose, that hangs sagging so loth 
somely to your lips, that I cannot find in my heart so much 
as to kisse you. 

What, my nose (quoth he) ? is my nose so great and I neuer 
knew it? certainly I thought my nose to be as comely as any 
mans : but this it is we are all apt to think well of our selues, 
and a great deale better then we ought : but let me see ? my 
nose ! by the masse tis true, I do now feele it my selfe : Good 
40 Lord, how was I blinded before ? 

Hereupon it is certaine, that the Knight was driuen into such 
a conceit, as none could perswade him but his nose was so great 
indeed ; his Lady, or any other that spake to the contrarie, he 
would say they were flatterers, and that they lied, insomuch 
that he would be ready to strike some of them that commended 
and spake well of his nose. If they were men of worship, or any 
other that contraried him in his opinion, he would sweare they 
flowted him, and be ready to challenge them the field. He 



of Thomas of Reading. 253 

became so ashamed of himselfe, that after that day he would 
neuer goe abroad, whereby Margaret was well rid of his 
company. 

On a time, a wise and graue gentleman seeing him grounded 
in his conceit so strongly, gaue his Lady counsell, not to con 
trary him therein, but rather say that she would seeke out some 
cunning Phisitian to cure him : for (said he) as sir William hath 
taken this conceit of himselfe, so is he like neuer to heare other 
opinion, till his owne conceit doth remoue it, the which must be 
wisely wrought to bring it to passe. 10 

Whereupon the Lady hauing conferred with a Phisitian that 
beare a great name in the countrey, hee vndertooke to remoue 
this fond conceit by his skill. The day being appointed when 
the Phisitian should come, and the Knight beeing told thereof, 
for very ioy he would goe forth to meete him, when a woman 
of the Towne saw the Knight, hauing heard what rumor went 
because of his nose, shee looked very stedfastly vpon him : the 
Knight casting his eye vpon her, seeing her to gaze so wistly in 
his face, with an angry countenance, said thus to her, Why how 
now good huswife, cannot you get you about your busines ? 20 

The woman being a shrewish queane, answered him cuttedly, 
No mary can I not (qd. she). 

No, you drab ! What is the cause (said the Knight) ? 

Because (quoth she) your nose stands in my way : wherewitn 
the Knight being very angry, and abashed, went backe againe to 
his house. 

The Phisitian being come, hee had filled a certaine bladder 
with sheepes blood, and conueyed it into his sleeue, where at 
the issue of the bladder he had put in a piece of swane 
quil, through the which the bloud should runne out of the 30 
bladder so close by his hand, that he holding the Knight by the 
nose, it might not be perceiued, but that it issued thence. All 
things -being prepared, he told the knight, that by a foule corrupt 
blood wherewith the veines of his nose were ouercharged, his 
impediment did grow, therefore (quoth he) to haue redresse for 
this disease, you must haue a veine opened in your nose, whence 
this foule corruption must be taken : whereupon it will follow, 
that your nose will fall againe to his naturall proportion, and 
neuer shall you be troubled with this griefe any more, and 
thereupon will I gage my life. 4 

I pray you Master Doctor (said the Knight) is my nose so big 
as you make it ? 

With reuerence I may speake it (said the Physitian) to tell the 
truth, and auoid flattery, I neuer saw a more misshapen nose so 
foule to sight. 

Loe you now Madam (quoth the Knight) this is you that said 
my nose was as well, as hansome, and as comely a nose as 
any mans. 



254 *?he pleasant History 

Alas sir (qd. she) I spake it (God wot) because you should 
not grieue at it, nor take my words in ill part, neither did it 
indeed become me to mislike of your nose. 

All this we will quickly remedy, said the Phisitian, haue no 
doubt : and with that, he very orderly prickt him in the nose, 
but not in any veine whereby he might bleed : and presently 
hauing a tricke finely to vnstop the quill, the blood ranne into 
a bason in great abundance : and when the bladder was empty, 
and the bason almost full, the Phisitian seemed to close the 
i o veine, and asked him how he felt his nose, shewing the great 
quantite of filthy blood which from thence he had taken. 

The Knight beholding it with great wonder, said, he thought 
that no man in the world had bin troubled with such abund 
ance of corrupt bloud in his whole bodie, as lay in his mis-shapen 
nose, and therewithall he began to touch and handle his nose, 
saying that he felt it mightily asswaged. Immediately a glasse 
was brought wherein he might behold himselfe. 

Yea mary (qd. he) now I praise God, I see my nose is come into 
some reasonable proportion, and I feele my selfe very well eased 
ao of the burthen thereof; but if it continue thus, thats all. 

I will warrant your worship (said the Phisitian) for euer being 
troubled with the like againe. 

Whereupon the Knight receiued great ioy, and the Doctor a 
high reward. 



How Thomas of Reading was murdered at his Hosts 
house of Colebrooke, who also had murdred many 
before him, and how their wickednesse was at length 
reuealed. CHAP. n. 

THomas of Reading hauing many occasions to come to 
London, aswell about his own affairs, as also the Kings 
businesse, being in a great office vnder his Maiestie, it chanced on 
a time, that his Host and Hostesse of Colebrooke, who through 
couetousnes had murdered many of the guests, and hauing every 
time he came thither great store of his mony to lay vp, appointed 
. him to be the next fat pig that should be killed : For it is to 
be vnderstood, that when they plotted the murder of any man, 
this was alwaies their terme, the man to his wife, and the woman 
to her husband : wife, there is now a fat pig to be had, if you 
want one. 

40 Whereupon she would answer thus, I pray you put him in the 
hogstie till to-morrow. 

This was, when any man came thither alone without others in 
his company, and they saw he had great store of money. 



of Thomas of Reading. 255 

This man should be then laid in the chamber right ouer the 
kitchin, which was a faire chamber, and better set out then 
any other in the house : the best bedstead therein, though it 
were little and low, yet was it most cunningly carued, and faire, 
to the eye, the feet whereof were fast naild to the chamber floore, 
in such sort, that it could not in any wise fall, the bed that lay 
therein was fast sowed to the sides of the bedstead : Moreouer, 
that part of the chamber whereupon this bed and bedsteed 
stood, was made in such sort, that by the pulling out of two 
yron pinnes below in the kitchin, it was to be let downe and ro 
taken vp by a draw bridge, or in manner of a trap doore : 
moreouer in the kitchin, directly vnder the place where this 
should fall, was a mighty great caldron, wherein they vsed to 
seethe their liquor when they went to brewing. Now, the men 
appointed for the slaughter, were laid into this bed, and in the 
dead time of the night, when they were sound a sleepe, by plucking 
out the foresaid yron pinnes, downe would the man fall out of 
his bed into the boyling caldron, and all the cloaths that were 
vpon him : where being suddenly scalded and drowned, he was 
neuer able to cry or speake one word. 20 

Then had they a little ladder euer standing ready in the kitchin, 
by the which they presently mounted into the said chamber, and 
there closely take away the mans apparell, as also his money, 
in his male or capcase : and then lifting vp the said falling 
floore which hung by hinges, they made it fast as before. 

The dead body would they take presently out of the caldron 
and throw it downe the riuer, which ran neere vnto their house, 
whereby they escaped all danger. 

Now if in the morning any of the rest of the guests that had 
talkt with the murdered man ore eue, chanst to aske for him, as 3 
hauing occasion to ride the same way that he should haue done, 
the goodman would answere, that he tooke horse a good while 
before day, and that he himselfe did set him forward : the horse 
the goodman would also take out of the stable, & conuay 
him by a hay-barne of his, that stood from his house a mile 
or two, whereof himselfe did alwaies keepe the keies full charily, 
and when any hay was to be brought from thence, with his 
owne hands he would deliuer it; then before the horse should 
goe from thence, he would dismarke him : as if he ware a long 
taile, he would make him curtail ; or else crop his eares, or 40 
cut his mane, or put out one of his eies ; and by this meanes 
he kept himselfe vnknowne. 

Now Thomas of Reading^ as I said before, being markt, & kept 
for a fat pig, he was laid in the same chamber of death, but by 
reason Gray of Gloucester chanced also to come that night, he 
escaped scalding. 

The next time he came, he was laid there againe, but before he 
fell aslepe, or was warme in his bed, one came riding thorow the 



256 The pleasant History 

towne and cried piteously, that London was all on a fire, and that it 
had burned downe Thomas Beckets house in West cheape, and 
a great number more in the same street, and yet (quoth he) the 
fire is not quencht. 

Which tidings when Thomas of Reading heard, he was very 
sorrowfull, for of the same Becket that day he had receiued a great 
peece of money, and had left in his house many of his writings, 
and some that appertained to the King also : therfore there was 
no nay but he would ride backe againe to London presently, to see 

10 how the matter stood ; thereupon making himselfe ready, departed 
This crosse fortune caused his hoast to frowne, neuertheless the 
next time (qd. he) will pay for all. 

Notwithstanding God so wrought, that they were preuented the 
likewise, by reason of a great fray that hapned in the house 
betwixt a couple that fell out at dice, insomuch as the murderers 
themselues were inforced to cal him vp, being a man in great 
authority, that he might set the house in quietnes, out of the 
which by meanes of this quarrell, they doubted to lose many 
things. 

jo Another time when he should haue beene laid in the same 
place he fell so sicke, that he requested to haue some body to 
watch with him, whereby also they could not bring their vile 
purpose to passe. But hard it is to escape the ill fortunes wher- 
vnto a man is allotted : for albeit that the next time that he came 
to London, his horse stumbled and broke one of his legges as he 
should ride homeward, yet hired he another to hasten his owne 
death ; for there is no remedy but he should goe to Colbrookc that 
night : but by the way he was heauy asleepe, that he could scant 
keepe himselfe in the saddle ; and when he came neere vnto the 

30 Towne, his nose burst out suddenly a bleeding. 

Well, to his Inne he came, and so heauy was his heart that he 
could eate no meat : his host and hostesse hearing he was so 
melancholy, came vp to cheare him, saying, lesus Master Cole, 
what ayles you to night ? neuer did we see you thus sad before : 
will it please you to haue a quart of burnt sacke ? 

With a good will (quoth he) and would to God Tom Doug were 
here, hee would surely make me merry, and we should lacke no 
musicke : but I am sorry for the man with all my heart, that he is 
come so farre behind hand : but alasse, so much can euery man 

40 say, but what good doth it him ? No no, it is not words can 
helpe a man in this case, the man had need of other reliefe then 
so. Let me see : I haue but one child in the world and that is 
my daughter, and halfe that I haue is hers, the other halfe my 
wifes. What then ? shall I be good to no body but them ? In 
conscience, my wealth is too much for a cupple to possesse, and 
what is our Religion without charity? And to whom is charity 
more to be shewen, then to decayed housholders ? 

Good my hoast lend me a pen and inke, and some paper, for 



of Thomas of Reading. 257 

I will write a letter vnto the poore man straight ; and something 
I will giue him : That almes which a man bestowes with his 
owne hands, he shal be sure to haue deliuered, and God knowes 
how long I shall Hue. 

With that, his hostesse dissemblingly answered, saying : Doubt 
not, Master Cole, you are like enough by the course of nature to 
Hue many yeares. 

God knowes (quoth he) I neuer found my heart so heauy 
before. 

By this time pen, inke, and paper was brought, setting himselfe 10 
in writing as followeth. 

TN the name of God, Amen, I bequeath my soule to God, and my 
-* body to the ground, my goods equally betweene my ivife Elenor, 
and Isabel, my daughter. Item I giue to Thomas Doue of Exeter 
one hundred pounds, nay that is too little, I giue to Thomas Doue 
two hundred pounds in money, to be paid vnto him presently vpon his 
demand thereof by my said wife and daughter, 

Ha, how say you hoast (qd. he) is not this well? I pray you 
reade it. 

His hoast looking thereon, said, why Master Cole, what haue 20 
you written here ? you said you would write a letter, but me thinks 
you haue made a Will, what neede haue you to doe thus ? thanks 
be to God, you may Hue many faire yeares. 

Tis true (quoth Cole) if it please God, and I trust this writing 
cannot shorten my daies, but let me see, haue I made a Will? 
Now, I promise you, I did verily purpose to write a letter : not 
withstanding, I haue written that that God put into my mind : 
but looke once againe my host, is it not written there, that Doue 
shall haue two hundred pounds, to be paid when he comes to 
demand it ? 3 

Yes indeed (said his hoste). 

Well then, all is well (said Cole) and it shall go as it is for me. 
I will not bestow the new writing thereof any more. 

Then folding it vp, he sealed it, desiring that his host would 
send it to Exceter: he promised that he would, notwithstanding 
Cole was not satisfied : but after some pause, he would needs hire 
one to carry it. And so sitting downe sadly in his chaire againe, 
vpon a sudden he burst forth a weeping; they demanding the 
cause thereof, he spake as followeth : 

No cause of these feares I know : but it comes now into my 43 
minde (said Cole) when I set toward this my last iourney to 
London, how my daughter tooke on, what a coyle she kept to 
haue me stay : and I could not be rid of the little baggage a long 
time, she did so hang about me, when her mother by violence 
tooke her away, she cryed out most mainly, O my father, my 
father, I shall neuer see him againe. 

Alas, pretty soule (said his hoastesse) this was but meer kind- 

917.6 s 



258 The pleasant History 

nesse in the girle, and it seemeth she is very fond of you. But 
alasse, why should you grieue at this ? you must consider that it 
was but childishnes. 

I, it is indeed (said Cole) and with that he began to nod. 

Then they asked him if he would go to bed. 

No (said he) although I am heauy, I haue no mind to go to bed 
at all. 

With that certaine musitians of the towne came to the chamber, 
and knowing Master Cole was there, drue out their instruments, 
10 and very solemnly began to play. 

This musicke comes very well (said Cole) and when he had 
listned a while thereunto, he said, Methinks these instruments 
sound like the ring of S. Mary Queries belles, but the base 
drownes all the rest : and in my eare it goes like a bell that rings 
a forenoones knell, for Gods sake let them leaue off, and beare 
them this simple reward. 

The musitians being gone, his hoste asked if now it would 
please him to go to bed ; for (quoth he) it is welneare eleuen of 
the clocke. 

20 With that Cole beholding his host and hostesse earnestly, began 
to start backe, saying, what aile you to looke so like pale death ? 
good Lord, what haue you done, that your hands are thus bloody? 

What my hands (said his host) ? Why, you may see they are 
neither bloudy nor foule : either your eies doe greatly dazell, or 
else fancies of a troubled minde do delude you. 

Alas my hoste, you may see (said he) how weake my wits are, 
I neuer had my head so idle before. Come, let me drinke once 
more, and then I will to bed, and trouble you no longer. 

With that he made himselfe vnready, and his hostesse was very 
30 diligent to warme a kerchiffe, and put it about his head. 

Good Lord (said he) I am not sicke, I praise God, but such an 
alteration I find in my selfe as I neuer did before. 

With that the scritch owle cried piteously, and anone after the 
night rauen sate croking hard by his window. 

lesu haue mercy vpon me (quoth hee) what an ill fauoured cry 
doe yonder carrion birds make, and therewithall he laid him 
downe in his bed, from whence he neuer rose againe. 

His host and hostesse, that all this while noted his troubled 

mind, began to commune betwixt themselues thereof. And the 

40 man said, he knew not what were best to be done. By my 

consent (quoth he) the matter should passe, for I thinke it is 

not best to meddle on him. 

What man (quoth she) faint you now ? haue you done so many 
and doe you shrinke at this ? Then shewing him a great deale of 
gold which Cole had left with her, she said, Would it not grieue 
a bodies heart to lose this ? hang the old churle, what should he 
doe liuing any longer ? he hath too much, and we haue too little : 
tut husband, let the thing be done, and then this is our owne. 



of Thomas of Reading. 259 

Her wicked counsell was followed, and when they had listned 
at his chamber doore, they heard the man sound asleepe : All 
is safe (quoth they) and downe into the kitchin they goe, their 
seruants being all in bedde, and pulling out the yron pins, downe 
fell the bed, and the man dropt out into the boyling caldron. 
He being dead, they betwixt them cast his body into the riuer, 
his clothes they made away, and made all things as it should be : 
but when he came to the stable to conuey thence Coles horse, 
the stable doore being open, the horse had got loose, and with a 
part of the halter about his necke, and straw trusted vnder his 10 
belly, as the ostlers had dressed him ore eue, he was gone out 
at the backe side, which led into a great field adioyning to the 
house, and so leaping diuers hedges, being a lustie stout horse, 
had got into a ground where a mare was grasing, with whom he 
kept such a coile, that they got into the high way, where one of 
the Towne meeting them, knew the mare, and brought her and 
the horse to the man that owd her. 

In the meane space, the Musicians had beene at the Inne, 
and in requitall of their euenings gift, they intended to giue Cole 
some musicke in the morning. The goodman told them he 20 
tooke horse before day : likewise there was a guest in the house 
that would haue bore him company to Reading, vnto whom the 
hoste also answered, that he himselfe set him vpon horsebacke, 
and that he went long agoe. Anone came the man that owed 
the mare, inquiring vp and downe, to know and if none of them 
missed a horse, who said no. At the last hee came to the signe 
of the Crane where Cole lay : and calling the hostlers he 
demanded of them if they lackt none, they said no : 

Why then (said the man) I perceiue my mare is good for some 
thing, for if I send her to field single, she will come home double : 30 
thus it passed on all that day and the night following. 

But the next day after, Coles wife musing that her husband 
came not home, sent one of her men on horse-backe, to see if he 
could meete him : and if (quoth she) you meet him not betwixt 
this and Colebrooke, aske for him at the Crane, but if you find 
him not there, then ride to London ; for I doubt he is either sicke, 
or else some mischance hath fallen vnto him. 

The fellow did so, and asking for him at Colebrooke, they 
answered, he went homeward from thence such a day. The 
seruant musing what should be become of his Master, and 4 
making much inquiry in the Towne for him : at length one told 
him of a horse that was found on the high way, and no man 
knew whence he came. He going to see the horse, knew him 
presently, and to the Crane he goes with him. The hoast of 
the house perceiuing this, was blancke, and that night fled 
secretly away. The fellow going vnto the Justice desired his 
helpe : presently after word was brought that larman of the Crane 
was gone, then all the men said, he had sure made Cole away : and 

s 2 



260 The pleasant History 

the musitians told what larman said to them, when they would 
haue giuen Cole musicke. Then the woman being apprehended 
& examined, confessed the truth. larman soone after was taken 
in Windsor Forest. He and his wife were both hangd, after 
they had laid open al these things before expressed. Also he 
confessed, that he being a Carpenter made that false falling 
floore, and how his wife deuised it. And how they had 
murdered by that means Ix. persons. And yet notwithstanding 
all the money which they had gotten thereby, they prospered not, 

10 but at their death were found in debt. 

When the King heard of this murder, he was for the space of 
vii daies so sorrowfull and heauie, as he would not heare any 
sute, giuing also commandement, that the house should quite 
be consumed with fire, wherein Cole was murdred, and that no 
man should euer build vpon that cursed ground. 

Coles substance at his death was exceeding great, hee had 
daily in his house an hundred men seruants and xl. Maids ; he 
maintained beside aboue two or three hundred people, spinners 
and carders, and a great many other housholders. His Wife 

20 after neuer married, and at her death shee bestowed a mightie 
summe of money toward the maintaining of the new builded 
monastery. Her daughter was most richly married to a Gentle 
man of great worship, by whom she had many Children. And 
some say, that the riuer whereinto Cole was cast, did euer since 
carry the name of Cole, being called The riuer of Cole, and the 
Towne of Colebrooke. 

How diuers of the Clothiers wiues went to the 
Churching of Buttons wife of Salisbury, and of their 
meriment. CHAP. 12. 

30 O Vttons wife of Salisbury which had lately bin deliuered of a 
^ sonne, against her going to Church, prepared great cheare : at 
_what time Simons wife of South-hampton came thither, and so did 
diuers others of the Clothiers wiues, onely to make merry at this 
Churching feast : and whilest these Dames sat at the Table, 
Crab, Weasell, and Wren, waited on the boord, and as the old 
Prouerbe speaketh, Many women many words, so fell it out at 
that time : for there was such pratling that it passed : some 
talkt of their husbands frowardnes, some shewed their Maids 
sluttishnes, othersome deciphered the costlines of their gar- 

40 ments, some told many tales of their neighbors : and to be 
briefe, there was none of them but would haue talke for a 
whole day, 

But when Crab, Weasell, and Wren saw this, they concluded 
betwixt themselues, that as oft as any of the women had a good 
bit of meate one their trenchers, they offering a cleane one, should 



of Thomas of Reading. 261 

catch that commodity, and so they did : but the women being 
busie in talke, marked it not, till at the last one found leisure to 
misse her meat : whereupon she said, that their boldnes exceeded 
their diligence. 

Not so, forsooth (said Weaselt] there is an hundred bolder 
than wee. 

Name me one (said the woman) if you can. 

A flea is bolder (quoth Crabbe). 

How will you proue that (said the woman) ? 

Because (quoth he) they creepe vnder your coates, where we 10 
dare not come, and now & then bite you by the buttocks as if 
they were brawne. 

But what becomes of them (qd. the woman) ? their sweet meat 
hath sowre sauce, and their lustines doth often cost them their 
Hues, therefore take heed. 

A good warning of a faire woman (said Wren) but I had not 
thought so fine a wit in a fat belly. 

The women seeing their men so merry, said it was a signe there 
was good ale in the house. 

Thats as fit for a Churching (quoth Weasell) as a cudgell for a 20 
curst queane. 

Thus with pleasant communication and merry quips they droue 
out the time, till the fruit and spice cakes were set on the boord : 
At what time one of them began to aske the other, if they heard 
not of the cruell murder of Thomas of Reading^ 

What (said the rest) is old Cole murdered ? when, I pray you 
was the deede done ? 

The other answered, on Friday last. 

O good Lord (said the women) how was it done, can you tell ? 

As report goes (said the other) he was rested aliue. 30 

O pitifull ! was he roasted ? Indeed I heard one say, a man was 
murdred at London^ and that he was sodden at an Inholders 
house, and serued it to the guests in stead of porke. 

No neighbor, it was not at London (said another); I heare 
say twas comming from London^ at a place called Colebrooke, 
and it is reported for truth, that the Inholder made pies of him, 
and penny pasties, yea, and made his owne seruant eate a piece 
of him. But I pray you good neighbour, can you tell how it 
was knowne : some say, that a horse reuealed it. 

Now by the masse (quoth Grayes wife) it was told one of 40 
my neighbours, that a certaine horse did speake, and told great 
things. 

That sounds like a lie (said one of them). 

Why (said another) may not a horse speake, as well as 
Balaams asse? 

It may be, but it is vnlikely (said the third). But where was the 
horse when he spake ? 

As some say (qd. she) he was in the field, and had broke out 



262 The pleasant History 

of the stable, where he stood fast locked in mighty strong iron 
fetters, which he burst in peeces, as they had beene strawes, and 
broke downe the stable doore, and so got away. 

The good man comming in at these speeches, asked what that 
was they talkt of. 

Marry (said his wife) wee heare that Cole of Reading is murdred : 
I pray you is it true ? 

I (said Sutton) it is true, that vile villaine his hoast murdered 
him, in whose house the man had spent many a pound. 
10 But did they make pies of him (said his wife) ; 

No, no (quoth her husband) : he was scalded to death in a 
boyling caldron, and afterward throwne into a running riuer that 
is hard by. 

But good husband, how was it knowne ? 

By his horse (quoth hee). 

What, did he tell his Master was murthered ? could the horse 
speake English ? 

lesus what a foolish woman are you (quoth he) to aske such 
a question ? But to end this, you are all heartily welcome, good 
20 neighbors, and I am sorry you had no better cheere. 

So with thanks the women departed. 

Thus haue ye heard the diuers tales that will be spred abroad 
of an euil deed. 

How Duke Robert deceiued his keepers, and got from 
them: how he met faire Margaret, and in carrying 
her away was taken, for the which he had his eies 
put out. CHAP. 13. 

DVke Robert, hauing, as you heard, obtained the loue of faire 
Margaret, did now cast in his minde, how hee might delude 
30 his Keepers, and carry her quite away. In the end he being 
absolutely resolued what to doe, sent this letter vnto her, wherein 
he requested, that she would be ready to meet him in the forrest, 
betwixt Cardiffe and Gloucester. 

The young Lady hauing secretly receiued his message, vnknown 
to her Master or dame, in a morning betime made her ready 
and got forth, walking to the appointed place, where her Loue 
should meete her. 

During her aboade there, and thinking long ere her loue came, 
she entred into diuers passions, which indeed presayged some 
40 disaster fortune to follow. 

O my deare loue, said shee, how slacke art thou in performing 
thy promise ! why doe not thy deedes agree with thy inditing ? 
see these are thy wordes, Come, my deare Margaret^ and with 
Cupids swift wings flie to thy friend, be now as nimble in thy 
footing, as the Camels of Bactria, that runne an hundred miles 



of Thomas of Reading. 263 

a day, I will waite and stay for thee, so I stay not too long. There 
is no Country like Austria for ambling horses, & to carry thee I 
haue got one. 

O my Loue (quoth she) here am I, but where art thou? 
O why doest thou play the trewant with time, who like the wind 
slides away vnseene? An ambling gennet of Spaine is too 
slow to serue our turnes. A flying horse, for flying Louers 
were most meete. And thus casting many lookes through the 
Siluane shades, vp and downe to espie him, she thought euery 
minute an houre, till she might see him, sometimes she would 10 
wish her selfe a bird, that she might flie through the ayre to 
meete him, or a pretty squirill to clime the highest tree to descry 
his comming : but finding her wishes vaine, she began thus to 
excuse him and perswaded herselfe, saying. 

How much too blame am I, to finde fault with my friend? 
Alasse, men that lacke their liberty, must come when they can, 
not when they would, poore prisoners cannot doe what they 
desire, and then why should I be so hastie? Therefore if 
safely I may lay me down I will beguile vnquiet thoughts with 
quiet sleepe : it is said that Galino breeds no Serpents, nor 20 
doth Englands forrests nourish Beares or Lyons, therefore 
without hurt I hope I may rest awile. Thus leauing faire 
Margaret in a sweet slumber, we will returne to Duke Robert^ 
who had thus plotted his escape from his keepers. 

Hauing liberty of the King to hawke and hunt, hee determined 
on a day, as he should follow the chase, to leaue the hounds to 
the Hart, and the hunters to their homes, and being busie in their 
sport, himselfe would flie, which he performed at that time when 
he appointed Margaret to meete him, and so comming to the place, 
his horse all on a water, and himself in a sweat, finding his loue 3 
asleepe, he awaked her with a kisse, saying, Arise faire Margaret^ 
now comes the time wherein thou shalt be made a Queene : and 
presently setting her on horsebacke he posted away. 

Now when the keepers saw they had lost his company, and that 
at the killing of the game, he was not present, they were among 
themselues in such a mutinie, that they were ready one to stabbe 
another. 

It was thy fault (said one) that he thus escapt from vs, that 
hadst more mind of thy pleasure, then of thy prisoner, and by this 
meanes we are all vndone. 4 

The other said as much to him, that he had thought he had 
followed him in the chase : but leauing at last this contention, the 
one posted vp to the King, while the others coasted vp and downe 
the country to search for the Duke, who hauing kild his horse in 
trauelling, was most vnhappily mette on foot with faire Margaret^ 
ere he could come to any towne, where he might for money haue 
another. But when he spied his Keepers come to take him, he 
desired Margaret to make shift for herselfe, and to seeke to 



264 The pleasant History 

escape them. But she being of a contrary mind, said, she would 
liue and die with him. 

The Duke seeing himselfe ready to be surprised, drew out his 
sword, and said, he would buy his liberty with his life, before he 
would yeeld to be any more a prisoner; and thereupon began 
a great fight betwixt them, insomuch that the duke had killed two 
of them : but himselfe being sore wounded, and faint with ouer- 
much bleeding, at length fell downe, being not able any longer to 
stand : and by this means the good Duke was taken with his faire 
10 loue, & both of them committed to prison. 

But in the meane space, when Grayes wife had missed her 
Maide, and saw she was quite gone, she made great lamentation 
for her among her neighbors, for she loued her as dearly as any 
child that euer she bore of her owne body. O Margaret (quoth 
she) what cause hadst thou thus to leaue me ? if thou didst mis- 
like of any thing, why didst thou not tell me ? If thy wages were 
too little, I would haue mended it : If thy apparell had beene 
too simple, thou shouldst haue had better : If thy worke had bin 
too great, I would haue had helpe for thee. 

20 Farewell my sweet Meg, the best seruant that euer came in any 
mans hause, many may I haue of thy name, but neuer any of thy 
nature, thy diligence is much, in thy hands I laid the whole 
gouernment of my house, and thereby eased my selfe of that care, 
which now will cumber me. 

Heere she hath left me my keyes vnto my chests, but my 
comfort is gone with her presence, euery gentle word that she 
was wont to speake, comes now into my mind, her courteous 
behauiour shall I neuer forget : with how sweet and modest a 
countenance would she qualifie my ouer-hastie nature ? It repents 
30 my heart that euer I spoke foule word vnto her. O Meg, wert 
thou here againe, I would neuer chide thee more : but I was an 
vnworthy Dame for such a seruant : what will become of me now, 
if I should chance to be sicke, seeing shee is gone, that was wont 
to be both my Apoticary and Phisitian ? 

Well (quoth her neighbors) there is no remedy now, but to rest 
content, you shall one day heare of her doubt you not, and thinke 
this, that she was not so good, but you may get another as good, 
and therefore do not take it so heauily. 

O neighbour, blame me not to grieue, seeing I haue lost so 
40 great a iewell, and sure I am perswaded, that scant in a bodies 
life time, they shall meete with the like. I protest, I would 
circuit England round about on my bare feete to meete with her 
againe. O, my Meg was surely stole away from me, else would 
she not haue gone in such sort. 

Her husband on the other side grieued as much, & rested not 
night nor day riding vp and downe to seeke her ; but she, poore 
soule, is fast lockt vp in prison, and therefore cannot be met 
withall. 



of Thomas of Reading. 265 

But when the King vnderstood of his brothers escape, hee was 
maruelous wroth, giuing great charge and commandement when 
he was taken, that both his eies should be put out and be kept in 
prison till his dying day; appointing also that the Maid should 
lose her life for presumption of louing him. 

This matter being rumored ouer all England^ it came to the 
eares of Gray and his wife, who hearing that Margaret also was 
there in prison appointed to die, the good aged woman neuer 
rested till she came to the Court, where kneeling before the King 
with many teares she besought his Maiestie to spare the Maidens 10 
life, saying, Most royall King consider, I humbly beseech you, 
that the Duke your brother was able to intice any woman to 
his loue : much more a silly Maiden, especially promising her 
marriage, to make her a Lady, a Dutchesse, or a Queene, who 
would refuse such an offer, when at the instant they might get 
both a Princely husband and a high dignity ? if death be a Louers 
guerdon, then what is due to hatred? I am in my heart per- 
swaded, that had my poore Margaret thought it would haue bred 
your Highnes displeasure, she would neuer haue bought his loue 
so dear. Had your Grace made it knowen to your Commons, 20 
that it was vnlawfull for any to marry the Duke your brother, who 
would haue attempted such an action? if she had wilfully dis 
obeyed your Graces commandement, she might haue bin thought 
worthy of death ; but seeing ignorantly she offended, I beseech 
your Grace to recall the sentence, and let me still enioy my 
seruant, for neuer will I rise, till your Maiestie haue granted my 
petition. 

His Highnes, who was of nature mercifull, beholding the 
womans abundant teares, tooke pitie on her, and granted her 
suite : which being obtained, shee went home in all haste pos- 3 
sible. And from thence, she with her husband taking their 
iourny to Cardiffe castle, they came at that very instant when the 
Maiden was led toward her death, who went in most ioyfull sort 
to the same, saying, that they were not worthie to be accounted 
true louers, that were not willing to die for loue : and so with 
a smiling countenance she passed on, as if she had eaten Apium 
RisuS) which causeth a man to die laughing : but her dame Gray 
seeing her, fell about her necke, and with many kisses imbraced 
her, saying, Thou shalt not die my wench, but goe home with me ; 
and for thy deliuery, behold here the Kings letters ; and with that 4 
she deliuered them vp to the gouernour of the Castle : who 
reading them found these words written : Wee pardon the maids 
life, and grant her libertie, but let her not passe, till she see her 
louers eies put out, which we wil haue you do in such sort, that 
not onely the sight may perish, but the eie continue faire, for 
which cause I haue sent downe Doctor Piero, that he may execute 
the same. 

The gouernour of the Castle hauing read the Kings letter, said 



266 The pleasant History 

thus to the Maiden : The Kings Maiesty hath pardoned thy life, 
and allowed thy libertie : but you must not passe before you see 
your Ipuers eies put out. 

O sir (said the Maiden) mistake not your selfe, they are my eies 
that must be put out, and not the Dukes : as his offence grew by 
my meanes, so I being guiltie, ought to receiue the punishment. 

The Kings commandement must be fulfilled, said the gouer- 
nour : and therewithall D. Robert was brought forth, who hearing 
that he must lose his eies, said thus : the Noble mind is neuer 
ro conquered by griefe, nor ouercome by mischance : but as the 
Hart reneweth his age by eating the serpent, so doth a man 
lengthen his life with deuouring sorrow : my eies haue offended 
the King, and they must be punished, my heart is in as great 
fault, why is not that killed ? 

The Kings Maiesty (said the Gouernour) spares your life of mere 
loue, and onely is content to satisfie the Law with the losse of 
your eies, wherefore take in good part this punishment, and thinke 
you haue deserued greater then is granted. 

With this Margaret cryed out, saying, O my deare loue, most 
20 gentle Prince, well may you wish that I had neuer bin borne, who 
by seeing of me must lose your sight ; but happie should I count 
my selfe, if it so please the King, that I might redeeme thy eies 
with my life : or else, that being an equall offender, I might 
receiue equall punishment : hadst thou sustained this smart for 
some queene or princesse of high blood, it might with the more 
ease be borne, but to indure it for such a one as I, it must needs 
cause a treble griefe to be increased 

Content thee faire Margaret (said the Duke) : for honor ought 
to be giuen to vertue, and not riches : for glory, honor, nobility, 
30 and riches without vertue, are but clokes of maliciousnes. And 
now let me take my leaue of thy beauty, for neuer must I behold 
thy face : notwithstanding I account my eies well lost, in that, I 
do forgoe them for so peerelesse a paragon. Now faire heauens 
farewell, the Sunne, Moone, and Starres shall I in this world 
neuer behold againe ; and farewell also the fruitfull earth ; well 
may I feele thee, but those poore windowes of my body are now 
denied to view thee any more : and though the world hath euer 
bin my foe, yet will I bid it farewell too, and farewell all my 
friends, whiles I live heare in this world, I must suppose to sleepe, 
40 & wake when I come in heauen, where I hope to see you all 
againe. Yet had it pleased the King, I had rather haue lost my 
life then my eies. Life, why, what is it but a floure, a bubble in 
the water, a spanne long, and full of miserie : of such small 
account is life, that euery Souldier will sell it for sixe pence. And 
trust me I doe now detest life, worse then a goat doth hate 
Basil!. 

With that the Doctor prepared his instrument, and being 
ready to set to the Dukes eies, he said, O stay, Master Doctor, 



of Thomas of Reading, 267 

till I haue conueyed my Loues countenance downe into my 
heart : Come hither my sweet, and let me giue thee my last 
kisse, while mine eies may direct me to thy cherry lips. Then 
imbracing her in his armes, he said, O that I might giue thee a 
kisse of xx yeares long, and to satisfie my greedie eies with thy 
faire sight : yet it doth somewhat content me, because thou art 
present at my punishment, that I may hold thee by the hand, to 
comfort my heart, at the sudden pricke of my eie. 

This being said, the Doctor performed his duty, and so put 
out the christall sight : at what time D. Robert started vp and 10 
with a most manly courage said, I must thanke his Maiestie, 
that though hee depriueth me of my sight, yet he leaueth me 
eies to weepe for my sinnes. 

But so soone as Margaret beheld the deed, she fell downe in 
a swoune, and much adoe her dame had to recouer her life : 
which when the Duke vnderstood, hee was wondrous woe, 
groaping for her with his bleeding eies, saying O where is my 
Loue ? for Gods sake haue regard to her. And I pray you most 
heartily, good goodwife Gray, let her haue this fauour for my 
sake, that she may be vsed kindly. And with that the Keepers 20 
led him into the Castle, and Margaret was carried away wondrous 
sicke and ill : but her dame was most tender ouer her ; and 
would suffer her to lacke nothing. When she was somewhat 
well recouered, her Dame Gray set her on horsebacke : and at 
her comming to Gloucester, there was no small ioy. 

How Thomas Done being fallen to decay, was forsaken 
of his friends, and despised of his seruants : and how 
in the end he was raised againe through the liberality 
of the Clothiers. CHAP. 1 4. 

SVch as seeke the pleasure of the world, follow a shadow 30 
wherein is no substance: and as the adder Aspis tickleth 
a man to death, so doth vaine pleasure natter vs, till it makes vs 
forget God, and consume our substance, as by Tom Doue it is 
apparant, who had through a free heart, and a liberall minde 
wasted his wealth ; and looke how his goods consumed, so his 
friends fled from him : And albeit he had beene of great ability, 
and thereby done good vnto many, yet no man regarded him in 
his pouerty, but casting a scornefull countenance vpon him, they 
passed by him with slender salutation : neither wold any of his 
former acquaintance do him good, or pleasure him the value 4 
of a farthing; his former friendship done to them was quite 
forgot, and he made of as much account, as lob when he sate 
on the dunghill. 

Now, when his wicked seruants saw him in this disgrace with 
the world, they on the other side began to disdaine him. Not- 



268 The pleasant History 

withstanding that hee (to his great cost) had long time brought 
them vp, yet did they nothing regard it, but behind his backe in 
most scornefull sort derided him, and both in their words and 
actions greatly abuse him, reuerence they would do none vnto 
him, but when they spake, it was in such malapert sort, as would 

j, grieue an honest mind to heare it. 

At last it came to passe, that breaking out into meere con 
tempt, they said they would stay no longer with him, and that it 
was a great discredit for them, to serue a person so beggarly : 
10 whereupon they thought it conuenient to seeke for their benefits 
elsewhere. When the distressed man found the matter so plaine 
being in great griefe, he spake thus vnto them : 

Now do I find, to my sorrow, the smal trust that is in this 
false world. Why, my Masters (quoth he) haue you so much 
forgotten my former prosperity, that you nothing regard my 
present necessity? in your wants I forsooke you not, in your 
sicknesse I left you not, nor despised you in your great pouerty : 
it is not vnknowne, though you doe not consider it, that I tooke 
some of you vp in the high way, othersom from your needy 

20 parents, and brought the rest from meere beggery to a house of 
bounty ; where from paltrie boies, I brought you vp to mans 
state, and haue, to my great cost, taught you a trade, whereby 
you may Hue like men. And in requitall of all my courtesie, cost 
& good will, will you now on a sudden forsake me ? Is this the 
best recompence that you can find your hearts to yeeld me ? 

This is far from the minds of honest seruants. The fierce 
Lion is kind to those that doe him good : plucke] but one thorne 
out of his foote, and for the same he will shew manifold fauors. 
The wilde Bull will not ouerthrow his Dam : and the very 

30 Dragons are dutefull to their nourishers. Bee better aduised and 
call to mind, I beseech you, that I haue not pluckt a thorn out 
of your feete, but drawne your whole bodies out of perils, and 
when you had no meanes to helpe your selues, I only was your 
support, and he, that when all other forsooke you, did comfort 
you in all your extremities. 

And what of all this (quoth one of them) ? because you tooke 
vs vp poore, doth it therefore follow, that we must be your 
slaues ? We are young men, and for our part, we are no further 
to regard your profit, then it may stand with our preferment : 

40 Why should we lose our benefit to pleasure you ? if you taught 
vs our trade, and brought vs vp from boies to men, you had our 
seruice for it, whereby you made no small benefit, if you had as 
well vsed it, as we got it. But if you be poore, you may thanke 
your selfe, being a iust scourge for your prodigalitie, and is my 
opinion plaine, that to stay with you, is the next way to make vs 
like you, neither able to helpe our selues, nor our friends : ther- 
fore in briefe; come pay me my wages, for I will not stay, let 
the rest doe as they will, for I am resolued. 



of Thomas of Reading. 269 

Wel (said his Master) if needs thou wilt be gone, here is part 
of thy wages in hand, and the rest as soone as God sends it, 
thou shalt haue it : and with that, turning to the rest, he said, 
Let me yet intreat you to stay, and leaue me not altogether 
destitute of helpe : by your labours must I Hue, and without you 
I know not what to doe. Consider therefore my need, and 
regard my great charge. And if for my sake you will do 
nothing, take compassion on my poore Children ; stay my sliding 
foote, and let me not vtterly fall, through your flying from me. 

Tush (quoth they) what do you talke to vs? we can haue 10 
better wages, and serue a man of credit, where our fare shal be 
far better, and our gaines greater : therfore the world might 
count vs right coxcomes, if we should forsake our profit, to 
pleasure you: therefore adieu, God send you more mony, for 
you are like to haue no more men : and thus they departed. 

When they were gone, within a while after they met one with 
another, saying, What cheare ? are you all come away : 

In faith I, what should we doe else (quoth they) : but hear'st 
thou sirra, hast thou got thy wages ? 

Not yet (saith the other) but I shall haue it, and that is as good, 20 
tis but x shillings. 

Saist thou so (said he) now I see thou art one of God 
Almighties ideots : 

Why so (said the other) ? 

Because (quoth he) thou wilt be fed with shales : but ile tell 
thee one thing, twere better for thee quickly to arrest him, lest 
some other doing it before, and there be nothing left to pay thy 
debt : hold thy peace, faire words make fooles faine, and it is an 
old saying, One bird in hand is worth two in bush : if thou dost 
not arrest him presently, I will not giue thee two pence for thy 30 
x. shillings. 

How shall I come by him, quoth the other ? 

Giue me but two pots of ale, and ile betray him (said he). 

So they being agreed, this smooth-fac'd ludas comes to his 
late Master, and told him that a friend of his at the doore would 
speake with him. The vnmistrusting man thinking no euill, went 
to the doore where presently an Officer arrested him at his 
mans suite. 

The poore man seeing this, being strucken into a sudden 
sorrow, in the griefe of his heart spake to this effect : Ah thou 40 
lewd fellow, art thou the first man that seekes to augment my 
miserie ? Haue I thus long giuen thee bread, to breed my ouer- 
throw ? and nourisht thee in thy need, to worke my destruction ? 
Full little did I thinke, when thou so often diddest dip thy false 
fingers in my dish, that I gaue food to my chiefest foe : but what 
booteth complaints in these extreames ? go wife (quoth he) vnto 
my neighbours, and see if thou canst get any of them to be 
my baile. 



270 The pleasant History 

But in vaine was her paines spent. Then he sent to his 
kinsfolkes, and they denied him : to his brother, and he would 
not come at him, so that there was no shift, but to prison he 
must : but as he was going, a messenger met him with a letter 
from Master Cole, wherein as you heard, he had promised him 
two hundred pounds : which when the poore man read, he 
greatly reioyced, and shewing the same to the officer, he was 
content to take his owne worde. Whereupon Tom Doue went 
presently to Reading, where at his comming, he found all the 

10 rest of the Clothiers, lamenting Coles vntimely death ; where 
the wofull widdow paid him the money, by which deed all the 
rest of the Clothiers were induced to doe something for Doue. 
And thereupon one gaue him ten pounds, another twenty, 
another thirty pounds, to begin the world anew: and by this 
meanes (together with the blessing of God) he grew into greater 
credit then euer he was before. And riches being thus come 
vpon him, his former friendes came fawning vnto him and when 
he had no neede of them, then euery one was ready to proffer 
him kindnesse. His wicked seruants also that disdained him in 

20 his distresse, were after glad to come creeping vnto him, intreat- 
ing with cappe and knee for his fauour and friendship. And 
albeit he seemed to forgiue their trespasses done against him, 
yet he would often say, he would neuer trust them for a straw. 

And thus he euer after liued in great wealth and prosperitie, 
doing much good to the poore, and at his death, left to his 
children great lands. 

How faire Margaret made her estate and high birth 

knowne to her Master and Dame: and for the intire 

loue she bore to Duke Robert^ made a vowe neuer to 

30 marry, but became a Nun in the Abbey at Glocester. 

CHAP. 15. 

A r ter faire Margaret was come againe to Glocester neuer did 
she behold the cleare day, but with a weeping eie : and so 
great was the sorrow which she conceiued, for the losse of Duke 
Robert her faithfull Louer, that she vtterly despised all the 
pleasures of this life, and at last bewrayed her selfe in this sort 
vnto her Dame : 

O my good Master and Dame, too long haue I dissembled my 
parentage from you, whom the froward destinies do pursue to 
40 deserued punishment. The wofull daughter am I of the vn- 
happy Earle of Shrewsbury, who euer since his banishment, 
haue done nothing but drawne mischaunce after mee : where 
fore let me intreat you (deare Master and Dame) to haue your 
good wils, to spend the remnant of my life in some blessed 
Monasterie. 



of Thomas of Reading. 271 

When Gray and his wife heard this, they wondred greatly, as 
well at her birth, as at her strange demaund. Whereupon her 
Dame knew not how to call her, whether Maiden or Madam, but 
said, O good Lord, are you a Lady, and I know it not ? I am 
sory that I knew it not before. 

But when the folkes of the house heard that Margaret was 
a Lady, there was no small alteration : and moreouer her Dame 
said, that she had thought to haue had a match between her and 
her son : and by many perswasions did seeke to withdraw her 
from being a Nun, saying in this manner : What Margaret^ thou 10 
art young and faire, the world (no doubt) hath better fortune for 
thee, whereby thou maist leaue an honourable issue behind thee, 
in whom thou maist liue after death. 

These and many other reasons did they alleadge vnto her, but 
all in vaine : she making this reply, Who knowes not that this 
world giueth the pleasure of an houre, but the sorrow of many 
daies? for it paieth euer that which it promiseth, which is 
nothing els but continuall trouble & vexation of the minde. 
Do you think, if I had the offer and choice of the mightiest 
princes of Christendom, that I could match my selfe better 20 
then to my Lord lesus ? No, no, he is my husband, to whom 
I yeeld my selfe both body and soule, giuing to him my heart, 
my loue and my most firme affection : I haue ouerlong loued this 
vile world : therefore I beseech you farther disswade me not. 

When her friendes by no meanes could alter her opinion, the 
matter was made knowne to his Maiestie, who against the time 
that she should be receiued into the Monasterie, came to 
Gloucester with most part of his Nobilitie, to honour her action 
with his princely presence. 

All things being therefore prepared, the young Lady was in 30 
most princely wise attired in a gowne of pure white sattin, her 
kirtle of the same, embrodered with gold about the skirts, in 
most curious sort, her head was garnished with gold, pearles, and 
precious stones, hauing her hair like thrids of burnisht gold, 
hanging downe behind in manner of a princely bride : about her 
yuory necke iewels of inestimable price were hung, and her 
handwreasts were compassed about with bracelets of bright- 
shining Diamonds. 

The streets thorow the which she should passe, were pleasantly 
deckt with greene oaken boughs. Then came the yong Lady 40 
most like an heauenly Angell out of her Masters house, at what 
time all the bels in Gloucester were solemnly rung : she being led 
betwixt the Kings Maiestie, hauing on his royall robes, and im- 
periall crown, and the chiefe Bishop wearing his Miter, in a 
Cope of cloth of gold, ouer her head a Canopy of white silke, 
fringed about in princely manner : before her went an hundred 
Priests singing, and after her all the chiefe Ladies of the Land : 
then all the wiues and Maidens of Gloucester followed, with an 



2*] 2 Thomas of Reading. 

innumerable sort of people on euery side standing to behold her. 
In this sort she passed on to the Cathedrall Church, where she 
was brought to the Nunry gate. 

The Lady Abbesse receiued her : where the beautiful Maiden 
kneeling downe, made her prayer in sight of all the people : then 
with her owne hands she vndid her virgins faire gowne, and 
tooke it off, and gaue it away to the poore : after that, her 
kirtle, then her iewels, bracelets and rings, saying, Farewell the 
pride & vanity of this world. The ornaments of her head 
10 were the next she gaue away : and then was she ledde on one 
side, where she was stripped, and in stead of her smocke of soft 
silke, had a smocke of rough haire put vpon her. 

Then came one with a paire of sheares, and cut off her golden- 
coloured lockes, and with dust and ashes all bestrewed her head 
and face. Which being done, she was brought againe into the 
peoples sight barefoot & bareleg'd, to whom she said : Now 
farewell the world, farewell the pleasures of this life, farewell my 
Lord the King, and to the Dukes sweet loue farewell, now shall 
my eies weepe for my former transgressions, and no more shall 
20 my tongue talke of vanity ; farewell my good Master and Dame, 
and farewell all good people. 

With which words she was taken away, and neuer after scene 
abroad. When Duke Robert heard thereof, he desired that at 
his death, his body might be buried in Glocester\ in that 
Towne (quoth he) where first my cleare eies beheld the heauenly 
beauty of my loue, and where for my sake shee forsooke the 
world : which was performed accordingly. 

The King also at his death requested to be buried at Reading, 
for the great loue he bare to that place, among those Clothiers, 
30 who liuing were his hearts comfort. Gray dying wondrous 
wealthy, gaue land to the Monasterie whereinto Margaret was 
taken. William Fitzallen also dyed a most rich man, hauing 
builded many houses for the poore, whose sonne Henry after 
was the first Maior that was euer in London. 

Sutton of Salisbury did also at his death much good, and gaue 
an hundred li. to be yeerely lent to poore weauers of the Towne, 
to the worlds end. Simon of South-hampton gaue a most 
bounteous gift towards the building of a Monastery at Win 
chester. Hodgkins of Hallifax did also great good, and so did 
40 Cutbert of Kendall, who had married xxiii. couples out of his 
owne house, giuing each of them x.li. to beginne the world 
withall. Martin Briam of Manchester gaue toward the building 
of a free-schoole in Manchester, a great masse of money. 

And thus (gentle Reader) haue I finished my storie of these 
worthy men, desiring thee to take my paines in good part, which 
will incourage me to greater matters, perceiuing this curteously 
accepted. 

FINIS. 



declaration 
made by the Arch- 

bifhop ofCellen , vpon the 
deede of bis management to 
the States of his Arch- 
biflioprikc. 

With the letter of Pope 

Gregorie t he. rj. again ft the ce- 

Icbration of the fame tnarlage, 

and the Bifhops aunfwer 

thcrcvnto. 

According tothecopfit 1m- 

printed at Collcn. 1583. 

LONDON 
Pr'mtedby lohnVVoolfe. 
158?.. 



917.6 



f To the right reuerend Father in God 

Iohn y Bishoppe of London, Thomas Delone, 
wisheth increase of grace, and continuall happi- 
nesse, both of body and soule. 

IT is not vnknoivne to the learned^ nor of the wise forgotten^ 
(right reuerend Father) in what miserable seruitude, intolerable 
tormentes, heauines of heart, and griefe of conscience, the godlie 
hath from time to time continued vnder the tyranny of superstitious 
Popes, and Prelates of Rome, whose intolerable pride is of the 
Lord detested, and of all Christian people abhorred, through whose 10 
hipocrisie the world hath been so long deceaued, & many 
thousand soules drawne from the truth, to the abhominable 
seruice of idolatry, forsaking the lawes and commaundements of 
God, to followe the vanities & traditions of men. Neuerthelesse, 
they are not ashamed most impudently to challenge to themselues 
the name and title of Catholiques and the seruants of Christ, & 
yet treadeth his word vnder feete, despising his holy ordinances 
and institutions, and as it were in despite of his glory, follow the 
works of their owne imaginations. But after the world had of 
long time beene blinded, by the notable dissimulation of this 20 
deceauing church, the Lord of his mercy and loue, sending the 
light of his holy worde, for the reliefe of his afflicted flocke, 
plainly discouered their hipocrisie, and their filthines to all flesh. 
Wherby it is come to passe that many worthy personages, lately 
liuing in darknes and ignorance, is now turned to the trueth, with 
most earnest repentance of their former life. And among the rest, 
through the great mercy and grace of God, this worthy Prince, & 
bishop of Collen, Ghebbard, whose hart being opened, and his 
eyes cleared, hath most effectually showne the fruites of his 
vnfained repentance, and hauing made declaration therof through- 30 
out his dominions and Jurisdictions, hath abolished the abhomin 
able masse, and in steed thereof planted the euerlasting & glorious 
Gospel of Christ, to the great comfort of many grieued and 
wounded consciences. Which when the Pope perceiued & knew 
with great flattery and adulation, he sought to withdraw him from 
this most godly & Christian enterprise, charging him with the othe 
he made to the church Apostolique, & with his duty towards God, 
which he both by scripture, but specially by their owne lawes, 
counsel!, & decrees, doth manifestly defend, & by the same 
approue, that he hath done nothing against his othe or duty in 40 
any respect : and the rather dooth he reproue them by their owne 

T 2 



2j6 The Epistle Dedicator ie. 

aucthoritie, for as much as the same is the greatest confutation 
that maye be against them. And because the same was done by 
a worthy person of noble race and parentage, and a bishop by 
office & calling, I thought none more meete for the patron of such 
a specialty, then your Lordship, vnto whome I owe all duty & 
reuerence, who for the good will borne to your Lordshippe, hath 
dedicated vnto you this simple translation, faithfully & iustlie done 
according to the coppy. Trusting you will accept the same 
according to the worthines therof, and be a defence against all 
10 that shall seeme to mislike of the matter : and in so doing, you 
shall binde me for euer at your commaund, vnto whome I wish 
continual prosperity in this present life, & in the world to come 
ioyes euerlasting. 

Your Lordships most humble at commaund, 
Thomas Deloney. 



5 A Christian declaration touching the 
Religion which the right reuerend Prince^ the 
Lord Ghebbard, chosen, and confirmed Arch 
bishop of Gotten, Elector of the Empire, and 
Chancelor for the Prouince of Italic, Duke of 
We$tphalie and Enghern, and proclaimed 
throughout his dominions, the 17. 
daye of lanuarie. 1583. 

WE Ghebbard, by the grace of God elected, and confirmed 
Archbishop of Collen, Chancellor for the prouince of Italic, \ Q 
Elector of the Empire, Duke of Westphalie, Enghern, &c. to y e 
Estates, Earles, Gentlemen, Citizens, & subiects, of our Arch- 
bishoprike in generall, and to euerie one particular, and to all 
other vnder our obedience. Know you by this present, all aboue 
named, and euerie of you, as we neuer had nothing more in 
minde, since it pleased God to call vs to the estate & office of 
this our Archbishoppe, by a lawfull election (which yet we also 
haue) then the safegard and defence of this Archbishop sea and 
electorshippe, committed vnto vs by God, and likewise of Germanic, 
one part of vs, principally in that which concerneth the glorie of 20 
God: and hauing had most humble supplications & requests, 
made vnto vs by some of the Estates and Nobles of our dominions, 
ioyned with earnest sute of the most noblest Estates of this great 
and mightie Empire, to haue the Gospell publiquely preached, 
and the Sacramentes administred in all places of our dominions : 
as it is ordained and appointed by the word of God. Following 
the articles, and confession of Auspourg, and the Christian exposi 
tion thereof, according to the will of God, which is that lesus 
Christ his sonne, should of vs be hearkened vnto, and his com- 
maundementes obserued and kept : that all Princes and Magistrates 3<> 
of this world, might open their gates to the king of glory, that 
thereby we may learne to knowe our duety in the charge to vs 
committed, knowing there is no excuse for vs, at the last day, 
when Christ shall come in iudgement : what time we must render 
account of the charge and office wherein he hath placed vs. For 
if by vs the way of saluation should be stopt toward our subiectes, 
being nothing ignorant thereof, God which is a iust and feuere 
ludge, vnto whose will and commaundement we are all bound to 
obey (& that without dissimulation) would not see it unreuenged. 

We for these causes, vnderstanding the humble peticions of 4 
our sayd States and subiectes, are determined no longer to deferre 



The Bishops declaration. 

the graunt of their iust and rightfull request, hauing had the 
aduise of our Lords and counsayle, and after great deliberation 
we haue permitted, to our aforesayd subiects, vnder the dominion 
of our Archbishop sea, of what state or condition soeuer, not 
only the libertie of their conscience (alwayes agreeing to the word 
of GOD) but also assuraunce by this our present ordinaunce, and 
by vertue therof, that they shall not be grieued, molested, or 
troubled in their personnes, dignities, honors, or goods, by any 
gouernors, Justices, or other inferiour magistrates, whatsoeuer. 

10 For the profession of their faith, conscience, & rule of Religion, 
being according to Gods word & the confession of Auspurg. 
Graunting freely to al prelats, Earles, Lords, Cities, & towns, w* 
all other our commons & subiects vnder our Archbishop sea, & 
Electorship, ful libertie to vse publique preaching in all parts of 
our dominion, & to exercise the administration of the holy Sacra 
ments, as it is ordained by the writings of the Apostles & Prophets, 
folowing y e Christian exposition of Auspurg, & notwithstanding 
all impeachments of our Lieutenants and Magistrates, or other 
persons whatsoeuer : assuring for the same (as it is the duty and 

20 office of a Christian Prince) of all and euerie vnder our dominion 
and iurisdiction, to defende and maintaine them through the helpe 
and grace of GOD, being certainly pers waded, that his almightie 
power hath beene the onely direction of this our Christian enter 
prise, and that he will defend his glory and holy worde, against 
all the gates of hell. 

Moreouer we protest before the maiestie of almightie God, which 
is the searcher of the hearts and raines, that we haue not taken in 
hand this godlie and Christian enterprise, moued by ambition or 
desire of honour, or any other thing to our particuler profit and 

30 commoditie : but for the glorie of Christe lesus our onely sauiour 
and redeemer, and the aduancement of his holy word, and for the 
eternall felicitie and saluation of our subiectes, which he hath 
giuen vs in charge. Neither haue we done it to rayse discord and 
discention in the common wealth, but rather to set and establish 
one Christian order, in the Churches and Schooles of this countrey, 
as it is thought conuenient, by the counsayle and aduise of the 
principall of our Estates : minding to take delyberation and aduise 
vpon the reformation of the Churches and Schooles of our sayd 
Archbishop sea, & Electorship, at the first assembling of our 

40 States & Lordes, as soone as oportunitie shall serue. Admonish 
ing the while all those vnder the obedience of our foresayd Elector, 
which shall be moued to unbrace and follow the religion established 
at Auspourg, and the expositions of the same, agreeing to the worde 
of God, behauing themselues in all modesty, as it becommeth all 
such as are led by true Christian zeale. Forbidding them expresly, 
that they shall doo no wrong nor iniury to any in deede, or in 
wordes, to the ende that euerie one of them maye Hue quietly 
and peaceably one with an other. 



The Bishops declaration. 279 

And for the perticular safegarde of our person, if it come to 
passe by the will of God, that we should ioyne our selues in 
manage, to the end that none might take occasion to blame vs, 
as doing the same against our duety, seeking thereby some 
perticular profite or commodity, or that our intent were, to leaue 
to our heires some aduantage, to the preiudice of our sayd 
Archbishop sea, or Electorship, and to gratifie the same against 
all reason or honestie. We protest by this our publique writing, 
and before the eternall & euerliuing God, that the same was neuer 
our purpose or intent : that is to say, to drawe vnto our heires, 10 
our sayd Archbishop sea, or to bring them to any right of the 
same succession, or for any other perticular profite to their 
commoditie. 

And for this cause we will haue it openly declared, by the 
publication, of this our present ordinaunce, that whosoeuer shall 
hereafter come, the election ought to remaine at libertie, vnto the 
consent of y 6 rest of our most noble Electors (as heretofore it hath 
beene) and after our decease, to be resigned without force. And 
for this cause, all and euerie of our subiectes and other personnes 
vnder the obedience of our Archbishop and Electorship, shall 20 
vnderstand, that they are not held, or bound to owe any obedience, 
or in any respect to reuerence, any man whatsoeuer (as their true 
and rightfull Lord) tyll such time, as by the consent and councell 
of our Electors, the Prince which shall succeed, be lawfullie and 
rightfullie chosen. And that they shall not acknowledge, or take 
for their Prince, any that shall enterprise to take it in hand, 
without the ordinarie and lawfull election of our aforesayde 
Electors, and the expresse declaration of him which shall succeede, 
by their aucthoritie : as it hath beene obserued by long and auncient 
custome (notwithstanding any disposition heretofore made by vs, or 30 
any other preposed) against this our present ordinaunce : out 
without regard therof, we vtterly at this present, and for the time 
to come, declare them of no effect. Abrogated and abolished 
them in the straitest manner and forme that maye be, being ready 
at all times to conferre, and take more deliberation vpon the same, 
with our aforesayde Electors and States of our prouince, making 
them such confirmation and assuraunce of this our present 
promise, in such maner that no daunger, nor feare, or other 
damageable enterprise maye come or happen, for any such matter 
by vs, or by our heires. Therefore, we charge and commaund, 40 
all and euerie of our Lordes, gouemors, magistrates, Judges, 
Treasurers, Receauers, Consulles, Citizens, commons, and all in 
general!, diligently, and straitly, to obserue this our present 
commaund, that euerie one may be maintained according there- 
vnto. And that they may neither hurt, or doo iniurie to any, nor 
they of any, be iniuried or molested, for whosoeuer shall herein be 
found faultie, shall incurre our indignation and displeasure, and 
shall not escape most grieuous punishment : for this is the truth 



28 o The Popes Letter 

of our last charge and commaundement. In witnesse whereof, we 
haue published, and imprinted, and sealed with our seale, this our 
prefent declaration, causing it to be caried into all partes and 
places of our dominions, vnto such, as shall make it known to all. 
Giuen at our Citie of Bonne the .16. daye of lanuarie in the yeere 
of our Lord. 1583. 



5 Pope Gregorie the 13. to our right 

reuerend and beloued brother , Ghebbard 

Archbishop of Colkn^ Prince, and 
10 Elector of the Empire. 

Right reuerend & beloued brother, the great & woorthy per 
sonage, proceeding from the Noble house of Truchces^ your 
auncient & honorable progenitors, as well in auncient time, as of 
fresher memorie, hath left vs sufficient witnes of the worthines 
thereof, and nobilitie of their blood : whose affection and con- 
stancie, hath alwaies beene manifestlie declared towardes the 
catholique faith, but principallie, by Cardinall Augustus, which 
held the first seate hereof, vnder whose discipline you haue beene 
most religiouslie and holilie brought vp, as it was conuenient for 

20 ye holie Church of Rome, in such manner as there was no small 
hope conceaued of you, trusting that you will shew your selfe a 
person worthy so noble a race, by the like instruction: from 
whence hath growne the fatherly good will, which hitherto we 
haue borne vnto you : which we haue not onely since that time 
entertained, but also in like manner augmented, by the meanes of 
the good report of honorable personages : which promised vnto vs 
all things with you most excellent & iust. After it came to passe, 
that you were elected by the charter of Gotten, to the dignitie & 
Archbishop sea of this church, and although that election was 

30 disturbed by sundrie & manifold difficulties, in such sort that it 
was not onlie stronglie withstoode, but in a maner vanquished & 
made vaine. Neuerthelesse, we vsed such benignitie towards you, 
that all impeachmentes reiected, we approued and allowed the 
iudgement and election, made by the same charter for you. 
Increasing the force and vertue of our Apostolique confirmation : 
by reason whereof we are persuaded, that there is none which 
ought to beare greater reuerence to the holie seate of Rome, nor 
that ought to be a greater obseruer of the ecclesiasticall discipline, 
then you, hoping that we should haue had great helpe, through your 

4 constancie & fidelitie. But it doth greatly displease vs, and 
merueilously grieue vs, that our hope therein is not onely weakned 
and made lesse, but also vtterly lost. And further, we vnderstand 



to the Bishop of Co lien. 281 

from day to day, by the letters of many, and the report of diuerse, 
such thinges of you, so vnworthy the dignitie & degree wherein 
you are, that without great shame, we are not able to expresse it. 
And although verilie we haue oftentimes refused to beleeue such 
vnworthy reportes, yet the daylie clamor hath constrained vs 
greatlie to doubte thereof, being afraid of your fall, which now we 
wil no longer dissemble, wherfore we doo admonishe you, that you 
would haue a regard and a foresight to your honour and saluation 
(while it is time) and if possible you haue gone any further, then 
reason required, speedilie withdraw your selfe, that those things 10 
which heretofore hath been declared of you, may be proued false 
(which is our onlie desire) & that you will openly manifest your 
mind & ful intent, inwardlie conceiued in your hart : to y e end, 
that your good name, princelie parentage, & the ecclesiasticall 
order, be not by your means for euer stained, w* ignominius 
reproch, by y e aduersaries of our honor. 

Againe, consider your duty towards God, which hath raised you 
to the dignitie and degree of the sea Apostolique, which you 
should cherish with singuler affection and fauour, and for the same 
it is that you ought to spend your blood in all Christian profession : 20 
For by how much the more you are of hie calling, and honourable 
estate, by so much the more is your fault greater, then any others, 
when you fall from any parte of your duety. And by so much the 
more, wil your fault be greater, as you were of honour and 
dignitie, in the church of God, and in great aucthoritie with the 
Princes of the Empire. Consider then what troubles and daungers 
proceedeth from such now remoouings of thinges, and how heedfull 
the prudent and godlie man ought to be, from hazarding so lightly 
his honour, state, dignitie, and his soule, whereof there hath been 
so many straunge and wonderfull examples in our time, which 30 
may make vs to be better aduised in our dealings, but if we haue 
possible suffered somewhat to much in former time, attribute the 
same to our affection towards you, and to the desire we haue had 
of your honor and dignitie. Neither doo we any thing doubt, but 
that this our fatherly kindnes, shall be receaued of you with that 
effect which it ought to be, for many good reasons and iust causes : 
and that you will not forgette to shew due reuerence towardes this 
holy seate, that we maye acknowledge you, for our deere and 
beloued sonne, as heretofore we haue done, which wil be an 
occasion to vs greatly to reioyce : and because we haue not thought 40 
it sufficient to send our letters onely, we haue sent our reuerend 
Brother, the Archbishop of Treues, to take his iourney towardes 
you, to conferre more at large, of these our affaires, who shall 
more cleerelye discouer vnto you our will, counsayle, and intent, 
to whome we are assured that you will giue both faith and credite. 
Giuen at Rome, at saint Peters in the yeere of our Lord 1582. the 
17. day of December, and in the u. yeere of our Pontificalitie. 
lo. Baptista Canobius. 



282 The Bishops aunswer^ 

To Pope Gregorie the .13. Ghebbard 

Archbishop of Collen, Prince^ and 
Elector of the Empire, sendeth greeting. 

IHaue vnderstood by your letter, your fatherlie affection, and 
worthinesse of such a Prelate, but in this principally, that you 
will not lightlie giue place, to vntrue tales, neither faith to the 
euill reports spread abroad of my actions and deeds. For if it 
were sufficient to accuse, who should be in these corrupted dayes 
excused, wherein the most godliest men, are assailed with enuie : 

10 and what is he that can, defend himselfe against the conspiracies 
of euil willers : I acknowledge you as a good father, exhorting 
me to perseuere in the faith, integrete good discipline, and 
obedience vnto the Chatholique, Apostolique, and true beleeuing 
Church. Giuing me aduertisement of the great and manifold 
daungers, falling on those, which are desirous of nouelties, which 
folowing their disordinate lustes and affections, are drawne from 
the company of the Apostolique church. Wherefore my duty is 
to accept of your charitable & holie admonitions, knowing that 
which is said by Salomon^ that he which refuseth discipline, hath 

20 no regarde of his owne soule : but he that harkeneth to correction, 
shall obtaine knowledge. I must needes confesse, that I haue 
beene ouer slacke and negligent in thinges appertaining to the 
saluation of my soule, the rest of my conscience, and the duetie 
I owe to the glorie of God, and the dignitie of the Church. 

But your letters hath serued me as a spurre, pricking me 
forward, & greatly prouoking me, y fc all dissimulation laid aside, 
& all superstition by me reiected, I am minded openly to declare 
(euen as you haue admonished me) y* which I haue conceaued in 
my heart, & considering the faith I owe vnto GOD, that hath 

30 called me to this hie degree, that which I owe to the church 
Apostolique, to my countrey, & the publique wealth thereof and 
also to my selfe, knowing the saying of that great and holie man 
Augustine to be true, and worthy to be had in memory, that there 
is none that doth more harme to the flocke of Christ then such as 
counterfeiteth the lambe in the roome and office of the ministerie, 
the same is cited 83. distinction, the second cannon. For as 
much then I am come to the age, wherein I am able without the 
aduice of others to gouern my selfe, and by the onely will of our 
Lord lesus Christe, which hath vouchsaued to call me to the 

40 great charge of an Archbishop : and as it is a thing proper to the 
nature of a Christian man, to inquire and followe after the trueth, 
I am setled in the furtheraunce of this good worke, without 
musing at all, on any custome or humaine authority : finding by 
the holie scriptures, and among the ecclesiasticall histories, y* this 



to Pope Gregorie . 283 



which we haue commaunded to be done, becommeth him which is 
the child of God : and which is also required in the office of 
a bishop, which thing I promised as wel in the holy baptisme, as 
afterward to the Church. 

The sum wherof is, that we are bound to the holy and 
Apostolique lawes, hauing had this earnest care, it is almost not 
to be beleeued in what torment of minde I continued, my spirit 
being at debate within it selfe, could not tast or finde any true or 
assured comfort, insomuch that I could take no rest, till such 
time I was earnestly bent & resolued to follow the ordinance of 10 
lesus Christ, and example of the Apostolique church : being 
ashamed to be a bishop in name only, and not in deede, and 
ashamed to beare within my hart a continual fire, euill and 
vnsauery desires, couered from the beautie of chaste virginitie. 
But I was abashed that a seruant of lesus Christ should seeme to 
be bound to the traditions of men, and it was a horror to my 
hart, that the honor and nobilitie of my race, should remaine 
stained or corrupted, by casting my selfe among y e pleasures of 
voluptuous worldlings, wherein I was altogeather plunged. For 
there I did feele my selfe solisseted (or as our manner of speech is) 20 
puld by the eare, by many worthy and excellent persons, in doctrine 
and holines of life, which hath in their time borne great reuerence 
to the church of God (& which hath not forgetten the honor due 
vnto them) found great fault against y e decrees & examples of 
many Bishops & prelats of y e Church, which hath passed these 
700. yeeres. Vlricus, a most religious Bishop, saint Augustine, 
Bernard, the Abbot of Clereuaux, the Cardinal Cusan with many 
other of the same calling & degree : so that it is very easie for me 
to shew that I haue doon nothing against my oth, so long as 
I put my selfe & my deedes, according to the rule of the holy 30 
Apostolique Church. And for the first point, it is a thing 
confirmed which cannot be altred or chaunged, and perpetuall 
established : pronounced by saint Paule and saint Peter, and by 
generall consent at all times it hath been approued by all men, 
confessing the doctrine of the Apostles, that no other foundation 
can be layd, then that which GOD himself hath already established, 
y* is to say, lesus Christ, which is y e only way, the trueth, and the 
life, in whose name, as also with the Father and the holie Ghost 
we are baptised : to whome appertaineth y e catholique church, 
hauing redeemed ye same by his precious blood. Vpon this 40 
foundation is the church sustained, being also beautified and 
inriched with most excellent tytles, which he hath giuen by 
S. Paule in the first to Timothy, the third chapter : calling her the 
house of y e liuing God, the fortitude & strength of the trueth. 
Then the Romane church which was in the time of S. Paule, and 
certaine yeeres after, was of great renoume and estimation, for the 
faith they had in lesus Christ, and at that time taught through the 
whole world : the which faith was her onelie ornament, insomuch 



284 The Bishops aunswer, 

that the Priests & Elders of the same Romane Church, plainly 
confessed, writing to S. dorian in his 7. epistle of his 2. booke, 
in these words, That letting the honor & praise decay, which 
S. Paule gaue to the Romanes, was a great & grieuous crime, and 
yt it had beene lesse shame, neuer to haue had those prayses 
spoke of, or preached abroade, then after the publishing therof, 
to lose the honour of such high commendations. Therfore as 
often as it comes in question, to speake of the pure, true, Apos- 
tolique, and vniuersall church : reason requireth, and all wise men 

10 giueth counsaile, that we ought to discerne betweene that, which is 
grounded vpon the head corner stone, Christ, vpon the holy 
Gospell (the honour and name wherof shal endure euerlastingly :) 
and that which is y e bastard church, going against the trueth, 
worshippeth God in vaine, following after the commaundements & 
traditions of men. And therfore y e golden rule of Tertullian, 
hath euer pleased al good and vertuous men, saying, that the first 
hath been alwayes the truth, & that which came afterward 
corrupted, and that is it which bindeth mee to the othe which 
I haue made, which othe dooth commaund, that I must acknow- 

20 ledge the sayde Apostolique church, which holdes the ancient 
beleefe of the Romane church, agreeing to the beleefe of Nice, 
and of Constantinople ', which dooth acknowledge and beleeue one 
baptisme for remission of sinnes, by y e blood of our Lord lesus 
Christ : which is our onely purgatorie that cleanseth vs of all our 
sinnes, which receaueth no other traditions then this only, that 
are appointed by the Apostles, leauing & deliuering faithfully, that 
which they receiued from our Lord lesus Christ. After whose 
example I am bounde by my othe, to take the holy scriptures, 
interpreting and vnderstanding the same, not after the sence or 

30 interpretation of any Bishop or Councell, whatsoeuer, but after the 
vnderstanding and exposition of the true, Apostolique, and holy 
mother Church, that (I say) which hath followed the steps of the 
holy Apostles. Wherunto the auncient Fathers hath from time to 
time consented, so that without any blemish to the othe which 
I haue made, I am addressed after this rule, & bound to this 
foundation, neither will I receyue or beleeue any thing, which is 
not brought from the same, wheresoeuer it was written, whether 
at Rome, or at Trent, being reasonable to prefer these auncient 
things with new, the truth with falsehood, & the traditions of the 

40 Apostles, with y e commaundements of men. For our lawes as it 
dooth euidently appeare in the 15. distinction of y e third canon : 
doth not alowe these auncient and most renoumed Councelles the 
like aucthority, as they do to the holie Scriptures &: Apostles, which 
sayth thus : The holy church of Rome, after the writinges of the old 
and new Testament, which we receiue for certaine rules, doth not 
forbid but that we may receiue the Councell '0/"Nice, ^Constantinople, 
Ephesus, and of Chalcedona. Thus haue I hytherto shewed, 
what was the band and foundation of y e othe which I lent, vpon 



to Pope Gregorie. 285 



the which I protest, that (by the grace of God) I will not starte 
nor turne, from the true faith in lesus Christe, nor seperate my 
selfe from the holy and Apostolique church, to the which I do 
owe all reuerence, as I wil doo all my life : in remembrance of 
that which I did vowe in baptisme to God, and promised to the 
Church. For the rest, it is out of doubt betweene all good and 
learned men, that whatsoeuer we haue promised or sworne, if it 
be wrong & contrarie to our first faith, receyued in baptisme, that 
it bindeth vs not at all, this (I saye) is to be scene by the rule of the 
right cannon La we, that is to say, that an oth taken against good 10 
and godlie workes, bindeth not : and following the right cannon, 
the othes that are made against good deeds, drawes vs vnto sinne. 
Whereupon the Maister of Sentences hath wiselie sayd, in the 39. 
Distinction after Saint Hierome, that an othe hath three proper 
companions, veritie, Judgement, and iustice, and if any of these 
lacke, it is not a true othe, but a false othe : But Gratian giueth 
these aduertisements vpon the deede of an oth, Euil promises (saith 
he) breakes faith, chaunge therfore the ordinaunce of euill and 
dishonest thinges, and do not that, which thou hast vnwiselie 
promised, for that promise is against God, which is accomplished 20 
with wickednesse. 

In the seuenth cannon of our lawe, we haue a rule giuen, which 
we ought straitlie to obserue, not onely for the regard of othes, 
but in all the actions of our life (that is to say) that if by the 
sutteltie of our craftie enimie, we are falling into any faulte, we 
must seeke to escape it, by that meanes which we see is least 
hurtfull and daungerous : thus you see, that the olde and auncient 
Fathers hath generally concluded, that all vndiscrete and vnlawfull 
othes, ought not to be obserued and kept : and that it is more 
tollerable for to breake an othe, then to perseuere in the sinne of 30 
fornication. The same is also learned by the aucthority of 
S. Augustine, that if faith be not obserued, to the intent to returne 
to the right waye, it cannot be called y e violating of faith, for as 
much that the same is not true faith, which is requisite to commit 
sinne. It is easie to shew by many learned men, and also by the 
holie scriptures, and by the auncient Doctors, that partly the 
slacknes and slouthfulnes : and partly by the couetousnes and 
malice of many Popes, sundrie things hath crept in y e Romane 
church, as Platinus (though otherwise greatly affectionated to y e 
Roman seat) certifieth that those things do not agree to the 40 
Apostolique & catholique church, but they are notably iniurious 
against lesus Christ, which is established for to be the redeemer 
of peace, by the faith in his blood, & also most idolatrous, which 
whosoeuer should followe of a trueth, should sinne greeuouslie 
against God : and yet as Arnobius sayeth in his seuenth booke 
against the Gentiles, that we ought to forgiue liberally and freely, 
though it were against the Church, and against our owne conscience. 
For these thinges then, I am not drawne through any cause by 



286 The Bishops aunswer, 

you, (as many other great & woorthy personages hath taken 
occasion, to withdraw themselues) not from the catholique church, 
but from the corruption & abuses, which turneth vpside downe 
the foundation thereof. I wil not for this time enter into long 
disputation, but I would rather come to the crime, wherein I feel 
my selfe by you most accused. I see, I see, or at the least, 
I feele a certaine smell, that cannot be lesse then a sinnefull 
thing, the peine whereof, craueth the losse of my life, or of my 
charge and dignitie : for the which I am accused among you, 

10 which maketh me most odious, & maketh the world to thinke, 
that I reiect all discipline, all duety, and all honour, but the 
shame thereof (falselie accusing me) maketh your selues almoste 
to blush. Which is, because I am purposed to marie, which 
S. Paule neuerthelesse affirmeth, to be honourable among all 
men : and which is also sette in the Romane church, among the 
number of the Sacramentes. But whensoeuer I am minded to 
accomplishe this thing, what shall I doo, or enterprise against the 
examples of the holy Apostles, and their rules and decrees? 
What doo I against the aduise of Clement, Alexandrian! or 

20 against our owne Lawes, in the .28. Distinction, the .11. and .12. 
Chapters, where mention is made of the wiues of Priests, and 
Deacons, being aboundantly contained in the .17. cannon, as it was 
decreed by the Councell of Gangar, that, If any reiect a maried 
Priest, being of opinion that he ought not to offer, because he is 
maried, and for that cause will not come to his sendee, let him 
be accurst. 

Moreouer, those words spoken with great grauitie by Paphuntius, 
in the Councell of Nice, are commended in the second parte of 
their decree, which did not feare to call mariage the second 

30 degree of chastitie. Wherefore is it then that the aucthoritie of 
Siricius or Pelagious, should be of greater waight among vs, then 
that of the Apostles ? Of generall Counselles ? Of auncient Fathers 
before mentioned? Or of GOD himselfe? Which plainly pro 
nounced, that it was not good for man to be alone. What follie, 
or what madnesse I praye you is it then, to endure rather 
adulterers, fornicators, and Sodomiticall liuers, in the ministerie 
and church of Christ, then those which hath true & lawfull 
wiues, following the commaundements of God? From what 
spring, or from whose mouth came the same doctrine, which 

40 forbiddeth and condemneth mariage ? It appeareth by the eleuenth 
chapter of Daniel, vers. 36. 37. and the first of Timothy, the 
fowrth chapt. ver. i. 2. 3. sneus Silueus, in his discription of 
Germany, witnesseth that the holy bishoppe Vldricus, strongly 
withstoode the lawes of Celebat, against the Popes of his time, 
writing an Epistle vnto Pope Nicholas, wherin he greatly com 
plained that the chiefest Prelates, and Priests (namelie of Italy,) 
were so much giuen to lust and lecherie, that they would not 
abstaine from deflowring, maid, wife, or any other, nor spare theyr 



to Pope Gregorie. 287 



owne kindred, but commit sinne against nature, with y e masquelin 
sort, & also with very brute beasts : and there he declareth an 
historic worthy the noting, that Pope Gregorie the first, being he, 
that did first forbid ecclesiastical persons to marie, sending after- 
warde, certaine fishers to fishe in a mote, hard adioyning to 
a Nunrie, they founde more then six thousand childrens heads 
that had beene throwne therein, which when Gregorie sawe, and 
perceyued the wicked fruit of his Celebat, screwing to heare the 
same, he brake that decree, alledging the sentence of S. Paul, 
that, // is better to marie then to burne : Adding also, that it is 10 
farre better to suffer mariage, then to be the cause of murder. 
The Abbot Vspergus also in his Chronicle, maketh mention of an 
epistle in the most renoumed councell of the ecclesiasticall states 
at Bresse Nore, made against Heldebrand, wherin among other 
things, was a complaint made, y t he deuorsed spyrituall persons 
from theyr wiues, & vnder this detestable Pope, the Churches 
were in great daunger, & also he declared y* they were not bound 
in any promise to the Pope, for it is a greater thing to make 
a vow to obey God, and the catholique church, then to submitte 
our selues to the will and pleasure of any Pope, whatsoeuer, For 20 
these reasons, I that knoweth my duetie towarde lesus Christe, 
and his Church, I am determined to take the lawfull way and 
remedy, permitted to all manner of men (without exception) 
against euill and disordinate lustes, as it becommeth a true bishop, 
and a man of noble race to doo : to the ende, that I may keepe 
my soule chaste, and arme the same against all allurements of the 
flesh. Therefore am I determined to enter into mariage, not 
being mooued by any light or disobedient minde : but after long 
tryall made of my selfe, I haue knowne that it is not good for me 
to Hue vnmaried. Which gifte is not permitted to all, nor for 3 
euer, (that is to say, to make so long a triall of themselues :) 
I am resolued, following the lawes of the church aboue mentioned, 
to leaue that vndiscrete vow of the Celebat^ which is not in my 
power to performe, esteeming that this is lawful for me, for the 
auoiding of a greater euill, and for the better obseruing & accom 
plishing the vowe of chastitie, which I made vnto lesus Christ : 
and in so dooing I haue framed my selfe according to the com- 
maundement of God, submitting to his prouidence, and staying to 
his protection, not caring what euill men may iudge, nor for y 6 
threatnings, daungers, or any other thing whatsoeuer, hauing in 40 
memorie that which Theodorus hath written in his fourth booke, 
the tenth chapter, of the auncient Christians. Whiche dyd 
knowe no greater griefe then the renouncing of pietie : and 
although the tyrants went about raging and running vpon them, 
as stormes, or tempestes, yet could they not be shaken or put 
backe from pietie and godlines. Therefore, in all extremities, 
I haue recourse to the iudgement of those which hath right 
intelligence and knowledge. Vnto whome I doo appeale and 



288 The Bishops aunswer^ to Pope Gregorie. 

submit my selfe, after the example of lustinus Martyr, in his 
Apolligie for the Christians. In this submission most rightfull 
and iust, that by those which religiously feareth God the trueth 
alone is reuerenced, and to the same, all and euerie thing must be 
agreeing. 

Nowe I addresse my selfe to you Pope Gregorie, to the ende 
I may obtaine of you this my purpose, (being most chaste and 
according to the discipline of the true and auncient Catholique 
Church) some protection and defence. Therefore I doo earnestlie 

10 pray and beseech you, that of the same affection which it hath 
pleased you to admonish me, that you will take my part in my 
most iust enterprise, remembring that those which smothlie 
flatters you, (a sort of bribe takers, which dooth but lightlie and 
softlie touch the moste daungerous woundes) bee not those that 
dooth most honour, and reuerence vnto you and the Church : but 
well are they, which Plutarch speakes of, in his Treates of the 
difference betweene the flatterer and the friend: which boldlie 
and lyberallie speaketh, admonishing, and rebuking, not according 
to theyr owne appetite and desire. What am I then that should 

20 speake or brail against the Popes ? if they take all that they say 
out of the word, lawes and commaundementes of God, and out 
of the writings of the Apostles and Prophetes, vppon which 
doctrine, the Church and the Popes, ought to be founded and 
builded, by GOD which hath the sufferaintie ouer kinges and 
Popes. Oh that it were the good will and pleasure of him, that 
I might see the dayc, that you would not take the care to oppresse 
me, and all other men, louers and followers of the doctrine and 
life of the Apostles ; but rather that you should earnestlie vnder- 
take to cast farre away from you, so many vanities, so many 

30 idolatries, simonies, and sacrileges, and cut off these effeminates, 
fornicators, and adulterers, drunkardes, and idle personnes, which 
our owne lawes dooth excommunicate, to the ende that the 
Romane church, might recouer her auncient dignitie, and that 
peace and tranquilitie might come againe, among all Christians, 
that many grieued and wounded consciences might finde rest and 
consolation. Nowe as it is commonlie sayde, that of a poore 
gardener, or a simple man, something may be heard of reasonable 
sence : so I hope that you will not take this my small admonition, 
otherwise, then with a fatherlie, religious, and equitable hart : 

4 o which is made vnto you by one of your Brothers in lesus 
Christ, and an Almayn, which could neuer 
dissemble, whereuppon, I praye God 
to keepe you in his protection. 



FINIS. 



The Proclama 

tion and Edifl: of the 

Archbyfnop,and Prince Elcftor 
of CVLLEYN. 



occafion ant* earnrft 

intention , to bring in the free exercife of 
f &r platting of t be dMpeUnD peace as* 
lllbertie to true C^tfttan Ucltgtcn, 

at BO N , in the ycitc 



Antwcrpjn Tanners ffrat^ 
die SigncoftheGyldcnBible, by 

PAVLbBRAECJCVELT, 1)8}. 

With the confent and Priuilcdgc of the 
the Loidesof the Citric of Antwerp. 

SJmp^nfeO at London,b^ Richard Ione$ 

and 1 .5 .the. 18 . of March .158}. 

^ Auftfcorifcd and allowed. 



e C o p i e out of 

the high Dutche 

The Christian Edict & Proclamation, of the 

Archbishop and Prince Elector of 

Culleyne : concernyng his Princely 

intention to bring in the holy 

Gospell. Geuen at Bon, the 

XVI. of lanuarie 1583. 

WE GEBHART by the grace of God elected, and accepted 
Archbyshoppe of Culleyn, and chauncellour of the holye I0 
Empire through all Italie^ and Elector : Duke of Westphalen and 
Ingrene. &c : do let and giue to witte and vnderstande vnto all 
and singuler Archdeacons of our Jurisdiction, Countrey States, 
Earles, Knights, States and other Persons, subiectes vnto vs : and 
to all others that shall haue occasion to vse our grace and fauour 
and to euery of them, ioyntly and seuerallie. That since we 
receyued the state & place of our Archbishopricke and Prince 
Electours Gouernment, wherin the Almightie God, by free and 
lawfull election hath placed vs, wee haue alwayes acknowledged 
and at this present doe acknowledge that we are bounde to doe 20 
our duety and endeuours, to maintayne and defende all such as 
by God are commytted to our Princely Election and Archbyshop- 
ricke, and lykewise our common natiue Countrey of the Dutch 
Nation : & most speciallye and aboue all other respectes to 
aduance and set before our eyes the honour of God before all 
other matters, whereunto with al diligence and hartie affection 
wee are inclined. 

For asmuch as most earnest, obedient & hartie petition & 
request hath been lately made vnto vs by our Nobilitie & knights, 
& other Prouinces & countreies in no smal number, & also by the 3 
letters of some great personages of high estate & calling, within 
the sacred & holy Empyre, to suffer, admit & allow vnto them in 
al places of our Jurisdiction & auctorytie, the publike & open 
exercise of y e preaching of y e holy Gospell, and vse & administra 
tion of the holy Sacraments, accordyng to the sacred words and 
Scriptures of God, and the Confession of Auspurghe, grounded 
vppon the same holy Scriptures. And theruppon, consideryng the 
euerlastyng & vnchangeable wyll of God, that it is our duties to 
heare his Sonne, and earnestlye to do his wyll. And that all 
Princes and Gouernours of the worlde, ought too cause the Gates 40 
to bee sette wide open, for the kyng of Glory, and to let all 
people to enter in vnto him. Whereunto wee haue speciall 
Commaundement from God in our vocation, and do feele in our 
conscience, how greeuously in the day of iudgment, we shall yeeld 
accompt and make answer before God for all our actions, and 
shuttyng vp the wave of saluation to our leage people. 

And acknowledging and confessyng our selues to bee bounde to 

u 2 



2 g 2 The Christian Edict of the 

feare God, from the bottom of our heartes, and obedientlie to 
follow his Commaundements, and that hee is a mightie and iuste 
ludge, and consuming fire, whose feare wee oughte continuallie to 
set before our eyes. And for that wee being Christian superior, 
thought it our duetie before God, no longer to refuse to accomplishe 
the earneste and humble petition and suite, of our Nobilitie and 
Subiectes. Wee therefore by the aduise of our Lordes and frendes, 
and after mature consultation thereupon had and taken, doe 
graunte and permit vnto all persons, of what estate, degree, or 

10 callinge soeuer they bee, eyther subiecte vnto our Aucthority or 
frends, and bearing good wil to our Archbishopprick, the Christian 
lybertie of their consciences, by Gods worde allowed. And do 
wyll, consent, graunt and confirme vnto them by vertue of these 
Presentes,that if any of the Subiectes or Inhabitauntes of any Cytie, 
Towne or place of our Jurisdiction, shall by any of our Officers, 
Commissioners, Maiestrates or ministers, whatsouer, in or about 
maters of faith, religion or conscience, be imprisoned, damnified, 
mollested or troubled either in Honour, dignitie, Fame, Reputation, 
bodie or goodds, for Gods woorde, or following the confession of 

20 Auspurghe. That then euerie of them shall bee freely cleared, 
set at liberty, and discharged from all imprisonment, losse and 
molestation & trouble whatsoeuer, growinge for anie such respect. 
Also we doe license, graunte and confirme herewithall vnto our 
Prelates, Earles, Lordes, Inhabitantes, Estates, Commons, Townes, 
and other Congregations of people, of our princely Election and 
Archbyshopricke, that they maye and shall, by warrante hereof, 
haue full power and Authoritie, to exercise and put in vse, the 
free and open Exercise of the preachynge of the Gospell, and the 
Administratyon and vse of the holye Sacramentes, accordynge to 

30 the holye Scryptures of the Prophetes and Apostles, and agreeable 
to the Contentes and vse of the confession of Auspurghe, there- 
vppon grounded, without molestation of our Commissioners, 
lustyces and Offycers, or anye other either of our Jurisdiction, 
whome wee doe meane to defende & assist with the helpe of the 
Almightie God : trusting also vpon the mighty power of God, 
that he will mercifullie assist and fauour vs in our so godly an 
enterprise and meaning, and be our defence agaynst all the Gates 
of Hell, to the maintenance of his glorie and holie worde. 

More ouer, wee doe hereby declare and proteste before the 

4 o Almightie God, who is the chiefe truth, and a knower of the 
secrets of all mens heartes, that wee are not mooued and ledde to 
this our Christian intention, through worldly wisedome, desire of 
Honour, or anie other worldly respect : neyther herein do seeke 
the profit, honour, dignitie, or estimation of our selfe, but onelye 
doe seeke to aduance the honour and glorie of our Redeemer, 
and to set foorth his holye woorde. And our intent and meaning 
herein, is chiefly to seeke the prosperitye and Saluation of our 
Subiectes whome God hath committed to our charge. 



Archbishop of Culleyne. 293 

Let no man therefore imagine or thinke, that wee are inclined 
to nouelties or troubles. For oure intente and desyre is, to see 
good Christian orders maynteined and Kepte with peace and 
quyetnes, in Churches and Schooles of mens heartes. 

And so wee are minded by the aduyse & counsayle of the 
States of our Countreys, and other our Lordes and frendes, to 
publishe & set foorthe Christyan Orders to bee obserued and 
followed in all Churches and Schooles of oure Archbishopricke. 

In the meane tyme wee are aduysed, to giue warnynge to all 
suche as intende to lyue after the woorde of GOD, and the 10 
Confession of Auspurghe, to vse and behaue themselues with all 
reason and affectyon, as good Christians oughte to doe. And wee 
requyre and praye them most hartilye, that no man mollest, 
trouble, defy, blaspheme or vexe one an other by woorde or 
deede. But that euerye of them behaue themselues one towards 
an other peaceably and quyetlye in their conuersation and 
dealynges. And to lyue and continue accordynge to the Contentes 
of this oure presente Edict. 

And as touchynge oure owne Person in this case. Whereas 
accordynge to the Counsayle and appoyntmente of Almighty God, 2 
wee haue entered into the Holye State of Marryage, and that 
publiquelye, wherein no man is able iustlie to accuse vs to haue 
doone the same agaynste the accustomed Order, or that wee haue 
anye meanynge to seeke our pryuate aduantage, or anye other 
thynge preiudyciall to oure Archbyshopricke, and Prince Elector- 
shyppe, or to appropryate the same in Successyon andlnherytaunce 
to our Heyres : Wee therefore, doe make oppen and playne 
Testimonie and Declaration by these presents, by the highest 
trueth : (which is God Almightie him selfe) and hereby do protest 
that we haue no meaning or will, nor are in aniewyse inclyned or 3 
bent, to bringe our Byshoppricke, to the propryetie or possessyon 
of our Heyres, neyther to bringe in anie Noueltie or Alteration, 
tendynge to oure pryuate profytte or aduancement. But doe here 
by openlye publishe and declare, that after our Decease, our 
Honourable Chapyter of oure Cathedrall Churche of Culleyn, shall 
haue their free Liberty e and Election lefte vnto them, and shall 
remaine in all respects, as in their auncient former estate. 

Also we are content, and giue our Commaundement touchinge 
the premisses to all and singuler Inhabitantes and Subiectes of 
our Archbysshopryke and Prince Electorship : that an orderly 4 
choice and free election may be made of a future supreme head, to 
gouerne them after our decease or free resignation : yet neuerthe- 
lesse, our meanynge is, that, whosoeuer shall be in election to come 
to that succession by an orderly choice & free election, shall be 
no other but such a one as is bounde vnto our saide Chapiter of 
our saide Cathedrall Church, and a Lorde capable, by th' 
ordinaunces of the same to come to that degree, and a man of our 
iurisdiction, both obedient and fytte, and worthye in all respectes 



294 Archbishop of Culleyne. 

for the place when it shal fall vnto him : and otherwise, not to bee 
elected to such preferment by any meanes. And whatsoeuer, such 
person as shall be by suche orderly proceedinge choice and free 
election of our worthye Chapiter of our said Cathedrall Church, 
chosen and elected to succeede after our sayd decease or resigna 
tion. They shall acknowledge him for their future Lorde, any 
Lawe, Statute, Act, Ordinaunce, Edict or Proclamation, made, 
ordained, or prouided, either by vs, or any other what soeuer he 
be, to the contrary of this our publike declaration, in any wise 

10 notwithstandyng : for we, all such do now, & alwayes wyl cancel, 
adnihilate and make of none effect. 

All the same premises, we wish to be done in the cheefest and 
best manner and forme that may bee, to thende the same may 
continue of the better force and effect : wherunto, we will be 
obedient and lay to our helping hande, and therein wyll agree and 
consent with our said Chapiter & inhabitants and confyrme the 
aforesaid conditions with assurance therof, in such sort that no 
man shall haue iust cause to mistrust or conceaue any feare of vs, 
or of our Heyres or Successours. 

20 Wherefore, wee wyll and commaunde all our Baylyffes, Justices, 
Offycers, Lieutennauntes, Gouernours, Customers, Burrough 
maisters, Cytizens, Common people, Ministers and Subiectes and 
whatsoeuer, vpon this our publique Edict and Proclamation, with 
all their endeuour, to obserue and performe the same : and to 
cause the same Edict and Proclamation to bee obeyed and 
maintayned from point to point : 

And also contrarye to the true meanynge thereof, not to encomber 
or trouble, or suffer to bee encumbred or troubled, any person or 
persons of any degree, vocation, or calling whatsoeuer, vppon paine 

3 o of our high displeasure and indignation, & greeuous punishment 
to be inflicted withall vppon the offenders, breakers or repugners 
of this our present Edict and Proclamation : for such is our 
earnest and finall intent and wyll. 

In witnesse wherof, we haue caused this our Proclamation to be 
openly printed and confirmed with our Seale, and that through al 
our Archbishoprick and Prince Electorship, to thend, that euery 
man should haue knowledge thereof. 

GIVEN IN OUR CITIE 

of Bon, the XVI Day of lanuarie, in the 
40 yeare of the Computation of the byrth 

of our Lorde lesus Christ 1583 

PRINTED AT LONDON 

by Richard Jones: at the Signe 
of the Rose and the Crowne, 
neere Holburne Bridge, 
1583 



THE 

G ARLAN D 

OF 

Good Will 

Diuided into three parts:Containing 

m*ny fUafant Songs^and prety 
poemjjto fundry new 
Notes. 

With a Table to fiodc the names of all tht Songs, 

Written by T. 



-3 

fflwiX TTft A./^ 




i njpmi ted a t London for tylim B'itf a at the Bible 
in Saint Lawrence Lane i 6 * i. 



The Table. 



I. Part. 

e faire Lady Rosamond. 
Shores Wife. 

3. How King Edgar was deceiued. 

4. How Couentry was made free. 

5. Of the Duke of Cornwals Daughter. 

6. A Song of Queene Isabell. 

7. The banishment of two Dukes. 

8. The noble Acts of Arthur of the round Table, and of Lancelot 

du Lake. 

9. A Song in praise of women. 

10. A Song in praise of the single life. 
ir. The Widdowes Solace. 

1 2. A Gentle womans Complaint. 

13. How a Prince of England wooed the Kings Daughter of 

France ; and how she was maried to a Forrester. 

14. The faithfull friendship of two friends, Alphonso and Ganselo. 



In the second Part. 

1. A Pastorall Song. 

2. Patient Grizel. 

3. A Song betweene Truth and Ignorance. 

4. ludeth and Holofernes. 

5. In praise of the English Rose. 



In the third Part. 

1. A Maidens choice twixt age and youth. 

2. As I came from Walsingham. 

3. The winning of Cales. 

4. Of Edward the third, and a Countesse. 

5. The Spanish Ladies Loue. 

6. A farewel to loue. 

7. Louer by his Gifts thinketh to conquer Chastity. 

8. The womans answer. 

FINIS. 



A Mournfull Dittie, on the 

death of Rosamond, King Henry 

the seconds Concubine. 



W 



i. 

To the Tune of When flying Fame. 

Henas King Henry rul'd this land, 



the second of that name, 
Besides the Queene, he deerely lou'd 

a faire and Princely Dame. 
Most peerelesse was her beauty found, 

her fauour and her face : 
A sweeter creature in this world, 

did neuer Prince embrace. 

Her crisped locks like threds of Gold 

appeared to each mans sight: 10 

Her comely eyes like Orient pearles, 

did cast a heauenly light. 
The bloud within her Christall cheekes, 

did such a colour driue : 
As though the Lilly and the Rose 

for maistership did striue. 

Yea Rosamond^ faire Rosamond, 

her name was called so: 
To whom Dame Elinor the Queene, 

was knowne a cruell foe. 20 

The King therefore, for her defence, 

against the furious Queene, 
At Woodstock* builded such a bower, 

the like was neuer scene. 

Most curiously this Bower was built 

of stone and timber strong, 
An hundred and fifty doores 

did to that bower belong. 

15 the rose BCD E: and rose A 17 yea B C D : yet A 



298 The Garland of good 



And they so cunningly contriu'd 

with turnings round about, 30 

That none but with a clew of threed, 

could enter in or out. 

And for his loue and Ladies sake, 

that was so faire and bright : 
The keeping of that bower he gaue 

vnto a valiant Knight. 
But fortune that doth often frowne, 

where she before did smile : 
The Kings delight, the Ladies ioy, 

full soone she did beguile. 40 

For why, the Kings vngracious sonne, 

whom he did high aduance : 
Against his Father raised warre, 

within the Realme of France. 
But yet before our comely King, 

the English land forsooke : 
Of Rosamond his Lady faire, 

his farewell thus he tooke. 

My Rosamond, the onely Rose 

that pleaseth best mine eye : 50 

The fairest Rose in all the world 

to feed my fantasie. 
The flower of mine afflicted heart, 

whose sweetnesse doth excell : 
My royall Rose a thousand times, 

I bid thee now farwel. 

For I must leaue my fairest flower, 

my sweetest Rose a space. 
And crosse the seas to famous France, 

proud Rebels to abase. 60 

But yet, my Rose be sure thou shalt 

my coming shortly see : 
And in my heart while hence I am 

He beare my Rose with me. 

41 for why CD \ for while A 45 before BCDE\ A omits 



The Garland of good Will. 299 

When Rosamond, the Lady bright, 

did heare the King say so : 
The sorrow of her grieued heart, 

her outward lookes did show; 
And from her cleare and cristall eyes, 

the teares gusht out apace : 70 

Which, like a siluer pearled dew, . 

ran downe her comly face. 

Her lips, like to a Corall red, 

did wax both wan and pale, 
And for the sorrow she conceiu'd, 

her vitall spirits did faile. 
So falling downe all in a swoond 

before King Henries face : 
Full oft betweene his Princely armes 

her corpes he did embrace. 80 

And twenty times, with watry eyes, 

he kist her tender cheeke : 
Vntill she had receiu'd againe 

her senses mild and meeke. 
Why grieues my Rose, my sweetest Rose 

the King did euer say ; 
Because (quoth she) to bloudy warres, 

my Lord must part away. 

But sith your grace, in forren coast, 

among your foes vnkind, 90 

Must go to hazard life and limbe, 

why should I stay behind ; 
Nay rather let me, like a Page, 

your shield and Target beare, 
That on my brest the blow may light, 

that should annoy you there. 

O let me in your Royall Tent 

prepare your bed at night : 
And with sweet baths refresh your Grace 

at your returne from fight. 100 

91 go to hazard C D E : go hazard A 



300 The Garland of good 

So I your presence may enioy, 
no toyle I must refuse : 

But wanting you my life is death, 
which doth true loue abuse. 



Content thy selfe my dearest loue, 

thy rest at home shall be : 
In Englands sweet and pleasant soile, 

for trauel fits not thee. 
Faire Ladies brooke not bloudy warrs, 

sweet peace their pleasure breede : no 

The nourisher of hearts content, 

which fancy first doth feed. 

My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke Bower, 

with Musickes sweet delight : 
AVhile I among the piercing pikes 

against my foes do fight. 
My Rose, in robes and pearles of Gold, 

with Diamonds richly dite : 
Shall dance the Galliard of my loue, 

while I my foes do smite. 120 

And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust 

to be my loues defence : 
Be carefull of my gallant Rose, 

when I am parted hence. 
And therewithall he fetcht a sigh, 

as though his heart would breake : 
And Rosamond, for inward griefe, 

not one plaine word could speake. 

For at his parting, well they might 

in heart be grieued sore : 130 

After that day, faire Rosamond 

the King did see no more. 
For when his grace had past the seas, 

and into France was gone : 
Queene Elinor, with enuious heart, 

to Woodstocke came anon. 



1 1 7 pearles of Gold A B : pearles and Gold CD E 



The Garland of good Will. 301 

And forth she cal'd this trusty Knight, 

which kept this curious Bower : 
Who, with his clew of twined thred, 

came from that famous flower. 140 

And when that they had wounded him 

the Queene his thred did get : 
And came where Lady Rosamond 

was like an Angell set. 

But when the Queene with stedfast eyes 

beheld her heauenly face : 
She was amazed in her mind, 

at her exceeding grace. 
Cast off thy Robes from thee, she said, 

that rich and costly be : 150 

And drink thee vp this deadly draught 

which I haue brought for thee. 

But presently vpon her knee, 

sweet Rosamond did fall : 
And pardon of the Queene she crau'd 

for her offences all. 
Take pitty on my youthfull yeares, 

faire Rosamond did cry : 
And let me not with poyson strong, 

enforced be to dye. 160 

I will renounce this sinfull life, 

and in a cloister bide : 
Or else be banisht, if you please, 

to range the world so wide. 
And for the fault that I haue done, 

though I were forct thereto : 
Preserue my life, and punish me, 

as you thinke best to do. 

And with these words her Lilly hands 

she wrung full often there : 1 7 

And downe along her louely cheekes, 

proceeded many a teare. 
But nothing could this furious Queene 

therewith appeased be : 
The cup of deadly poyson fil'd, 

as she sat on her knee. 



302 The Garland of good Will. 

She gaue this comely Dame to drinke, 

who tooke it from her hand : 
And from her bended knee arose, 

and on her feet did stand ; 180 

And casting vp her eyes to Heauen, 

she did for mercy call : 
And drinking vp the poyson then, 

her life she lost with all. 

And when that death through euery limbe, 

had done his greatest spight : 
Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse 

she was a glorious wight. 
Her body then they did intomb, 

when life was fled away : 190 

At Godstow, neere to Oxford Towne 

as may be scene this day. 

FINIS. 



2. 

A New Sonnet, conteining the Lamentation of Shores 
wife, who was sometime Concubine to King Edward 
the fourth, setting forth her great fall, and withall 
her most miserable and wretched end. 

To the tune of, the hunt is vp. 

Listen, faire Ladies, 
Vnto my misery : 
That liued late in pompous state, 

most delightfully. 

And now by Fortune's faire dissimulation, 
Brought to cruell and vncouth plagues, 
most spightfully. 

Shores wife I am, 

So knowne by name : 

And at the flower-de-luce in Cheapside 10 

was my dwelling : 

The only daughter of a wealthy merchant man, 
Against whose counsel euermore, 

I was rebelling. 



The Garland of good Will. 

J o 

Young was I loued; 

No affection moued 

My heart or mind to giue or yeeld 

to their consenting. 

My Parents thinking richly for to wed me, 
Forcing me to that which caused 20 

my repenting. 

Then being wedded, 

I was quickly tempted, 

My beauty caused many Gallants 

to salute me. 

The King commanding, I straight obayed : 
For his chiefest iewel then, 

he did repute me. 

Brave was I trained, 

Like a Queene I raigned, 30 

And many poore mens suits 

by me was obtained. 
In al the Court to none was such resort, 
As vnto me, though now in scorn, 

I be disdained. 

When the King dyed, 

My griefe I tryed : 

From the Court I was expelled, 

with despight. 

The Duke of Gloster being Lord Protector, 40 

Tooke away my goods, against 

all law and right. 

In a Procession, 
For my transgression, 
Bare foot he made me go, 

for to shame me. 

A Crosse before me there was carried plainly, 
As a pennance for my former life, 

so to tame me. 

Then through London, 50 

Being thus vndone, 
The Lord Protector published, 
a Proclamation : 



304 The Garland of good Will. 

On paine of death I should not be harbord, 
Which furthermore encreast my sorrow 
and vexation. 

I that had plenty, 

And dishes dainty : 

Most sumptuously brought to my boord 

at my pleasure: 60 

Being full poore, from doore to doore, 
I begd my bread with clacke and dish, 

at my leasure. 

My rich attire, 

By fortunes yre, 

To rotten rags and nakednesse 

they are beaten. 

My body soft, which the King embraced oft, 
With vermine vile annoyd 

and eaten. 70 

On stalls and stones, 

Did lye my bones, 

That wonted was in beds of downe 

to be placed. 

And you see my finest pillowes be, 
Of stinking straw, with dirt and dung 

thus disgraced. 

Wherefore, Fair Ladies, 
With your sweet babies, 
My grieuous fall beare in your mind, 80 

and behold me : 

How strange a thing, that the loue of a King 
Should come to dye vnder a stall, 

as I told yee. 

FINIS. 

76 with dirt CDE: both dirt, A B 



The Garland of good Will. 305 



A New Song of King Edgar, King of England, 

how he was depriued of a Lady, which 

he loued, by a Knight of his Court. 

To be sung in the old ancient sort, or else to the Tune of Labandalashot 

WHenas King Edgar did gouerne this land, 
adowne, adowne, downe, down, down, 
And in the strength of his yeeres did stand, 

call him downe a : 

Such praise was spread of a gallant Dame, 
Which did through England carry great fame, 
And she a Lady of noble degree, 
The Earle of Deuonshires daughter was she. 
The King which lately had buried his Queene, 
And not long time had a Widdower beene, 10 

Hearing this praise of this gallant Maid, 
Vpon her beauty his loue he laide, 
And in his sighes he wold often say, 
I will go send for that Lady gay : 
Yea, I will go send for that Lady bright, 
Which is my treasure and delight : 
Whose beauty, like to Phazbus beames, 
Doth glister through all Christian Realmes. 
Then to himselfe he would reply, 

Saying, How fond a Prince am I, 20 

To cast my loue so base and low, 
Vpon a Gyrle I do not know : 
King Edgar will his fancy frame, 
To loue some peerelesse Princely Dame, 
The daughter of a royall King, 
That may a worthy dowry bring : 
Whose matchlesse beauty brought in place, 
May Estrilds colour cleane disgrace. 
But senseless man, what do I meane, 
Vpon a broken reede to lean : 30 

Or what fond fury doth me moue 
Thus to abase my dearest loue? 
Whose visage, grac't with heauenly hue 
Doth Helens honour quite subdue : 

32 A B : abuse C D E 
917.6 X 



706 The Garland of good Will, 
o y o 

The glory of her beauties pride, 

Sweet Estrilds fauor doth deride. 

Then pardon my vnseemely speech, 

Deare loue and Lady, I beseech : 

For I my thoughts will henceforth frame, 

To spread the honour of thy name. 40 

Then vnto him he cal'd a Knight, 

Which was most trusty in his sight, 

And vnto him thus did he say : 

To earle Orgarus, go thy way, 

Where ask for Estrild^ comely Dame, 

Whose beauty went so farre by Fame. 

And if thou find her comely grace, 

As Fame hath spred in euery place : 

Then tell her Father she shall be 

My crowned Queene, if she agree. 50 

The Knight in message did proceed, 

And into Deuonshire with speed : 

But when he saw the Lady bright, 

He was so rauisht at her sight, 

That nothing could his passion moue, 

Except he might obtaine her loue : 

For day and night while there he staid, 

He courted still this peerelesse Maid : 

And in his suit he shewed such skill, 

That at the length won her good-will, 60 

Forgetting quite the duty tho 

Which he vnto the King did owe. 

Then comming home vnto his Grace, 

He told him with dissembling face, 

That those reporters were to blame, 

That so aduanc't the Maidens name. 

For I assure your Grace (quoth he) 

She is as other women bee: 

Her beauty of such great report, 

No better than the common sort, 7 

And farre vnmeet in euery thing, 

To match with such a Noble King. 

But though her face be nothing faire, 

Yet sith she is her Fathers heire, 

45 Estrilds ABCDE 



The Garland of good Will. 307 

Perhaps some Lord of high degree, 
Would very faine her husband be: 
Then if your Grace would giue consent, 
I would my selfe be well content, 
The Damsell for my wife to take, 
For her great Lands and Liuings sake. 80 

The King whom thus he did deceiue, 
Incontinent did giue him leaue: 
For on that point he did not stand, 
For why, he had no need of Land. 
Then being glad he went his way, 
And wedded straight that Lady gay: 
The fairest creature bearing life, 
Had this false Knight vnto his wife : 
And by that match of high degree, 
An Earle soone after that was he. 9 

Ere he long time had married beene, 
That many had her beauty scene: 
Her praise was spred both farre and neere; 
The King againe thereof did heare : 
Who then in heart did plainely proue, 
He was betrayed of his loue. 
Though thereat, he was vexed sore, 
Yet seem'd he not to grieue therefore, 
But kept his countenance good and kinde, 
As though he bare no grudge in minde. 100 

But on a day it came to passe, 
When as the King full merry was, 
To Ethelwood in sport he said, 
I muse what cheere there would be made, 
If to thy house I should resort 
A night or two for Princely sport: 
Hereat the earl shewd countenance glad, 
Though in his heart he was sore sad: 
Saying, Your Grace should welcome be, 
If so your Grace would honour me. no 

When as the day appointed was, 
Before the King did thither passe, 
The Earle beforehand did prepare, 
The Kings comming to declare : 
And with a countenance passing grim, 
He cal'd his Lady vnto him. 
x 2 



308 The Garland of good Will. 

Saying with sad and heauy cheare, 

I pray you when the King comes here, 

Sweet Lady as you tender me, 

Let your attire but homely be: 120 

Nor wash not thou thy Angels face, 

But doe thy beauty quite disgrace. 

Thereto thy gesture so apply, 

It may seeme lothsome to the eye. 

For if the King should there behold 

Thy glorious beauty so extold : 

Then should my life soone shortned be, 

For my deserts and trechery. 

When to thy Father first I came, 

Though I did not declare the same, 130 

Yet was I put in trust to bring 

The ioyfull tyding from the King, 

Who for thy glorious beauty scene, 

Did thinke of thee to make his Queene : 

But when I had thy person found, 

Thy beauty gaue me such a wound, 

No rest nor comfort could I take, 

Till you, sweet loue, my griefe did slake : 

And thus, though duty charged me, 

Most faithfull to my Lord to be : 140 

Yet loue vpon the other side, 

Bade for my self I should prouide : 

Then for my suit and seruice showne, 

At length I won you for my owne, 

And for your loue and wedlocke spent, 

Your choise you need no whit repent. 

Then sith my griefe I haue exprest, 

Sweet Lady, grant me my request. 

Good words she gaue with smiling cheere, 

Musing at that which she did heare; 150 

And casting many things in mind, 

Great fault herewith she seem'd to find: 

But in her selfe she thought it shame, 

To make that foule which God did frame : 

Most costly robes and rich therefore, 

In brauest sort that day she wore: 

122 quith A 



The Garland of good Will. 309 

Doing all things that ere she might, 

To set her beauty forth to sight. 

And her best skill in euery thing 

She shewed to entertaine the King. 160 

Whereby the King so snared was, 

That reason quite from him did passe: 

His heart by her was set on fire, 

He had to her a great desire, 

And for the lookes he gaue her then, 

For euery looke she lent him ten : 

Wherefore the King perceiued plaine, 

His loue and lookes were not in vaine. 

Vpon a time it chanced so, 

The King he would a hunting goe, 170 

And as they through a wood did ride, 

The Earle on horseback by his side: 

For so the story telleth plaine, 

That with a shaft the Earle was slaine. 

So when that he had lost his life, 

He tooke the Damsell vnto wife, 

Who married her, all shame to shunne, 

By whom he did beget a sonne. 

Thus he that did the King deceiue, 

Did by desert this death receiue. 180 

Then to conclude and make an end, 

Be true and faithful to thy friend. 

FI N I S. 



How Couentry was made free by Godina^ Countesse 
of Chester. 

To the Tune of Prince Arthur died at Ludlow. 

LEofricus, that Noble Earle 
Of Chester, as I reade, 
Did for the City of Couentry, 
Many a noble deed. 
Great priuiledges for the towne. 
This Nobleman did get, 



310 The Garland of good 



And of all things did make it so, 

That they tole-free did sit: 

Saue onley that for horses still, 

They did some custome pay, 10 

Which was great charges to the towne, 

Full long and many a day. 

Wherefore his wife, Godina faire, 

Did of the Earl request, 

That therefore he would make it free, 

As well as all the rest. 

So when the Lady long had sued, 

Her purpose to obtaine: 

Her Noble Lord at length she tooke, 

Within a pleasant vaine, 20 

And vnto him with smiling cheare, 

She did forthwith proceed, 

Entreating greatly that he would 

Performe that goodly deed. 

You moue me much, faire Dame (quoth he) 

Your suit I faine would shunne : 

But what would you performe and do, 

To haue this matter done? 

Why any thing, my Lord (quoth she) 

You will with reason craue, 3 

I will performe it with good will, 

If I my wish may haue. 

If thou wilt grant one thing (said he) 

Which I shall now require, 

So soone as it is finished, 

Thou shalt haue thy desire. 

Command what you thinke good, my Lord, 

I will thereto agree : 

On this condition that this Towne 

For euer may be free. 40 

If thou wilt thy cloaths strip off, 

And here wilt lay them downe, 

And at noone day on horsebacke ride 

Starke naked thorow the Towne, 

They shall be free for euermore : 

If thou wilt not do so, 

41 BCD: If thou wilt strip thy clothes off A E 



The Garland of good Will. 311 

More liberty than now they haue, 

I neuer will bestow. 

The lady at this strange demand, 

Was much abasht in mind : 50 

And yet for to fulfil this thing, 

She neuer a whit repinde. 

Wherefore to all the Officers 

Of all the Towne she sent : 

That they perceiuing her good will, 

Which for the weale was bent, 

That on the day that she should ride, 

All persons thorow the Towne, 

Should keepe their houses and shut their doores, 

And clap their windowes downe, 60 

So that no creature, yong or old 

Should in the street be scene : 

Till she had ridden all about, 

Throughout the City cleane. 

And when the day of riding came, 

No person did her see, 

Sauing her Lord : after which time, 

The towne was euer free. 

FINIS. 



5- 

How the Dukes daughter of Cornwall being married 
vnto King Locrine y was by him put away, and a 
strange Lady whom he better loued, hee married, 
and made her his Queene, and how his wife was 
auenged. 

To the tune of, in Creete. 

WHen Humber in his wrathfull rage, 
King Albanacke in field had slaine, 
Those bloody broiles for to asswage, 
King Locrine then applyed his paine, 
And with a hoast of Brittaines stout, 
At length he found King Humber out. 

At vantage great he met him then, 
And with his hoast beset him so, 



312 The Garland of good 



That he destroy'd his warlike men, 

And Numbers power did ouerthrow : 10 

And Humber^ which for feare did flie, 

Leapt into a Riuer desperately. 

And being drowned in the deepe, 
He left a Lady there aliue, 
Which sadly did lament and weepe, 
For feare they should her life depriue. 
But for her face that was so faire, 
The King was caught in Cupids snare. 

He tooke this Lady to his loue, 

Who secretly did keepe her still: ao 

So that the Queene did quickly proue, 

The King did beare her small good will : 

Which though in wedlocke late begun, 

He had by her a gallant sonne. 

Queene Guendoline was grieu'd in minde, 

To see the King was altered so: 

At length the cause she chanc'd to finde, 

Which brought her to most bitter woe : 

For Estrild was his ioy (God wot) 

By whom a Daughter he begot. 30 

The Duke of Cornwall being dead, 
The Father of that Gallant Queene : 
The King with lust being ouerled, 
His lawfull wife he cast off cleane : 
Who with her deare and tender sonne, 
For succour did to Cornewall runne. 

Then Locrine crowned Estrild bright, 

And made of her his lawfull wife, 

With her, which was his hearts delight, 

He thought to lead a pleasant life : 40 

Thus Guendoline^ as one forlorne, 

Was of her husband held in scorne. 

But when the Cornish men did know 
The great abuse she did endure : 
With her a number great did goe, 
Which she by prayers did procure : 
In battell then they marcht along, 
For to redresse this grieuous wrong. 



The Garland of good Will. 313 

And neere a riuer called Store, 

The King with all his hoast she met: 50 

Where both the armies fought full sore, 

But the Queene the field did get: 

Yet ere they did the conquest gaine, 

The King was with an arrow slaine. 

Then Guendoline did take in hand, 

Vntill her sonne was come to age, 

The gouernment of all the Land : 

But first her fury to asswage, 

She did command her souldiers wild, 

To drowne both Estrild and her child. 60 

Incontinent then did they bring 
Faire Estrild to the Riuers side, 
And Sabrine daughter to a King, 
Whom Guendoline could not abide : 
Who being bound together fast, 
Into the riuer there were cast. 

And euer since, that running stream, 

Wherein the Ladies drowned were, 

Is called Seuerne through the Realme, 

Because that Sabrine dyed there. 70 

Thus they that did to lewdnesse bend, 

Were brought vnto a wofull end. 

FINIS. 



6. 

A song of Queene Isabel, wife to King Edward the 
second, how by the Spencers she was constrained 
secretly to goe out of England with her elder sonne 
Prince Edward, to seeke for succour in France, and 
what hapned vnto her in her iourney. 

PRoud were the Spencers, and of condition ill, 
All England and the King likewise, 
they ruled at their will : 
And many Lords and Nobles of this Land, 
Through their occasions lost their Hues, 
and none durst them withstand. 



314 ^he Garland of good 



And at the last they did encrease their grief, 
Betweene the King and Isabel, 

his queen and faithfull wife. 

So that her life she dreaded wondrous sore, ro 

And cast within her secret thoughts, 

some present help therefore. 

Thus she requests with countenance graue and sage, 
That she to Thomas Beckets tombe, 

might go on Pilgrimage. 

Then being ioyfull to haue that happy chance, 
Her sonne and she tooke ship with speed, 

and sailed into France. 
And royally she was receiued then, 
By the King and all the rest 20 

of Peeres and Noblemen. 
And vnto him at length she did expresse 
The cause of her arriuall there, 

her griefe and heauinesse. 

When as her brother her griefe did vnderstand, 
He gaue her leaue to gather men, 

throughout his famous Land : 
And made his promise to aid her euermore, 
As oft as she could stand in need, 

of Gold and Siluer store. 30 

But when indeed he should performe the same, 
He was as farre from doing it, 

as when she thither came, 

And did proclaime while matters yet were greene, 
That none on paine of death should go 

to aide the English Queene. 

This alteration did greatly grieue the Queene, 
That downe along her comely face, 

the bitter teares were scene. 

When she perceiu'd her friends forsooke her so, 40 
She knew not for her safety 

which way to turne or go : 
But through good hap at last she then decreed, 
To looke in fruitfull Germanie^ 

some succour in this need. 

29 As oft] Often B CD E : As ough A 



The Garland of good Will. 315 

And to Sir lohn Henault then went she, 
Who entertain'd this wofull Queene, 
with great solemnitie. 

And with great sorrow to him she then complaind, 
Of all her griefes and iniuries 50 

which she of late sustaind : 

So that with weeping she dimd her Princely sight, 
The summe whereof did greatly grieue 

that Noble courteous Knight : 
Who made an oath he would her Champion be, 
And in her quarrell spend his bloud : 

from wrong to set her free; 
And all my friends with whom I may preuaile, 
Shall helpe for to aduance your state, 

whose truth no time shall faile. 60 

And in this promise most faithful he was found, 
And many Lords of great account 

were in this voyage bound. 
So setting foward with a goodly traine, 
At length, through Gods especiall grace, 

into England they came. 

At Harwich then when they were come ashore, 
Of English Lords and Barons bold, 

there came to her great store, 

Which did reioyce the Queenes afflicted heart, 70 

That English Nobles in such sort, 

did come to take her part. 

When as King Edward hereof did vnderstand, 
How that the Queene with such a power, 

was entred on his Land, 

And how his Nobles were gone to take her part, 
He fled from London presently, 

euen with a heauy heart : 
And with the Spencers did vnto Bristoll goe, 
To fortifie that Gallant Towne 80 

great cost he did bestow: 
Leauing behind to gouern London Towne, 
The stout Bishop of Exceter, 

whose pride was soone pul'd downe. 

57 free A omits 



3 1 6 The Garland of good Will. 

The Mayor of London with citizens great store 
The Bishop and the Spencers both, 

in heart they did abhorre : 

Therefore they tooke him without feare & dread, 
And at the Standard in Cheapside^ 

they soone smote off his head. 90 

Vnto the Queene this message then they sent, 
The City of London was 

at her commandement : 

Wherefore the Queene with all her companie, 
Did straight to Bristow march amaine, 

whereas the King did lye. 

Then she besieg'd the City round about, 
Threatning sharpe and cruell death 

to those that were so stout : 

Wherefore the townsmen their children & their \viues, 
Did yeeld the City to the Queene, 101 

for safegard of their Hues. 
Where was tooke, the story plaine doth tell, 
Sir Hugh Spencer, and with him 

the Earle of Arundel. 

This Judgement iust the Nobles did set downe, 
They should be drawne and hanged both, 

in sight of Bristow Towne, 

Then was King Edward in the Castle there; 

And young Hugh Spencer still with him, no 

in dread and deadly feare. 
And being prepar'd from thence to sail away, 
The winds were found so contrary, 

they were enforc't to stay : 
But at the last Sir Henry Beaumond Knight, 
Did bring their sailing ship to shore, 

and so did stay their flight : 
And so these men were taken speedily, 
And brought as prisoners to the Queene, 

which did in Bristow lye. iao 

The Queene by counsell of the Lords & Barons bold 
To Barkeley Castle sent the King, 
there to be kept in hold. 

87 heart B C D E : hearts A 118 taken speedily B C D : 

full speedily A 



The Garland of good Will. 317 

And young Hugh Spencer, that did much ill procure, 
Was to the Marshal of the Hoast 

sent vnto keeping sure. 

And then the Queene to Hereford tooke her way, 
With al her warlike company, 

which late in Bristow lay : 

And here behold how Spencer vsed was, 130 

From towne to towne, euen as the Queene 

to Hereford did passe 

Vpon a lade which they by chance had found, 
Young Spencer mounted was, 

with legs and hands fast bound : 
A written paper along as he did go, 
Vpon his head he had to weare, 

which did his treason show. 
And to deride this Traytor lewd and ill, 
Certaine men with Reeden Pipes, 140 

did blow before him still : 
Thus was he led along in euery place, 
While many people did reioyce, 

to see his great disgrace. 

When vnto Hereford our noble Queene was come, 
She did assemble all the Lords 

and Knights, both all and some : 
And in their presence yong Spencer iudgment had 
To be both hang'd and quartered, 

his treasons were so bad. 150 

Then was the King deposed of his Crowne, 
From rule and Princely dignitie, 

the Lords did cast him downe. 
And in his life his son both wise and sage, 
Was crowned King of faire England, 

at fifteene yeares of age. 

FINIS. 



3 1 8 The Garland of good 



A Song of the banishment of two Dukes, 

Hereford and Norfolke. 

TWo Noble Dukes of great renowne, 
that long had liu'd in fame, 
Through hatefull enuie were cast downe, 

and brought to sudden shame. 
The Duke of Hereford was the one, 

a prudent Prince and wise : 
Gainst whom such malice there was showne, 
which soone in fight did rise. 

The Duke of Norfolk, most vntrue, 

declared to the King : 10 

The Duke of Hereford greatly grew 

in hatred of each thing, 
Which by his grace was acted still, 

against both high and low: 
And how he had a trayterous will, 

his state to ouerthrow. 

The Duke of Hereford, then in hast, 

was sent for to the King : 
And by his Lords in order plac't, 

examined of each thing. 20 

Which being guiltlesse of this crime, 

which was against him laid : 
The Duke of Norfolk at that time, 

these words vnto him said. 

How canst thou with a shamelesse face, 

deny a truth so stout : 
And here before his Royall Grace, 

so falsly face it out: 
Did not these treasons from thee passe, 

when we together were, 30 

How that the King vnworthy was, 

the Royall Crown to beare : 



The Garland of good Will. 319 

Wherefore, my gracious lord (quoth he) 

and you his noble Peeres : 
To whom I wish long life to be, 

with many happy yeares. 
I doe pronounce before you all, 

the Duke of Hereford here, 
A traitor to our noble King, 

as time shall shew it cleare. 40 

The Duke of Hereford hearing that 

in mind was grieued much: 
And did returne this answer flat, 

which did Duke Norfolke touch. 
The terme of traitor trothlesse Duke, 

in scorne and deepe disdaine: 
With flat defiance to thy face 

I do returne againe. 

And therefore if it please your Grace, 

to grant me leaue (quoth he) 50 

To combate with my knowen foe, 

that here accuseth me; 
I doe not doubt but plainly proue : 

that like a periured Knight, 
He hath most falsly sought my shame, 

against all truth and right. 

The King did grant this iust request, 

and did therewith agree : 
At Couentry in August next, 

this combate fought should be. 60 

The Dukes on backed steeds full stout, 

in coats of steel most bright : 
With spears in rests did enter lists, 

this combate fierce to fight. 

The King then cast his warder downe, 

commanding them to stay: 
And with his Lords he counsell tooke, 

to stint that mortall fray. 
At length vnto these noble Dukes, 

the King of Heralds came, 70 

And vnto them with lofty speech, 

this sentence did proclaime. 



32O The Garland of good 



Sir Henry Bullingbrooke this day, 

the Duke of Hereford here, 
And Thomas Moubray, Norfolkes Duke, 

so valiant did appeare : 
And hauing in honourable sort, 

repaired to this place : 
Our noble King, for speciall cause, 

hath altred thus the case. 80 

First Henry Duke of Hereford, 

ere fifteene dayes be past : 
Shall part this Realme on paine of death, 

while ten yeares space doth last. 
And Thomas Duke of Norfolk^ thou, 

that hast begun this strife, 
And thereof no good proofe canst bring, 

I say for term of life. 

By iudgement of our Soueraigne Lord, 

which now in place doth stand : 90 

For euermore I banish thee, 

out of thy natiue Land : 
Charging thee on paine of death, 

when fifteene dayes are past : 
Thou neuer tread on English ground, 

so long as life doth last. 

Thus they were sworne before the King 

ere they did further passe : 
The one should neuer come in place, 

where as the other was. 100 

Then both the Dukes, with heauy hearts, 

were parted presently : 
Their vncooth streams of froward chance, 

in forraigne Lands to try. 

The Duke of Norfolke comming then, 

where hee should shipping take : 
The bitter tears fell downe his cheeks, 

and thus his mone did make. 
Now let me sob and sigh my fill, 

ere I from hence depart: no 

That inward pangs with speed may burst 

my sore afflicted heart. 

87 thereof D : therefore ABCE 



The Garland of good Will. 321 

Ah cursed man whose loathed life 

is held so much in scorne : 
Whose company is cleane despis'd, 

and left as one forlorn. 
Now take thy leaue and last adue, 

of this thy countrey deare. 
Which neuer more thou must behold 

nor yet approach it neare. 120 

How happy should I count my self, 

if death my heart had torne : 
That I might haue my bones entomb'd 

where I was bred and borne. 
Or that by Neptunes wrathfull rage, 

I might be prest to dye ; 
Whilst that sweet Englands pleasant banks, 

did stand before mine eye. 

How sweet a sent hath English ground, 

within my senses now : 1 30 

How faire vnto my outward sight, 

seemes euery branch and bow. 
The fields and flowers, the trees and stones, 

seeme such vnto my mind : 
That in all other Countries sure, 

the like I shall not find. 

Oh that the Sun, with shining face, 

would stay his Steeds by strength : 
That this same day might stretched be 

to twenty yeares of length. 140 

And that the true performed tides, 

their hasty course would stay; 
That Eolus would neuer yeeld, 

to beare me hence away. 

That by the Fountaine of mine eye, 

the fields might watred be : 
That I might graue my grieuous plaints, 

vpon each springing tree. 

116 left B CD E : life A 142 would stay B CD E : to stay A 

917.6 Y 



322 The Garland of good 



But time I see, with Eagles wings, 

so swift doth flye away : 150 

And dusky clouds begin to dim 

the brightnes of the day. 

The fatall houre draweth on, 

the winds and tides agree : 
And now sweet England ouer soone, 

I must depart from thee. 
The mariners haue hoisted sailes, 

and call to catch me in : 
And now in wofull heart I feele, 

my torments to begin. 160 

Wherefore farwel for euermore, 

sweet England vnto thee : 
And farwel, all my freinds which I 

againe shall neuer see. 
And England here I kisse thy ground 

vpon my bended knee : 
Whereby to shew to all the world, 

how deare I loued thee. 

This being said, away he went, 

as fortune did him guide : 1 70 

And at the length with griefe of hart, 

in Venice there he died. 
The Duke in dolefull sort, 

did leade his life in France : 
And at the last the mighty Lord, 

did him full high aduance. 

The Lords of England afterward, 

did send for him againe: 
While that King Richard at the wars, 

in Ireland did remaine. 180 

Who through the vile and great abuse, 

which through his deeds did spring, 
Deposed was, and then the Duke 

was truly crowned King. 



The Garland of good Will. 323 

8. 
The Noble Acts of Arthur of the round Table. 

To the Tune of, Flying Fame. 

WHen Arthur first in court began, 
and was approued King : 
By force of armes great victories wan, 

and conquest home did bring. 
Then into Britaine straight he came, 

where fiftie good and able 
Knights then repaired vnto him, 

which were of the round Table. 
And many lusts and Turnaments, 

before them there were drest: 10 

Where valiant Knights did then excell 

and farre surmount the rest. 
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake, 

who was approued well, 
He in his fights and deeds of arms, 

all other did excell : 
When he had rested him a while, 

to play to game and sport, 
He thought he would go proue himselfe, 

in some aduenturous sort. 20 

He armed rode in forrest wide, 

and met a Damosell faire : 
Who told him of aduentures great, 

whereunto he gaue good eare. 
Why should I not (quoth Lancelot} tho, 

for that cause came I hither : 
Thou seemst (quoth she) a Knight right good, 

and I will bring thee thither: 
Where as the mightiest Knight doth dwell 

that now is of great fame : 3* 

Wherefore tell me what Knight thou art, 

and then what is your name, 
My name is Lancelot du Lake ; 

(quoth she) it likes me than : 
Here dwels a Knight that neuer was 

orematcht with any man. 
ii valiant CDE: both A B 15 fights B C D : fight A 

Y 2 



324 The Garland of good 



Who hath in prison threescore Knights, 

and foure that he hath won : 
Knights of King Arthurs court they be, 

and of his Table round. 40 

She brought him to a Riuers side, 

and also to a tree : 
Whereas a copper Bason hung, 

his fellowes shields to see. 
He stroke so hard the Bason broke, 

when Tarquin heard the sound, 
He droue a horse before him straight, 

whereon a Knight lay bound. 
Sir Knight then said Sir Lancelot tho, 

bring me that horse load hither: 50 

And lay him downe and let him rest, 

weele trie our force together. 
And as I vnderstand thou hast, 

so farre as thou art able, 
Done great despight and shame vnto 

the Knights of the round Table. 
If thou be of the Table round, 

(quoth Tarquin^ speedily) 
Both thee and all thy fellowship, 

I vtterly defie. 60 

That's ouermuch (quoth Lancelot tho), 

defend thee by and by. 
They put their spurs vnto their Steeds 

and each at other flie. 
They coucht their speares and horses ran, 

as though there had been thunder. 
And each stroake then amidst the shield, 

wherewith they brake in sunder. 
Their horses backes brake vnder them, 

the Knights were both astound, 70 

To void their horse they made great hast 

to light vpon the ground. 
They tooke them to their shields full fast, 

their swords they drew out than : 
With mighty strokes most egerly, 

each one to other ran. 
They wounded were, and blew full sore, 

for breath they both did stand, 



The Garland of good Will. 325 

And leaning on their swords a while, 

(quoth Tarquin) hold thy hand. 80 

And tell to me what I shall aske. 

say on (quoth Lancelot tho) : 
Thou art (quoth Tarquin] the best Knight, 

that euer I did know: 
And like a Knight that I did hate, 

so that thou be not he, 
I will deliuer all the rest, 

and eke accord with thee. 
That is well said (quoth Lancelot tho) : 

but sith it must be so, 90 

What is the Knight thou hatest so, 

I pray thee to me show, 
His name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, 

he slew my brother deare; 
Him I suspect of all the rest, 

I would I had him here. 
Thy wish thou hast but now vnknowne, 

I am Lancelot du Lake, 
Now Knight of Arthurs Table round, 

kind Haunds sonne of Ben wake : 100 

And I defie thee, do thy worst. 

Ha, ha (quoth Tarquin tho) : 
One of vs two shall end our Hues, 

before that we do go. 
If thou be Lancelot du Lake, 

then welcome shalt thou be : 
Wherefore see thou thy selfe defend, 

for now I thee defie. 
They buckled then together so, 

like two wilde Boares, so rushing: no 

And with their swords and shields they ran 

at one another lashing, 
The. ground besprinkled was with bloud, 

Tarquin began to faint : 
For he gaue backe, and bore his shield 

so low, he did repent. 
That soone espied Sir Lancelot tho, 

he leapt vnto him then : 
He pul'd him downe vpon his knees, 

and rushing off his helme. iao 



326 The Garland of good Will. 

And he stroke his necke in two 

and when he had done so, 
From prison threescore Knights and foure, 

Lancelot deliuered though. 



FINIS. 



A Song in praise of Women. 

To a pleasant new Tune, called, My Valentine. 

AMong all other things 
that God hath made beneath the skie, 
Most gloriously to satisfie the curious eye 

of Mortall man withall : 
The sight of Eue, 
Did soonest fit his fancy : 
Whose curtesie and amitie, most speedily, 

had caught his heart in thrall : 
Whom he did loue so deare, 

as plainely did appeare : 10 

He made her Queene of all the world 

and Mistresse of his heart : 
Though afterwards she wrought his woe, 

his death and deadly smart, 

What need I speake 

Of matters passed long agoe : 

Which all men know I need not show, to hie or low 

the case it is so plaine, 

Although that Eue committed then so great offence, 
Ere she went hence, 20 

A recompence in our defence, 

she made mankind againe : 
For by her blessed seed 

we are redeemd indeede : 

1 24 Lancelot B C D E : Tarquin A 



The Garland of good Will. 327 

Why should not then all mortall men, 

esteeme of women well : 
And loue their wiues euen as their Hues, 

as nature doth compell. 

A vertuous wife. 

The Scripture doth commend and say : 30 

That night and day, shee is a stay from all decay, 

to keep her houshold still. 
She vseth not 

To giue her self to wandering, 
Or flattering, or pratling, or any thing 

to do her neighbour ill : 
But all her mind is bent, 

his pleasures to content. 
Her faithfull loue doth not remoue, 

for any storme or griefe, 4 

Then is not he well blest thinke ye, 

that meets with such a wife: 

But now me thinkes, 

I heare some men do say to me, 

Few such there be in each degree and qualitie, 

at this day to be found : 
And now adayes, 

Some wiues do set their whole delight, 
Both day and night, with all despight to brawle and fight, 

their rage doth so abound. 5 

But sure I think and say, 

here comes none such to day. 
Nor do I know of any she, 

that is within this place, 
And yet for feare I dare not sweare, 

it is so hard a case. 

But to conclude, 

For maides, and wiues and virgins all, 

Both great and small, in bowre or hall, to pray I shall 

so long as life doth last. 60 

That they may Hue, 
With hearts content and perfect peace, 
That ioyes increase may neuer cease, till death release 

the care that crept so fast : 

32 houshold A : husband BCD E 



328 The Garland of good Will. 

For duty doth me binde, 

To haue them all in mind: 

Euen for her sake, that doth vs make 

so merry to be scene : 
The glory of the femall kind, 
I meane our Noble Queene. 70 

FINIS. 



10, 

A Song in praise of a single life. 

To the Tune of the Ghosts hearse. 

SOme do write of bloudy warres, 
Some shew the sundry iarres, 

twixt men, through enuy raised : 
Some in praise of Princes write, 
Some set their whole delight 

to heare faire beauty blazed. 
Some other persons are moued, 

for to praise where they are loued : 
And let louers praise beauty as they will; 
Otherwayes I am intended : 10 

True loue is little regarded, 
And oftentymes goes vnrewarded, 

then to auoid all strife, 
I'll resolue to lead a single life, 
Whereby the heart is not offended. 

O what suit and seruice too, 
Is vsed by them that woo: 

and all to purchase fauor, 
O what griefe in heart and mind, 
What sorrow we do find, 20 

through womans fond behauiour: 
Subiect to suffer each lowre, 

and speeches both sharpe and sowre, 
And labour, loue & cost, 
Perchance its but all lost, 

14 CDE: A and B omit 



The Garland of good Will. 329 

and no way to be amended : 
And so to purchase pleasure, 
And after repent at leysure, 
Then to auoid all strife, &c. 

To a man in wedded state 30 

Doth happen much debate, 

except Gods speciall fauour: 
If his wife be proudly bent, 
Or secretly consent, 

to any lewd behauiour : 
If she be slothful or idle, 
Or such as her tongue cannot bridle, 
Oh then well were he, 
If death his bane would be, 

No sorrow else can be amended: 40 

For looke how long he were liuing, 
Euermore would he be grieuing. 
Then to auoid all strife, &c. 

Married folke we often heare, 
Euen through their children deare : 

haue many causes of sorrowes, 
If disobedient they be found, 
Or false in any ground, 

by their vnlawfull borrowes, 
To see such wicked fellows, 50 

shamefully come to the Gallowes. 
Whom Parents with great care, 
Nourished with dainty fare, 

from their cradle truly tended, 
When as the mother before them, 

doth curse the day that ere she bore them. 
Then to auoid all strife, &c. 

Do we then behold and see, 
When men and wiues agree, 

and Hue and loue together : 60 

Where the Lord hath sent them eke: 
Faire children mild and meeke, 

like flowers in Summers weather 

36 terBCDE: his .4 



330 The Garland of good 

How greatly are they grieued, 
And will not by ioy be relieued, 

if that death doth call, 
Either wife or children small, 

whom their vertues do commend, 
Their losses whom they thus loued, 

from their hearts cannot be moued 70 

Then to auoid all strife, &c. 

Who being in that happy state, 
Would work himself such hate, 

his fancy for to follow : 
Or, liuing here deuoid of strife, 
Would take to him a wife : 

for to procure his sorrow : 
With carking and with caring, 
Euermore must be sparing: 
Were he not worse then mad, 80 

being merry wold be sad : 
Were he to be commended, 
That ere would seeke such pleasure, 

where griefe is all his treasure. 
Then to auoid all strife, &c. 



II. 
The widdowes solace. 

To the tune of Robinsons Almaine. 

MOurne no more faire widdow, 
teares are all in vaine : 
Tis neither griefe nor sorrow, 

can call the dead againe. 
Man's well enough compared 

vnto the Summers flower : 
Which now is faire and pleasant, 

yet withered in an houre. 
And mourne no more in vaine, 

as one whose faith is small: 
Be patient in affliction, 

and giue god thanks for all 



The Garland of good Will. 331 

All men are borne to dye, 

the Scripture telleth plaine, 
Of earth we are created, 

to earth we must againe. 
Twas neither Cressus treasure, 

nor Alexanders fame, 
Nor Solomon by wisdome, 

that could deaths fury tame. ao 

No Physicke might preserue them 

when nature did decay : 
What man can hold for euer, 

the thing that will away? 
Then mourn no more, &c. 

Though you haue lost your husband, 

your comfort in distresse : 
Consider God regardeth 

the widdowes heauinesse. 
And hath straightly charged, 30 

such as his children be, 
The fatherlesse and widdow, 

to shield from iniury. 

Then mourn no more, &c. 

If he were true and faithfull, 

and louing vnto thee, 
Doubt not but ther's in England, 

enough as good as he. 
But if that such affection, 

within his heart was none : 40 

Then giue God praise and glory, 

that he is dead and gone. 
And mourn no more, &c. 

Receiue such sutors friendly, 

as do resort to thee : 
Respect not the outward person, 

but the inward grauity : 
And with aduised iudgment, 

chuse him aboue the rest: 
Whom thou by proofe hast tried, 50 

in heart to loue thee best. 
Then mourn no more, &c. 



332 The Garland of good Will. 

Then shalt thou leade a life, 

exempt from all annoy : 
And whensoeuer it chanceth, 

I pray God giue thee ioy. 
And thus I make an end, 

with true humilitie, 
In hope my simple solace, 

shall well accepted be. 60 

Then mourn no more in vaine, &c. 

FINIS. 



12. 

A Gentlewomans complaint, in that she found her 
freind faithlesse, which should haue continued con 
stant. 

FAith is a figure standing now for nought : 
faith is a fancy which ought to rest in thought. 
Faith now adaies, as all the world may see, 
resteth in few, and Faith is fled from thee. 

Is there any Faith in strangers to be found : 
is there any Faith lies hidden in the ground : 

Is there any Faith in men that buried be : 
no there is none, and Faith is fled from thee. 

Fled is the Faith that might remaine in any, 

fled is the Faith that should remaine in many; 10 

Fled is the Faith that should in any be. 

then farwell hope, for Faith is fled from thee. 

From Faith I see, that euery one is flying : 
from Faith I see, that all things are a dying : 

They flye from Faith that most in Faith should be, 
and Faithlesse thou, that brake thy Faith to me. 

Thee haue I sought, but thee I could not find, 
thou of all other, was most within my mind ; 

Thee haue I left, and I alone will be, 

because I finde that Faith is fled from thee. ao 



The Garland of good Will. 333 



13- 

Of a prince of England^ who wooed the Kings daughter 
of France^ and how he was slaine, and she after 
marred to a Forrester. 



I 



To the tune of Crimson velvet. 
N the dayes of old, 
when faire France did flourish ; 
Stories plainly told, 

louers felt annoy. 
The King a Daughter had, 
Beautious, bright, and louely, 
Which made her Father glad, 

she was his only ioy. 
A Prince of England came, 
Whose deeds did merit fame : 10 

he wooed her long, and loe at last, 
Looke what he did require, 
She granted his desire, 

their hearts in one were linked fast. 
Which when her Father proued, 
Lord how he was moued, 

and tormented in his mind : 
He sought for to preuent them, 
And to discontent them : 

fortune crosses Louers kind. 20 

When the Princes twaine, 
Were thus bard of pleasure, 
Through the Kings disdaine, 

which their ioyes withstood, 
The Lady got vp close, 
Her iewels and her treasure, 
Hauing no remorse, 

of state or royall Bloud. 
In homely poore array, 
She went from Court away, 30 

to meet her ioy and hearts delight : 
Who in a Forrest great, 
Had taken vp his seat, 

to wait her comming in the night. 

3 told Crawford : tell A 30 went Crawford : got A 



334 The Garland of good 



But see what sudden danger, 
To this Princely stranger, 

chanced as he sate alone, 
By out-lawes was he robbed, 
And with ponyards stabbed, 

vttering many a dying groane. 40 

The Princesse arm'd by him, 
And by true desire : 
Wandring all the night, 

without dread at all. 
Still vnknowne she passed, 
In her strange attire, 
Comming at the last, 

in the echoes call. 
You faire woods (quoth she) 
Honoured may you be, 50 

harbouring my hearts delight, 
Which doth compasse here, 
My ioy and only deere, 

my trusty friend and Knight. 
Sweet I come vnto thee, 
Sweet 1 come to woe thee, 

that thou maist not angry be; 
For my long delaying, 
And thy courteous staying, 

amends for all He make to thee. 60 

Passing thus alone, 
Through the silent Forrest 
Many a grieuous groan, 

sounded in her eares : 
Where she heard a man, 
To lament the sorest, 
Chance that euer came, 

forced by deadly strife : 
Farewell my deare (quoth he) 
Whom I shall neuer see : 70 

for why my life is at an end, 
Through villaines cruelty, 
Lo here for thee I dye, 

to shew I am a faithfull friend, 

6 1 alone Crawford-, along A 63 Crawford: Many grieuous groanes, A 
67 Crawford-. That was euer scene, A 68 strife Crawford: feare A 



The Garland of good Will. 335 

Here I ly a bleeding, 

While my thoughts are feeding, 

on thy dearest beauty found ; 
O hard hap that may be, 
Litle knowes my Lady, 

my heart bloud lyes on the ground. 80 

With that he gaue a groane, 
Which did burst in sunder, 
All the tender strings 

of his bleeding heart. 
She which knew his voice, 
At his tale did wonder: 
All her former ioys 

did to griefe conuert. 
Straight she ran to see, 
Who this man should be, 90 

that so like her loue did speake : 
And found when as she came, 
Her louely Lord lay slaine, 

all smear'd in bloud, which life did breake. 
When this deed she spied, 
Lord how sore she cryed : 
Her sorrow cannot counted be, 
Her eyes like fountaines running, 
Whiles she cryed out my darling, 
Would God that I had dyed for thee. 100 

His pale lips alas, 
Twenty times she kissed, 
And his face did wash, 

with her trickling teares ; 
Euery bleeding wound, 
Her faire eyes bedewed, 
Wiping off the bloud 

with her golden haire. 
Speak my Lord (quoth she) 
Speake faire Prince, to me, no 

One sweet word of comfort giue : 
Lift vp thy faire eyes, 
Listen to my cryes, 

think in what great griefe I Hue. 

87 ioys Crawford: ioy A 100 Would God Crawford: O would A 

109 Crawford: A omits 



336 The Garland of good 

All in vaine she sued, 
All in vaine she wooed, 

the Princes life was dead and gone, 
There stood she still mourning, 
Till the Sunnes returning, 

and bright day was comming on. 120 

In this great distresse, 
(Quoth the royall Lady) 
Who can now expresse, 

what will become of me? 
To my Fathers Court, 
Will I neuer wander, 
But some seruice take, 

where I might placed be : 
Whilst thus she made her mone, 
Weeping all alone, 130 

all in dread and dreadfull feare. 
A Forrester all in greene, 
Most comely to be scene, 

ranging the woods did find her there, 
Round beset with sorrow, 
Maid (quoth he) good morrow, 

what hard hap hath brought you here : 
Harder hap did neuer, 
Chance to a maiden euer, 

here lies slaine my brother deare. 140 

Where might I be placed, 
Gentle Forrester, tell me : 
Where should I procure 
a seruice in my need. 
Paines I will not spare, 
But will do my duty, 
Ease me of my care, 

help my extreme need. 
The Forrester all amazed, 
On her beauty gazed, 150 

till his heart was set on fire. 
If faire Maide (quoth he) 
You will go with me, 
You shall haue your hearts desire. 

.1 16 wooed Crawford : viewed A 119 returning] approaching ABODE 
29 Whilst Crawford ' : And A 144 need Crawford: care A 



The Garland of good W^ill. 337 

He brought her to his mother, 
And aboue all other, 

he sets forth this maidens praise: 
Long was his heart enflamed, 
At last her loue he gained : 

thus did he his glory raise. 160 

Thus vnknowne he matched, 
With the Kings faire Daughter : 
Children seuen he had, 

ere she to him was knowne : 
But when he vnderstood, 
She was a royall Princesse, 
By this meanes at last, 

he shewed forth her fame : 
He cloath'd his Children then, 
Not like other men, 170 

in party colours strange to see : 
The left side cloth of Gold, 
The right side to behold, 

of woollen cloth still framed he. 
Men hereat did wonder, 
Golden fame did thunder 

this strange deed in euery place. 
The King of France came thither, 
Being pleasant weather, 

in the woods the Hart to chase. 180 

The children then did stand, 
As their Father willed, 
Where the Royall King, 

must of force come by. 
Their Mother richly clad 
In faire Crimson veluet : 
Their Father all in gray, 

comely to the eye. 
Then the famous King, 
Noted euery thing, 190 

asking how he durst be so bold, 
To let his wife to weare, 
And decke his children there, 

in costly robes, in cloth of gold. 

164 Crawford: ere he knew the same A 173 to Crawford : now A 

917.6 Z 



338 The Garland of good WilL 



The Forrester bold replyed, 
And the cause descried, 

to the King thus did he say: 
Well may they by their Mother, 
Weare rich gold like other, 

being by birth a Princesse gay. 200 

The King vpon these words, 
More needfully beheld them : 
Till a Crimson blush, 

his conceit did crosse. 
The more I looke, he said, 
On thy wife and children, 
The more I call to mind, 

my Daughter whom I lost. 
I am that Child (quoth she) 
Falling on her knee, 210 

pardon me my Soueraigne Liege. 
The King perceiuing this, 
His daughter deare did kisse 

and ioyfull teares did stop his speech : 
With his traine he turned, 
And with her soiourned; 

straight way he dub'd her husband knight, 
Then made him Earle of Flanders^ 
One of his chiefe Commanders : 

thus was their sorrow put to flight. 220 

FINIS. 



14. 

Of the faithfull friendship that lasted betweene 
two faithfull friends. 

To the Tune of Flying Fame. 

IN stately Rome sometimes did dwell 
a man of noble Fame : 
Who had a sonne of seemely shape, 
Alphonso was his name : 

195 bold Crawford: both A 



The Garland of good Will. 339 

When he was growne and come to age, 

his father thought it best 
To send his sonne to Athens faire, 

where wisdomes Schoole did rest. 

And when he was to Athens come, 

good Lectures for to learne. 10 

A place to board him with delight, 

his friends did well discerne, 
A noble Knight of Athens Towne, 

of him did take the charge, 
Who had a sonne Ganselo cald, 

iust of his pitch and age. 

In stature and in person both, 

in fauour, speech and face, 
In qualitie and condition eke 

they greed in euery place. ao 

So like they were in all respects, 

the one vnto the other; 
They were not knowne but by their name, 

of father or of mother. 

And as in fauour they were found 

alike in all respects : 
Euen so they did most dearly loue, 

as prou'd by good effects. 
Ganselo loued a Lady faire, 

which did in Athens dwell, 30 

Who was in beauty peerlesse found, 

so farre she did excell. 

Vpon a time it chanced so, 

as fancy did him moue: 
That he would visit for delight, 

his Lady and his loue : 
And to his true and faithfull friend, 

he did declare the same: 
Asking of him if he would see, 

that faire and comely Dame. 40 

28 effects B C D E : respect A 
Z 2 



340 The Garland of good Will. 

Alphonso did thereto agree, 

and with Ganselo went : 
To see the Ladie whom he lou'd 

which bred his discontent. 
But when he cast his Christall eyes 

vpon her angels hue : 
The beauty of that Ladie bright, 

did straight his heart subdue, 

His gentle heart so wounded was, 

with that faire Ladies face, 50 

That afterward he daily liu'd 

in sad and wofull case. 
And of his griefe he knew not how 

thereof to make an end : 
For that he knew the Ladies loue, 

was yeelded to his friend. 

Thus being sore perplext in mind, 

vpon his bed he lay : 
Like one which death and deepe despaire, 

had almost worne away. 60 

His friend Ganselo that did see, 

his griefe and great distresse : 
At length requested for to know 

his cause of heauinesse. 

With much adoe at length he told 

the truth vnto his friend : 
Who did release his inward woe, 

with comfort in the end. 
Take courage then deare friend (quoth he) 

though she through loue be mine: 70 

My right I will resigne to thee, 

the Lady shall be thine. 

You know our fauours are alike, 

our speech alike likewise : 
This day in mine apparell then, 

you shall your selfe disguise. 
And vnto Church then shall you goe, 

directly in my sted : 
So though my friends suppose tis I, 

you shall the Lady wed. 80 



The Garland of good Will. 341 

Alphonso was so well appaid, 

and as they had decreed : 
He went next day and wedded plaine, 

the Lady there indeed. 
But when the Nuptiall Feast was done, 

and Phcebus quite was fled, 
The Lady for Ganselo tooke 

Alphonso to her bed. 

That night they spent in pleasant sport, 

and when the day was come, 9 

A Post for faire Alphonso came, 

to fetch him home to Rome. 
Then was the matter plainley prou'd, 

Alphonso wedded was, 
And not Ganselo to that Dame, 

which wrought great wo alas. 

Alphonso being come to Rome, 

with his Lady gay, 
Ganseloes friends and kindred all, 

in such a rage did stay, 100 

That they depriu'd him of his wealth, 

his lands and rich attyre, 
And banishd him their Country quite, 

in rage and wrathfull yre. 

With sad and pensiue thoughts alas 

Ganselo wandred then, 
Who was constrain'd, through want to beg 

reliefe of many men. 
In this distresse oft would he say, 

to Rome I meane to go: no 

To seeke Alphonso my deare friend, 

who will relieue my woe. 

To Rome when poore Ganselo came 

and found Alphonsoes place, 
Which was so famous huge & faire, 

himselfe in such poore case. 
He was asham'd to shew himselfe, 

in that his poore array : 
Saying Alphonso knowes me well, 

if he should come this way. i ao 



34-2 The Garland of good 

Wherfore he staid within the street 

Alphonso then came by : 
But heeding not Ganselo poore 

his friend that stood so nie. 
Which grieu'd Ganselo to the hart : 

(quoth he) and is it so ? 
Doth proud Alphonso now disdain e 

his friend indeed to know? 



In desperate sort away he went, 

into a Barne hard by: 130 

And presently he drew his knife, 

thinking thereby to die. 
And bitterly in sorrow there 

did he lament and weepe : 
And being ouer swayed with grief, 

he there fell fast asleepe. 

Where soundly there he sweetly slept, 

came in a murthering thiefe, 
And saw a naked knife, lie by 

this man so full of griefe i 40 

The knife so bright he tooke vp straight 

and went away amaine : 
And thrust it in a murthered man, 

which he before had slaine. 

And afterward he went with speed, 

and put this bloudie knife 
Into his hand that sleeping lay, 

to saue himself from strife. 
Which done, in hast away he ran, 

and when that search was made, 150 

Ganselo with his bloudie knife, 

was for the murther staid. 

And brought before the Magistrates, 

who did confesse most plaine, 
That he indeed with that same knife, 

the murthered man had slaine. 

139 CDE: And with a naked knife, lay by A B 



The Garland of good Will. 343 

Alphonso sitting there as ludge, 

and knowing Ganseloes face : 
To saue his friend, did say himselfe 

was guiltie in that case. 160 

None (quoth Alphonso} kil'd the man, 

my Lord but onely I : 
And therefore set this poore man free, 

and let me iustly die. 
Thus while for death these faithfull friends 

in striuing did proceed : 
The man before the Senate came, 

which did the fact indeed. 

Who being moued with remorse, 

their friendly hearts to see, 170 

Did proue before the ludges plaine, 

none did the fact but he. 
Thus when the truth was plainly told, 

of all sides ioy was scene : 
Alphonso did embrace his friend, 

which had so wofull beene. 

In rich array he clothed him, 

as fitted his degree : 
And helpt him to his lands againe, 

and former dignity. 180 

The murtherer he for telling truth, 

had pardon at that time : 
Who afterwards lamented much, 

his foul and grieuous crime. 

FINIS. 



344 2*Ae Garland of good Will. 



The second part of the Garland 
of good Will. 



i. 

A pastorall Song. 

To the Tune of Heigh ho, Holiday. 

VPon a Downe where shepheards keepe, 
piping pleasant Layes : 
Two Country maids were tending sheepe, 

and sweetly chanted Roundelayes. 
Three shepheards each an Oaten Reed, 

blaming Cupids cruell wrong, 
Vnto these rurall Nimphs agreed, 
to keepe a tunefull vnder-song. 

And for they were in number flue, 

musicks number sweet : 
And we the like let vs contriue, 

to sing their song in order meet. 
Faire Phillis part He take to me, 

she gainst louing Hinds complaines : 
And Amarillis thou shalt be, 

she defends the shepheard swaines. 

Ph. Fie on the sleights that men deuise. 
Sh. Heigh ho, silly sleights. 

Ph. When simple maids they would entice. 
Sh. Maids are young mens chiefe delights. 

Am. Nay, women they witch with their eyes. 
Sh. Eyes like beames of burning Sun. 

Am. And men once caught, they soone despise 
Sh. So are Shepheards oft vndone. 

Ph. If any young man win a maid. 

Sh. Happy man is he. 

Ph. By trusting him she is betrai'd. 

Sh. Fie vpon such trechery. 

16 shepheard D: shepherds A B C E 



The Garland of good Will. 345 

Am. If maids win yong men with their guiles. 

Sh. Heigh ho, heigh ho, guilefull griefe. 30 

Am. They deale like weeping Crocodiles. 

Sh. That murther man without reliefe. 



Ph. I know a silly Country Hind. 

Sh. Heigh ho, heigh ho, silly Swaine. 

Ph. To whom faire Daphne proued kind. 

Sh. Was not he kind to her againe? 

Ph. He vowed to Pan with many an oath. 

Sh. Heigh ho, shepheards God is he. 

Am. Yet since hath chang'd and broke his troth. 

Sh. Troth-plight broke will plagued be. 40 

Am. She had deceiued many a Swaine 
Sh. Fie vpon such false deceit. 
Am. And plighted troth to them in vaine. 
Sh. There can be no griefe more great. 
Am. Her measure was with measure paid. 
Sh. Heigh ho, heigh ho, equall meed. 
Am. She was beguiled that had betrai'd. 
Sh. So shall all deceiuers speed. 

Ph. If euery maid were like to me. 

Sh. Heigh ho, heigh ho, hard of heart. 50 

Ph. Both loue and louers scorn'd should be. 

Sh. Scorners should be sure of smart. 

Am. If euery maid were of my mind, 

Sh. Heigh ho, heigh ho, louely sweet. 

Am. They to their louers shold proue kind. 

Sh. Kindnes is for maidens meet. 

Ph. Me thinkes loue is an idle toy. 

Sh. Heigh ho, heigh ho, busie paine. 

Ph. Both wit and sence it doth annoy. 

Sh. Both wit and sence thereby we gaine. 60 

Am. Tush Phillis, cease, be not so coy. 

Sh. Heigh ho, heigh ho, coy disdaine. 

Am. I know you loue a Shepheards boy, 

Sh, Fie that woman so can faine. 

47 had] was A B CD E 



346 The Garland* of good Will. 

Ph. Well, Amaryllis, now I yeeld. 

Sh. Shepheards sweetly pipe aloud. 

Ph. Loue conquers both in towne and field. 

Sh. Like a tyrant fierce and proud. 

Am. The Euening Starre is vp wee see. 

Sh. Vesper shines wee must away. 70 

Ph. Would euery louer would agree. 

Sh. So we end our Roundelay. 



2. 
Of patient Grissel and a Noble Marquesse. 

To the Tune of, The Brides good morrow. 

A Noble Marquesse, as he did ride a hunting 
hard by a riuers side : 
A proper Maiden, as she did sit a spinning, 

his gentle eyes had spide. 
Most faire & louely, & of comely grace was she, 

although in simple attire : 
She sang full sweet, with pleasant voyce melodiously, 

which set the Lords heart on fire. 
The more he lookt, the more he might, 
Beautie bred, his hearts delight. 10 

and to this daintie Damsel then he went, 
God speed (quoth he) thou famous Flower, 
Fair Mistresse of this homely bower, 

where loue & vertue Hues with sweet content. 

With comely gesture, & modest fine behauiour, 

she bade him welcome then : 
She entertain'd him in faithful friendly maner, 

and all his Gentlemen. 
The noble Marques in his hart felt such a flame 

which set his senses at strife : 20 

(Quoth he) faire Maiden shew me soone what is thy name, 

I mean to make thee my wife. 
Grissel is my name (quoth she) 
Farre vnfit for your degree, 

a silly Maiden and of parents poore. 
Nay Grissel) thou art rich, he said, 
A vertuous, faire, and comely maid, 

grant me thy loue, and I will aske no more. 



The Garland of good Will. 347 

At length she consented, & being both contented, 

they married with speed : 3 

Her country russet was chang'd to silke & veluet 

as to her state agreed. 
And when that she was trimly tired in the same 

her beauty shined most bright : 
Far staining euery other braue & comely Dame 

that did appeare in her sight, 
Many enuied her therefore, 
Because she was of parents poore, 

and twixt her Lord & she great strife did raise : 
Some saide this and some said that, 40 

Some did call her beggars brat, 

and to her Lord they would her oft dispraise. 



O, noble Marques (qd. they) why do you wrong vs 

thus basely for to wed : 
That might haue gotten an honourable Lady 

into your Princely bed : 
Who will not now your noble issue still deride 

which shall be hereafter borne, 
That are of bloud so base by their mothers side, 

the which will bring them to scorn: 50 

Put her therfore, quite away, 
Take to you a Lady gay, 

whereby your Linage may renowned be. 
Thus euery day they seeme to prate, 
At malic'd Grissels good estate, 

who tooke all this most mild and patiently. 



When that the Marques did see that they were bent thus 

against his faithfull wife, 
Whom most dearley, tenderly, and entirely, 

he loued as his life : 60 

Minding in secret for to proue her patient heart 

therby her foes to disgrace: 
Thinking to play a hard discourteous part, 

that men might pitty her case, 
Great with child this Lady was, 
And at length it came to passe, 



348 The Garland of good Will. 

two goodly children at one birth she had. 
A sonne and daughter God had sent, 
Which did their Father well content, 

and which did make their mothers heart full glad. 70 

Great royall Feastings was at the Childrens christning, 

and Princely triumph made : 
Six weekes together, all Nobles that came thither 

were entertaind and staid. 
And when that al these pleasant sportings quite were done, 

the Marquesse a messenger sent 
For his yong daughter, & his prety smiling son 

declaring his full intent : 
How that the babes must murthered be, 
For so the Marquesse did decree : 80 

come, let me haue the children, then he said, 
With that faire Grissel wept full sore, 
She wrung her hands, and said no more, 

my gracious Lord must haue his will obayd. 

She tooke the Babies from the nursing Ladies, 

betweene her tender armes : 
She often wishes, with many sorrowfull kisses, 

that she might helpe their harmes. 
Farwel farwel (quoth she) my children deere, 

neuer shall I see you againe : 90 

Tis long of me your sad & wofull mother here, 

for whose sake ye must be slaine : 
Had I beene borne of Royall race, 
You might haue liu'd in happy case : 

but you must die for my vnworthinesse, 
Come messenger of death (said she) 
Take my despised Babes to thee, 

and to their father my complaints expresse. 

He tooke the children, and to his Noble Master 

he brought them forth with speed. 100 

Who secret sent them vnto a noble Lady, 

to be nurst vp indeed. 
Then to faire Grissel with a heauy heart he goes 

where she sate mildly all alone : 
A pleasant gesture and a louely looke she shows, 

as if griefe she had neuer knowne. 



The Garland of good Will. 349 

(Quoth he) my children now are slaine, 
What thinkes faire Grissel of the same, 

sweet Grissel now declare thy mind to mee. 
Sith you my Lord, are pleased with it, no 

Poor Grissel thinks the action fit, 

both I and mine at your command will be. 



The Nobles murmure fair Grissel^ at thy honor, 

and I no ioy can haue : 
Till thou be banisht both from my Court & presence, 

as they vniustly craue : 
Thou must be stript out of thy stately garments, 

and as thou camst vnto me, 
In homely gray, instead of Bisse and purest Pal, 

now all thy clothing must be. 120 

My Lady thou shalt be no more, 
Nor I thy Lord which grieues me sore, 

the poorest life must now content thy mind. 
A groat to thee I may not giue, 
Thee to maintaine while I do Hue; 

against my Grissel such great foes I find. 

When gentle Grissel heard these wofull tidings, 

the teares stood in her eyes : 
She nothing saide, no words of discontentment 

did from her lips arise: 130 

Her veluet gowne most patiently she slipt off, 

her kirtle of silke with the same : 
Her russet gowne was brought again with many a scoffe, 

to heare them all her selfe she did frame. 
When she was drest in this array : 
And ready was to part away : 

God send long life vnto my Lord (quoth she) 
Let no offence be found in this, 
To giue my Lord a parting kis : 

with watered eyes, farewel my deere (qd. he). 140 

From stately Palace vnto her Fathers cottage, 

poore Grissel now is gone : 
Full fifteen winters, she liued there contented, 

no wrong she thought vpon; 



350 The Garland of good 



And at that time through all the land the speeches went, 

the Marquess should married be, 
Vnto a Lady great of high discent, 

and to the same all parties did agree. 
The Marquesse sent for Grissel faire, 
The Brides bed chamber to prepare, 150 

that nothing should therein be found awry. 
The Bride was with her Brother come, 
Which was great ioy to all and some, 

and Grissel tooke all this most patiently. 

And in the morning when that they should be wedded 

her patience now was tried : 
Grissel was charged her selfe in princely manner, 

for to attire the Bride. 
Most willingly she gaue consent vnto the same, 

the Bride in her brauery was drest : 1 60 

And presently the noble Marques thither came, 

with all his Lords at his request. 
Oh Grissel) I would ask of thee, 
If thou to this match would agree, 

me thinks thy looks are waxen wondrous coy : 
With that they all began to smile, 
And Grissel she replies the while : 

God send Lord Marques many yeeres of ioy. 

The Marques was moued to see his best beloued 

thus patient in distresse : 170 

He stept vnto her, and by the hand he tooke her, 

these words he did expresse. 
Thou art the Bride, & all the Brides I mean to haue, 

these two thine own children be : 
The youthfull Lady on her knees did blessing craue 

her brother as willing as she 
And you that enuy her estate, 
Whom I haue made my louing mate, 

now blush for shame, and honour vertuous life, 
The Chronicles of lasting fame, 180 

Shall euermore extoll the name 

of patient Grissel^ my most constant wife. 

FINIS. 

1 66 all began B C DE : began all A 



The Garland of good Will. 351 



G' 



3- 

A pleasant Dialogue betweene plaine Truth^ 
and blind Ignorance. 

Truth. 

Od speed you, aged Father, 
and giue you a good day : 
What is the cause I pray you, 

so sadly here to stay : 
And that you keepe such gazing 

on this decaied place : 
The which for superstition 
good Princes downe did race. 

Ignorance. 
Chill tell thee by my vazonne 

that sometime che haue knowne 10 

A vaire and goodly Abbey, 

stand here of brick and stone : 
And many holy Friers, 

as ich may zay to thee: 
Within these goodly Cloysters 

che did full often zee. 

Truth. 

Then I must tell thee Father, 

in truth and veritie : 
A sort of greater hypocrites, 

thou couldst not likely see. 20 

Deceiuing of the simple, 

with false and feigned lyes : 
But such an order, truly, 

Christ neuer did deuise. 

Ignorance. 
Ah, ah, che zmell thee now, man, 

che know well what thou art: 
A vellow of new learning, 

che wis not worth a vart: 
Vor when we had the old Law 

a mery world was then : 30 

And euery thing was plenty, 

among all zorts of men. 



352 The Garland of good 

Truth. 
Thou giuest me an answer, 

as did the lewes sometime 
Vnto the Prophet Jeremy, 

when he accusd their crime. 
Twas merry (said the people) 

and ioyful in our Realme, 
Which did offer spice cakes 

vnto the Queene of heauen. 



4 o 



Ignorance. 

Chill tell thee what, good vellow; 

beuore the Vriers went hence, ' 
A bushell of the best wheat 

was zold for vorteene pence: 
And vorty Eggs a penny, 

that were both good and new: 
And this che zay my selfe haue zeene 

and yet ich am no lewe. 

Truth. 

Within the sacred Bible, 

we find it written plaine: sc 

The latter dayes should troublesome 

and dangerous be certaine : 
That we should be selfe louers, 

and charitie waxen cold: 
Then tis not true Religion, 

that makes this griefe to hold. 

Ignorance. 

Chill tell thee my opinion plaine, 

and chould that well ye knew, 
Ich care not for this Bible Booke, 

tis too big to be true. 6o 

Our blessed Ladies Psalter, 

zhall for my mony go : 
Such pretty prayers as there be, 

the Bible cannot zhew. 



The Garland of good Will. 353 

Truth. 
Now hast thou spoken truly, 

for in that Booke indeed : 
No mention of our Lady, 

or Romish Saints we read. 
For by the blessed Spirit, 

that Booke indited was: 7 

And not by simple persons, 

as is your foolish Masse. 

Ignorance. 

Cham zure they are not voolish 

that made the Masse che trow : 
Why man, 'tis all in Latine, 

and vooles no Latine knowe. 
Were not our Vathers wisemen, 

and they did like it well : 
Who very much reioyced 

to hear the zacring bell. 80 

Truth. 

But many Kings and Prophets, 

as I may say to thee : 
Haue wisht the light that you haue, 

and neuer could it see. 
For what art thou the better 

a Latine song to heare : 
And vnderstandest nothing, 

that they sing in the Quire: 

Ignorance. 

O hold thy peace che pray thee, 

the noise was passing trim : 90 

To heare the Friers zinging, 

as we did enter in. 
And then to zee the Roodloft, 

zo brauely zet with Zaints: 
And now to zee them wanting, 

my heart with zorrow faints. 
917.6 A a 



354 The Garland of good Will. 

Truth. 

The Lord did giue commandement, 

no Image thou shouldst make, 
Nor that vnto Idolatry 

you should your selfe betake. 100 

The golden Calfe of Israeli, 

Moses did therefore spoile : 
And Baal his Priests and Temple, 

he brought to vtter foyle. 

Ignorance. 

But our Lady of Walsingham 

was zure an holy Zaint : 
And many men in pilgrimage, 

did shew to her complaint. 
Yea zweet Zaint Thomas Becket, 

and many others moe : no 

The Holy Maid of Kent, likwise 

did many wonders zhow, 

Truth. 

Such Saints are well agreeing, 

to your profession sure : 
And to the men that made them 

so precious and so pure. 
The one was found a Traitor, 

and iudged worthy death, 
The other eke for Treason 

did end his hatefull breath. 120 

Ignorance. 

Yea yea it is no matter, 

dispraise them how you wille : 
But zure they did much goodnesse, 

when they were with vs still. 
We had our holy water, 

and holy bread likewise : 
And many holy Reliques 

we zaw before our eyes. 



The Garland of good Will. 355 

Truth. 

And all this while they feed you, 

with vaine and sundry showes, 130 

Which neuer Christ commanded, 

as learned Doctors knowes. 
Search then the holy Scriptures, 

and thou shalt plainly see : 
That headlong to damnation, 

they alwayes trained thee. 

Ignorance. 

If it be true good vellow : 

as thou dost zay to me : 
Then to my Zauiour lesus 

alone then will I flie. 140 

Beleeuing in the Gospell, 

and passion of his Zonne : 
And with these subtill Papists 

ich haue for euer done. 



FINIS. 



The ouerthrow of proud Holofornes> and the 
triumph of vertuous Queene ludith. 

WHen King Nebuchadonezar^ 
was puffed vp with pride : 
Hee sent for many men of warre, 

by Holofornes guide 
To plague and spoile the world throughout, 

by fierce Bellonaes rod : 
That would not feare and honor him, 
and knowledge him their God. 

Which when the holy Israelites 

did truly vnderstand : 10 

For to preuent his tyrannic, 

they fortified their Land. 
A a 2 



7 c 6 7~/ Garland of good 

\J J J O 

Their Towns and stately Cities strong 

they did with victuals store : 
Their warlike weapons they prepar'd, 

their furious foe to gore. 

When stately Holofornes then 

had knowledge of that thing: 
That they had thus prepar'd themselues 

for to withstand the King 20 

(Quoth he) what God is able now, 

to keep those men from me : 
Is there a greater than our King, 

whom all men feare to see. 

Come march with mee therefore (he said) 

my Captaines euery one : 
And first vnto Bethulia, 

with speed let vs be gone. 
I will destroy each mothers sonne 

that is within the Land: 30 

Their God shall not deliuer them 

out of my furious hand. 

Wherefore about Bethulia, 

that little City then: 
On foot he planted vp and downe, 

an hundred thousand men. 
Twelue thousand more on horses braue, 

about the Towne had he, 
He stopt their springs and water pipes 

to worke their misery. 4 

When foure and thirty days they had 

with warres besieged beene : 
The poore Bethulians at that time 

so thirsty then was seene, 
That they were like to starue and die, 

they were both weake and faint: 
The people gainst the Rulers cry, 

and thus was their complaint : 

41 days C D E : years A B 



The Garland of good Will. 357 

Better it is for vs (quoth they) 

to yeeld vnto our foe : 50 

Then by this great and grieuous thirst, 

to be destroyed so. 
O render vp the Towne therefore, 

God hath forsaken quite : 
There is no meanes to scape their hands, 

who can escape their might? 

When as their grieued Rulers heard 

the clamors which they made. 
Good people be content (they said) 

and be no whit dismaid. 60 

Yet flue dayes stay in hope of helpe, 

God will regard our woe: 
But if by then no succour come, 

weele yeeld vnto our foe. 

When ludith (prudent princely Dame) 

had tidings of this thing : 
Which was Manesses vertuous wife, 

that sometime was their king. 
Why tempt ye God so sore (she said) 

before all men this day : 70 

Whom mortall men in conscience ought 

to feare and eke obay. 

If you will grant me leaue (quoth she) 

to passe abroad this night : 
To Holofornes I will go, 

for all his furious might. 
But what I there intend to do, 

enquire not now of me : 
Go then in peace, faire Dame (they said) 

and God be still with thee. 80 

When she from them was gotten home, 

within her Palace gate : 
She called to her chiefest maid, 

that on her then did waite. 
Bring me my best attire (quoth she) 

and Jewels of finest gold : 
And wash me with the finest balmes 

that are for siluer sold. 



358 The Garland of good 



The fairest and the richest robes, 

that then they did possesse: 90 

Vpon her dainty corps she put, 

and eke her head did dresse. 
With costly pearles and precious stones, 

and Earings of fine gold : 
That like an Angell she did seeme, 

most sweet for to behold. 

A pot of sweet and pleasant oyle, 

she tooke with her that time: 
A bag of Figs, and fine white flower, 

a bottle of fine Wine : 100 

Because she should not eat with them 

that worship gods of stone : 
And from the City thus she went, 

with one poore maid alone. 

Much ground alas she had not gone 

out of her owne City: 
But that the Centinels espide 

her comming presently. 
From whence come you faire Maid (qd. they) 

and where walke you so late? no 

From yonder Towne, good Sir (quoth she) 

to your Lord of high estate. 

When they did marke and view her well, 

and saw her faire beauty : 
And there with all her rich array, 

so gorgeous to the eye: 
They were amazed in their minds, 

so faire a Dame to see : 
They set her in a Chariot then, 

in place of high degree. 120 

An hundred proper chosen men 

they did appoint likewise, 
To waite on Princely ludith there, 

whose beauty bleard their eyes, 

112 estate CDE : state AB 



The Garland of good Will. 359 

And all the souldiers running came, 

to view her as she went: 
And thus with her they past along 

vnto the Generals Tent. 

Then came his stately Guard in hast, 

fair ludith for to meet : 130 

And to their high renowned Lord, 

they brought this Lady sweet. 
And then before his honour high, 

vpon her knees she fell : 
Her beauty bright made him to muse, 

so farre she did excell. 

Rise vp renowned Dame (quoth he) 

the glory of thy kind : 
And be no whit abasht at all, 

to shew to me thy mind. 140 

When she had vttered her intent, 

her wit amaz'd them all, 
And Holofernes heart therewith 

by loue was brought in thrall. 

And bearing in his lofty breast, 

the flames of hot desire : 
He granted euery thing to her, 

she did of him require. 
Each night therfore, he gaue her leaue, 

to walke abroad to pray, 150 

According to her owne request, 

which she did make that day. 

When she in Camp had three days beene, 

neare Holofernes Tent : 
His chiefest friend, Lord Treasurer, 

vnto her then he sent. 
Faire Dame (quoth he) my Lord commands, 

this night your company: 
(Quoth she) I will not my good Lord 

in any thing deny. 160 



360 The Garland of good 

A great and sumptuous Feast, 

did Holof ernes make: 
Amongst the chiefest Lords and Knights, 

and all for ludiths sake : 
But of their dainties in no case, 

would pleasant Judith taste, 
Yet Holofernes merry was, 

so near him she was plac't. 

And being very pleasantly 

disposed at that time: 170 

He drunk with them abundantly 

of strong delicious Wine. 
So that his strength and memory, 

so far from him was fled : 
There lay him down, and ludith then 

was brought vnto his bed. 

When all the doores about were shut, 

and euery one was gone, 
Hard by the Pillar of his bed 

his sword shee spide anon, 180 

Then down she took it presently, 

to God for strength she pray'd, 
She cut his head from shoulders quite, 

and gaue it to her maid. 

The rich and golden Canopy, 

that hung ouer his bed: 
She took the same with her likewise, 

with Holof ornes head. 
And thus through all the Court of guard 

she scaped clean away. 190 

None did her stay, thinking that shee 

had gone forth for to pray. 

When shee had past, scaped quite 

the danger of them all, 
And that shee was come near vnto 

the sieged Cities wall: 

163 Here several, pages are missing in A, and the text is supplied from B, 
fill /.no in the Winning of C ales 166 pleasant C D E : present B 

taste D E : take B C 



The Garland of good Will. 361 

Come ope the gates (quoth shee) 

our foe the Lord hath slain; 
See here his head within my hand, 

that bore so great a fame. 200 

Vpon a Pole they pitcht his head, 

that all men might it spie: 
And ore the City walls forthwith, 

they set it presently. 
Then all the Souldiers in the Town, 

marcht forth in rich array: 
But sure their foes spide their approach 

for twas at break of day. 

Then running hastily to call 

their Generall out of bed: 210 

They found his liuelesse body there, 

but clean without his head. 
When this was known } all in a maze 

they fled away each man: 
They left their tents full rich behind, 

and so away they ran. 

Lo here behold how God prouides 

for them that in him trust : 
When earthly hope is all in vain, 

he takes vs from the dust. 220 

How often hath our ludith sau'd, 

and kept vs from decay: 
Gainst Holofernes, Deuill and Pope, 

as may be seen this day. 



FINIS. 



362 The Garland of good Will. 

5- 
A Princely Ditty, in praise of the English Rose, 

Translated out of French. 

AMong the Princely Paragons, 
bedect with dainty Diamonds, 
Within mine eye, none doth come nie, 

the sweet red Rose of England, 
The Lillies passe in brauery, 

in Flanders, Spain, and Italy: 
But yet the famous flower of France 
doth honour the Rose of England. 

As I abroad was walking, 

I heard the small birds talking: 10 

And euery one did frame her Song 

in praise of the Rose of England, 
The Lillies, &c. 

Ccesar may vant of Victories, 

and Crcesus of his happinesse : 
But he were blest, that might bear in his brest 

the sweet red Rose of England, 
The Lillies, &c. 

The brauest Lute bring hither, 

and let vs sing together: 20 

While I do ring on euery string, 

the praise of the Rose of England, 
The Lillies, &c. 

The sweet Perfumes and Spices, 

the wise men brought to lesus : 
Did neuer smell a quarter so well 

as doth the Rose of England, 
The Lillies, &c. 

Then faire and princely flower, 

that ouer my heart doth tower, 30 

None may be compared to thee, 

which art the fair Rose of England. 
The Lillies, &c. 

9 was C D E : am B 14 Victories D R : Histories B C 



The Garland of good Will. 363 

The third part of the Garland 
of good Will. 

Song. i. 
A Maidens choice twixt Age and Youth. 

/^Rabbid Age and Youth 
V^ cannot Hue together: 
Youth is full of pleasure, 

Age is full of care. 
Youth like Summers morn, 

Age like Winters weather : 
Youth is full of sport, 
Ages breath is short: 

Youth is nimble, Age is lame ; 
Youth is hot and bold, 10 

Age is weak and cold: 

Youth is wild, and Age is tame: 
Age I do abhor thee; 
Youth I do adore thee, 

O my loue, my loue is young, 
Age I do defie thee : 
O sweet Shepherd hie thee, 

for me thinks thou stay'st too long, 

Here I do attend, 

arm'd by loue and pleasure, 20 

With my youthfull friend, 

ioyfully to meet, 
Here I do wait 

for my only treasure, 
Venus sugred bait, 

fancies dainty sweet ; 
Like a louing wife, 
so lead I my life, 

9 lame C D E : tame B 26 fancies dainties sweet B : fancy dainty 

sweet C DE 



364 The Garland of good Will. 

thirsting for my hearts desire, 

Come sweet youth, I pray, 30 

Away old man a way, 

thou canst not giue that I require. 
For old age I care not, 
Come my loue and spare not, 

Age is feeble, Youth is strong, 
Age I do dene thee, 
O sweet Shephard, hie thee, 

for me thinks thou stayest too long. 

Phabus stay thy Steeds 

ouer swiftly running: 40 

Driue not on so fast, 

bright resplendent Sun. 
For fair Daphnes sake 

now expresse thy cunning: 
Pittie on me take, 

else I am vndone, 
Your hours swift of flight, 
That waste with Titans sight, 

and so consume the cheerfull day, 

stay a while with me, 50 
Till I my loue may see, 

O Youth thou dost too long delay, 
Time will ouer slip vs, 
And in pleasures trip vs, 

come away therefore with speed, 

1 would not lose an houre, 
For faire London Tower, 

Venus therefore, help my need. 

Floras banks are spread, 

in her rich attire, 60 

With the dainty Violet, 

and the Primrose sweet, 
Dazes white and red, 

fitting youths desire : 
Where the Daffadilly, 

and the Cowslip meet, 
All for youths behooue, 
Their fresh colours moue, 



The Garland of good Will. 365 

in the Medowes green and gay, 
The Birds with sweetest notes, 70 

Do strain their pritty throates, 

to entertain my loue this way. 
I with twenty wishes, 
And an hundred kisses, 

would receiue him by the hand, 
If he gaue not a fall, 
I would him Coward call, 

and all vnto my word would stand. 

Loe where he appears 

like to young Adonis, 80 

Ready to set on fire, 

the chastest heart aliue. 
lewell of my life, 

welcome where thine own is, 
Pleasant are thy looks, 

sorrowes to depriue. 
Embrace thy darling dear, 
Without all doubtfull fear : 

at thy command I wholy rest, 
do what thou wilt to me, 9 

Therein I agree, 

and be not strange to my request: 
To youth I only yeeld, 
age fits not Venus field, 

though I be conquer'd, what care I, 
In such a pleasant warre, 
Come meet me if you dare, 

who first mislikes, first let him cry 

FINIS. 



2. 

AS you came from the holy land 
of Walsingham, 

Met you not with my true loue, 
by the way as you came? 

79 he C D E : she B 



366 The Garland of good Will. 

How should I know your true loue, 

that haue met many a one, 
As I came from the holy Land, 

that haue come, that haue gone? 

She is neither white nor brown, 

but as the heauens fair: 10 

There is none hath her form so diuine 

on the earth, in the ayr. 
Such an one did I meet (good Sir) 

with Angell-like face: 
Who like a Nimph, like a Queen did appear 

in her gate, in her grace. 

She hath left me here alone, 

all alone vnknown : 
Who sometime loued me as her life^ 

and called me her own. 20 

What is the cause shee hath left thee alone, 

and a new way doth take, 
That sometime did thee loue as her self, 

and her loy did thee make? 

I haue loued her all my youth, 

but now am old as you see: 
Loue liketh not the falling fruit, 

nor the withered tree. 
For loue is a carelesse child, 

and forgets promise past, 30 

He is blind, he is deaf, when he list, 

and in faith neuer fast. 

His desire is fickle, fond, 

and a trustlesse ioy: 
He is won with a world of despair, 

and is lost with a toy. 
Such is the loue of Women kind, 

or the word (Loue) abused: 
Vnder which many childish desires, 

and conceits are excused. 40 

But Loue it is a durable fire, 

in the mind euer burning: 
Neuer sick, neuer dead, neuer cold, 

from it self neuer turning. 
33 fickle, focd, Percy Folio : fickle found, B C DE 



The Garland of good Will. 367 



3- 

The Winning of Cales. 

LOng the proud Spaniard 
aduanced to conquer vs, 
Threatning our Country 

with fire and sword, 
Often preparing 

their Nauy most sumptuous, 
With all the prouision 

that Spain could afford, 
Dub, a dub, dub, 

thus strikes their Drummes, 10 

Tan ta ra ra, tan ta ra ra, 

English men comes. 

To the Seas presently, 

went our Lord admirall, 
With Knights couragious, 

and Captains full good, 
The Earl of Essex, 

a prosperous Generall, 
With him prepared, 

to passe the salt flood : ao 

Dub a dub, &c. 

At Plimouth speedily, 

take they ships valliantly: 
Brauer ships neuer 

were seen vnder sails : 
With their fair coulers spred, 

and streamers ore their head : 
Now bragging Spaniards 

take heed of your taile : 
Dub a dub, dub, &c. 30 

Vnto Cales cunningly 

came we most happily 
Where the Kings Nauie 

securely did ride, 
Being vpon their backs, 

peircing their Buts of Sacks, 

32 came C D E : come B 



368 The Garland of good Will. 



Ere that the Spaniard 

our comming descrid 
Tan ta ra ra ra, English-men comes 

bounce abounce, bounce abounce 40 

Off went our Guns. 
Great was the crying, 

running and riding, 
Which at that season 

was made in that place; 
Then Beacons were fired, 

as need then required: 
To hide their great treasure, 

they had little space : 
Alas they cryed, 50 

English men comes. 

There might you see the Ships, 

how they were fired fast : 
And how the men drowned 

themselues in the Sea, 
There might you hear them cry, 

wail and weep piteously : 
When as they saw no shift 

to escape thence away, 
Dub a dub, &c. 60 

The great Saint Philip, 

The pride of the Spaniards, 
Was burnt to the bottom 

and sunk in the sea, 
But the Saint Andrew, 

and eke the Saint Matthew, 
We took in fight manly, 

and brought them away. 
Dub a dub, &c. 
The Earl of Essex, 70 

Most valiant and hardy, 
With horsemen and footmen, 

marcht towards the Town. 
The enemies which saw them, 

full greatly affrighted, 
Did fly for their safegard, 

and durst not come down. 
Dub a dub, &c. 



The Garland of good Will. 369 

Now quoth the noble Earl, 

courage my Soldiers all, 80 

Fight and be valiant, 

and spoyl you shall haue, 
And well rewarded all, 

from the great to the small : 
But look that Women 

and Children you saue, 
Dub a dub, &c. 

The Spaniard at that sight, 

saw 'twas in vain to fight : 
Hung vp their flags of truce, 90 

yeelding the Town : 
We marcht in presently, 

decking the walls on hie, 
With our English coulors, 

which purchast renown : 
Dub a dub, &c. 

Entring the houses then 

of the richest men, 
For Gold and Treasure 

we searched each day : 100 

In some places we did finde 

pies baking in the Ouens, 
Meat at the fire roasting, 

and men ran away. 
Dub a dub, &c. 

Full of rich marchandize 

euery shop we did see, 
Damask and Sattins 

and veluet full faire: 
Which souldiers measured out no 

by the length of their swords 
Of all commodities, 

each one had share. 
Dub a dub, &c. 



84 the great CD E : B omits 89 fight CD E : flaggs B 101 

did CD E : do B 109 Here A text recommences 

917.6 B b 



370 The Garland of good Will. 



Thus Cales was taken, 

and our braue Generall 
Marcht to the Market place, 

there he did stand : 
There many prisoners 

of good account were tooke : 120 

Many crau'd mercy, 

and mercy they found. 
Dub a dub, &c. 

When our braue Generall 

saw they delayed time, 
And would not ransom 

the Towne as they said : 
With their faire Wainscots, 

their Presses and Bedsteds, 
Their loynt-stooles and Tables, 130 

a fire we made: 

And when the town burnt in a flame, 
With tan ta ra, tan ta ra ra, 
From thence we came. 



Of King Edward the third, and the faire Countesse of 
Salisbury, setting forth her constancy and endlesse 
glory. 

Hen as King Edward the third did Hue, 
that valiant King : 
Dauid of Scotland to rebell, 

did then begin. 
The towne of Barwicke suddenly 

from vs he wonne : 
And burnt New-castle to the ground, 

thus strife begun. 
To Rosbury Castle marcht he then, 

and by the force of warlike men, 10 

Besieg'd therein a gallant faire Lady, 

while that her husband was in France, 
His countries honour to aduance, 

the noble and famous Earle of Salisbury. 



w 



The Garland of good Will. 371 

Braue Sir William Mountague^ 

rode then in post : 
Who declard vnto the King, 

the Scottish mens hoast. 
Who like a Lyon in his rage, 

did straight way prepare 20 

For to deliuer that faire Lady, 

from wofull care : 

But when the Scottishmen did heare say, 
Edward our King was come that day : 
They raised their siege, and ran away with speed, 
So when that he did thither come 
With warlike Trumpet, Fife and Drum, 

none but a gallant Lady did him meet. 



Whom when he did with greedy eyes 

behold and see : 30 

Her peerlesse beauty straight inthrald 

his Maiestie. 
And euer the longer that he look't 

the more he might: 
For in her onely beauty was, 

his hearts delight. 
And humbly then vpon her knee, 

she thankt his royall Maiestie, 
That he had driuen danger from her Gate. 
Lady (quoth he) stand vp in peace, 40 

Although my warre doth now increase, 
Lord keepe (quoth she) all hurt from your estate. 



Now is the King full sad in soule, 

and wot not why ? 
All for the loue of the faire Countesse 

of Salisbury. 
She little knowing his cause of Griefe, 

did come to see : 
Wherfore his Highnesse sate alone 

so heauily, 50 

I haue beene wrong'd, fair Dame (quoth he) 

since I came hither vnto thee. 
B b 2 



372 The Garland of good 

No, God forbid my Soueraigne (she said) 

if I were worthy for to know 
The cause and ground of this your woe, 

you should be helpt if it did lye in me. 

Sweare to performe thy words to me 

thou Lady gay : 
To thee the sorrow of my heart, 

I will bewray. 60 

I sweare by all the Saints in heauen, 

I will (quoth she) : 
And let my Lord haue no mistrust 

at all in me. 
Then take thy selfe aside (he said) 

for why thy beauty hath betraid, 
Wounding a King with thy bright shining eye, 
If thou do then some mercy show : 
Thou shalt expell a Princes woe : 

so shall I liue, or else in sorrow die. 70 

You haue your wish, my Soueraigne Lord, 

effectually : 
Take all the loue that I can giue 

your Maiestie. 
But in thy beauty all my ioys 

haue their abode : 
Take then my beauty from my face 

my gracious Lord. 
Didst thou not swear to grant my will : 

all that I may I will fulfill. 80 

Then for my loue let thy true loue be scene : 
My Lord, your speech I might reproue, 
You cannot giue to me your loue, 

for that belongs vnto your Queen e. 

But I suppose your Grace did this, 

only to try 
Whether a wanton tale might tempt 

Dame Salisbury. 
Nor from your selfe therfore my Liege, 

my steps do stray : 90 

But from your tempting wanton tale, 

I go my way. 



The Garland of good Will. 373 

O turne againe thou Lady bright, 

come vnto me my harts delight. 
Gone is the comfort of my pensiue heart : 
Here comes the Earle of Warwicke he, 
The Father of this faire Lady : 

my mind to him I meane for to impart. 

Why is my Lord and Soueraigne King 

so grieu'd in mind : 100 

Because that I haue lost the thing 

I cannot find. 
What thing is that, my gracious Lord 

which you haue lost? 
It is my heart which is neare dead, 

betwixt fire and frost. 
Curst be that fire and frost too, 

that causeth this your highnesse woo, 

Warwick, thou dost wrong me very sore, 

it is thy daughter noble Earle: no 

That heauen bright lampe that peereles pearle 
which kils my heart, yet do I her adore. 

If that be all (my gracious King :) 
that workes your griefe, 

1 will perswade that scornefull Dame 
to yeeld reliefe : 

Neuer shall she my daughter be, 

if she refuse. 
The loue and fauour of a King 

may her excuse. iao 

Thus wise Warwicke went his way, 

and quite contrary he did say : 
When as he did the beauteous Countesse meet, 

well met my daughter deare (quoth he) 
A message I must do to thee: 
Our royall King most kindly doth thee greet 

The King will die, lest thou to him 

do grant thy loue : 
To loue the King my husbands loue 

I should remoue, 130 

lai mseCD: while A 



374 ^* Garland of good 



It is right charitie to loue, 

my daughter deare : 
But not true loue so charitable 

for to appeare. 

His greatnesse may beare out the shame, 
But his kingdome cannot buy out the blame, 

he craues thy loue that may bereaue thy life. 
It is my dutie to moue this, 
But not my honestie to yeeld, I wis : 

I meane to die a true vnspotted wife. 140 

Now hast thou spoken my daughter deare, 

as I would haue : 
Chastitie beares a golden name 

vnto her graue. 
And when vnto thy wedded Lord 

thou prouest vntrue : 
Then let my bitter curses still 

thy soule pursue. 
Then with a smiling cheare go thou 

as right and reason doth allow. 150 

Yet shew the King thou bearest no strumpets mind 
I go deare father with a trice 

and by a slight of fine deuice : 
He cause the King confesse that I am kind. 

Here comes the Lady of my life 

the King did say : 
My father bids me, Soueraigne Lord 

your will obay : 
And I consent, if you will grant 

one boone to me. 160 

I grant it thee, my Lady faire, 

whatere it be. 
My husband is aliue you know, 

first let me kill him, ere I go. 
And at your command I wil for euer be. 
Thy husband now in France doth rest : 
No, no he lyes within my brest, 

and being so nie, he will my falsehood see. 

139 my A'. \.\vjBCDE 140 wife B C D : life A 



The Garland of good Will. 375 

With that she started from the King, 

and tooke hir knife: 170 

And desperately she sought to rid 

her selfe of life. 
The King vpstarted from his chaire, 

her hand to stay, 
O noble King you haue broke your word 

with me this day. 
Thou shalt not do this deed (quoth he) 

then neuer will I ly with thee. 
No, Hue thou still, and let me beare the blame, 
Liue in honour and high estate 180 

With thy true Lord and wedded mate : 

I neuer will attempt this suit againe. 



5- 

The Spanish Ladies Loue to an English 
Gentleman. 

Will you heare a Spanish Lady 
how she wooed an Englishman : 
Garments gay as rich as may be, 
deckt with Jewels had she on, 
Of a comely countenance, 

and grace was she : 
And by birth and parentage 
of high degree. 

As his prisoner there he kept her, 

in his hands her life did lye: 
Cupids bands did tie her faster, 

by the liking of her eye. 
In his courteous company, 

was all her ioy; 
To fauour him in any thing, 

she was not coy. 

At the last there came commandment, 

for to set the Ladies free : 
With their lewels still adorning, 

none to do them iniury. 



376 The Garland of good 



Alas, then said the Lady gay, 
full woe is me: 

let me still sustaine this kind 
captiuity. 

Gallant captaine take some pittie 

of a Lady in distresse : 
Leaue me not within the Citie, 

for to dye in heauinesse. 
Thou hast set this present day, 

my body free : 30 

But my heart in prison strong, 

remaines with thee. 

How should you, faire Lady loue me 

whom thou knowest thy Countries foe : 
Thy faire words make me suspect thee, 

serpents lie where flowers grow. 
All the euill I thinke to thee, 

most courteous Knight : 
God grant vnto my selfe the same, 

may fully light. 4 o 

Blessed be the time and season, 

that you came on Spanish ground, 
If you may our foe be termed, 

gentle foes we haue you found. 
With our Cities, you haue won, 

our hearts each one : 
Then to your Country beare away, 

that is your owne. 

Rest you still most gallant Lady, 

rest you still and weepe no more : 50 

Of faire louers there are plenty, 

Spaine doth yeeld a wondrous store. 
Spaniards fraught with iealousie, 

we often find : 
But English men through all the world 

are counted kind. 

Leaue me not vnto a Spaniard, 
you alone enioy my heart: 

1 am louely, yong and tender, 

loue is likewise my desert. 60 



The Garland of good Will. 377 

Stil to serue thee day and night, 

my mind is prest: 
The wife of euery Englishman 

is counted blest. 

It would be a shame, faire Lady, 

for to beare a woman hence : 
English souldiers neuer carry 

any such without offence. 
I will quickly change my selfe, 

if it be so : 70 

And like a Page He follow thee, 

wherere thou go. 

I haue neither gold nor siluer, 

to maintaine thee in this case : 
And to trauell is great charges, 

as you know in euery place, 
My chaines and lewels euery one 

shall be thine owne : 
And eke fiue hundred pound in gold, 

that lyes vnknowne. 80 

On the Seas are many dangers, 

many storms do there arise: 
Which will be to Ladies dreadfull, 

and force tears from watry eyes, 
Well, in worth I should endure 

extremity : 
For I could find in heart to lose 

my life for thee. 

Courteous Lady be contented, 

here comes all that breeds the strife, 90 

I in England haue already 

a sweet woman to my wife. 
I will not falsifie my vow 

for gold nor gaine: 
Nor yet for all the fairest Dames 

that Hue in Spaine. 

O how happy is that woman 

that enioyes so true a friend: 
Many dayes of ioy God send you, 

of my suit He make an end. 100 



378 The Garland of good 

Vpon my knees I pardon craue 

for this offence : 
Which loue and true affection 

did first commence. 

Commend me to thy louing Lady 

beare to her this chaine of gold, 
And these bracelets for a token, 

grieuing that I was so bold. 
All my lewels in like sort 

beare thou with thee : no 

For these are fitting for thy wife, 

and not for me. 

I will spend my dayes in prayer, 

loue and all her lawes defie : 
In a Nunnery will I shrowd me, 

farre from other company, 
But ere my prayers haue end, 

be sure of this : 
To pray for thee and for thy loue, 

I will not misse. rao 

Thus farewell most gentle Captaine, 

and farewell my hearts content: 
Count not Spanish Ladies wanton, 

though to thee my loue was bent, 
loy and true prosperitie 

go still with thee: 
The like fall euer to thy share, 

most faire Lady. 



6. 

A farewell to Loue. 

FArewell false Loue the Oracle of lyes, 
A mortall foe, an enemy to rest; 
An enuious boy from whence great cares arise 
A Bastard vile, a beast with rage possest. 
A way for error, tempest, full of treason ; 
In all respect contrary vnto reason. 



The Garland of good Will. 379 

A poyson'd Serpent couered all with flowers, 

Mother of sighs, and murtherer of repose; 

A sea of sorrow, whence run all such showres 

As moysture giues to euery griefe that growes : 10 

A schoole of guile, a nest of deepe deceit, 

A golden hooke that holds a poysoned bait. 

A fortlesse field, whom reason did defend : 
A Syrens song, a feruour of the mind : 
A maze wherein afflection finds no end : 
A raining cloud, that runs before the wind, 
A substance like the shadow of the Sunne : 
A gole of griefe for which the wisest runne. 

A quenchlesse fire, a nest of trembling feare : 

A path that leads to perill and mishap : 20 

A true retreat of sorrow and despaire, 

An idle boy that sleepes in pleasures lap: 

A deepe mistrust of that which certaine seemes, 

A hope of that which reason doubtfull deemes. 

Then sith thy reigne my yonger yeeres betraid : 

And for my faith ingratitude I find : 

And sith repentance hath the wrong bewraid, 

Whose crooked course hath not beene after kind, 

False loue go backe, and beauty fraile adew, 

Dead is the root from whence such fancies grew. 30 

FINIS. 



The Louer by his gifts thinkes to conquer chastitie, 
And with his gifts sends these verses to the Lady. 

WHat face so faire that is not crackt with gold? 
What wit so worth but hath gold in his wonder ? 
What learning but with golden lines will hold? 
What state so hie, but gold could bring it vnder? 
What thought so sweet but gold doth better season ? 
And what rule better than the Golden reason? 

8 murtherer B C D E : murtherers A 9 sea B C D E : season A run 
BCDE:nnA 19 nest] rest A B C D E 25 thy B C D E : 

my A 28 course] cause A B C D E 

5 better C D E : bitter A B 



380 The Garland of good Will. 

The ground is fat that yeelds the golden fruit : 

The study high, that fits the golden state: 

The labour sweete that gets the golden suit: 

The reckning rich, that scornes the golden rate : 10 

The loue is sure, that golden hope doth hold : 

And rich again that serues the god of Gold. 

FINIS. 



8. 
The womans answer. 

FOule is the face, whose beauty gold can race : 
Worthless the wit that hath gold in her wonder: 
Vnlearned lines puts gold in honours place : 
Wicked the state that will to coine come vnder : 
Base the conceit that seasoned is with gold : 
And beggars rule that such a reason hold. 

Earth giues the gold but Heauen giues greater grace, 
Men study wealth, but Angels wisdomes state, 
Labour seekes peace, loue hath an higher place : 
Death makes the reckning, life is all my rate : 10 

Thy hope is hell, my hope of heauen doth hold, 
God giue me grace, let Dims die with gold. 

FINIS. 

Worthless C D E : Worthy A B 6 rule A B C D E : rude ? 



STRANGE 

HISTORIES, 

Of Kings > Princes > Dukcs 

Earlcs,Lords > Ladic% Knights 
and Gentlemen* 

IVtih tfaffcat trwblu wd mi/cries of the 

Dutches of Sffdke. 

Vctic pleaftnt drfier to bcc tetd og 

/ange, and a moft exocUent ^^ 

ning for all cfbtcs. 




LONDON 

Printed by William Barley, 

of I, M. and ire to be (bldathis 

AopinGraciousflrcctCr 

i 6 o * 



THE TABLE. 

Cant. I 
The Kentishmen with long tayles 

Cant. II. 

Of King Henrie the first and his children. 
The Dutchesse of Suffolkes calamitie. 

Cant. III. 
King Henry the second crowning his Sonne King of England. 

Cant. IIII. 
The imprisonment of Queene Elenor. 

Cant. V. 
The death of King lohn poisoned by a Frier. 

Cant. VI. 
The Imprisonement of King Edward the second. 

Cant. VII. 

The murthering of King Edward the second, being kild with 
a hot burning spit. 

Cant. VIII. 
The banishment of the Lord Matreuers^ and Sir Thomas Gurney. 

Cant. IX. 
The winning of the Yle of Man. 

Cant. X. 

The rebellion of Wat Tilor and lacke Straw. 
A speech betweene Ladies, being Shepheards on Salsburit plaine. 

Henry} Edward 1602 



Strange Histories. 383 



The valiant courage and policie of the Kentishmen 
with long tayles, whereby they kept their ancient 
Lawes and Customes, which William the Conquerer 
sought to take from them. 

Cant. I. 




Or to the tune of Rogero. 

WHen as the Duke of Normandie, 
with glistering speare and shield : 
Had entred into faire England, 

and foild his foes in fielde. 
On Christmas day in solemne sort, 

then was he crowned heere, 
By Albert Archbishop of Yorke, 
with many a noble Peere. 

Which being done he changed quite, 

the customes of this land : 
And punisht such as daily sought, 

his statutes to withstand. 
And many Citties he subdude, 

faire London with the rest : 
But Kent did still withstand his force, 

which did his lawes detest. 

To Douer then he tooke his way, 

the Castle downe to fling : 
Which Aruiragus builded there, 

the noble Brutaine king : 
Which when the braue Arch-Bishop bolde, 

of Canterburie knew : 
The Abbot of S. Aus tines eke, 

with all their gallant crue. 

They set themselues in armour bright 

these mischiefes to preuent : 
With all the yeomen braue and bold, 

that wer in fruitfull Kent. 



384 Strange Histories. 



At Canterburie did they meete, 

vpon a certaine day : 30 

With sword and speare with bill and bowe, 

and stopt the conquerers way. 

Let vs not Hue like bondmen poore, 

to Frenchmen in their pride 
But keepe our ancient liberties, 

what chance so ear betide. 
And rather die in bloudie field 

in manlike courage prest : 
Then to endure the seruile yoake, 

which we so much detest. 40 

Thus did the Kentish Commons crie, 

vnto their leaders still : 
And so march foorth in warlike sort, 

and stand at Swanscombe hill. 
Where in the woods they hid themselues, 

vnder the shadie greene, 
Thereby to get them vantage good, 

of all their foes vnseene. 

And for the Conquerours comming there, 

they priuily laid waite : 50 

And thereby suddainely appald, 

his loftie high conceipt. 
For when they spied his approch, 

in place as they did stand : 
Then marched they to hem him in, 

each on a bow in hand. 

So that vnto the conquerers sight, 

amazed as he stood 
They seemd to be a walking groue, 

or els a mouing wood. 60 

The shape of men he could not see, 

the bowes did hide them so : 
And now his hart with feare did quake, 

to see a forrest goe. 

Before, behind, and on each side, 

as he did cast his eye : 
He spide these woods with sober pace, 

approch to him full nye. 



Strange Histories. 385 

But when the kentishmen had thus, 
inclos'd the conquerer round : 70 

Most suddenly they drew their swords, 
and threw the bowes to ground. 

There banners they displaid in sight, 

there Trumpets sound a charge. 
There ratling Drummes strickes vp a larme, 

there troopes stretch -out at large. 
The Conquerour with all his traine 

were hereat sore agast : 
And most in perill when he thought, 

all perill had beene past. 80 

Vnto the kentish men he sent, 

the cause to vnderstand : 
For what intent and for what cause, 

they tooke this warre in hand. 
To whom they made this, short reply e, 

for libertie we fight: 
And to enioy S. Edwards lawes, 

the which we hold our right. 

Then said the dreadfull conquerer, 
you shall haue what you will : 90 

Your ancient customes and your lawes, 

so that you will be still : 
And each thing els that you will craue, 

with reason at my hand, 
So you will but acknowledge me, 

chiefe King of faire England. 

The kentishmen agreed here on, 

and laid their armes aside : 
And by this meanes King Edwards lawes, 

in Kent do still abide, 100 

And in no place in England else, 

those customes do remaine : 
Which they by manly pollicie, 

did of Duke William gaine. 

FINIS. 



917.6 c c 



386 Strange Histories. 

II How King Henry the first had his children drowned in 
the sea, as they came out offrance. 



Cant. II. 




Or to the tune of the Ladies daughter. 

AFter our royall King, 
had foild his foes in France : 
And spent the pleasant spring, 

his honor to aduance. 
Into faire England he returnde, 

with fame and victorie : 
What time the subiects of his land, 
receiued him ioyfully. 

But at his home returne, 

his children left he still : 10 

In France for to soiourne 

to purchase learned skill. 
Duke William with his brother deare, 

Lord Richard was his name : 
Which was the Earle of Chester then, 

who thirsted after fame. 
The Kings faire daughter eke, 

the Ladie Marie bright : 
With diuers noble Peeres, 

and manie a hardie Knight. 20 

All those were left together there, 

in pleasure and delight : 
When that our King to England came, 

after the bloodie fight. 
But when faire Flora had, 

drawne forth her treasure drie : 
That winter colde and sad, 

with hoarie head drewe nie. 
Those Princes all with one consent, 

prepared all things meete : 3 

To passe the seas for faire England, 

whose sight to them was sweet. 



Strange Histories. 387 

To England let vs hie, 

thus euerie one did say, 
For Christmas draweth nie, 

no longer let vs stay. 
But spend the merrie Christmas time, 

within our Fathers court : 
Where Ladie pleasure doth attend, 

with manie a Princely sport. 40 

To sea these Princes went, 

fulfilled with mirth and ioye, 
But this their meriment, 

did turne to deare annoy. 
The Saylers and the shipmen all, 

through foule excesse of wine, 
Were so disguisde that at the sea, 

they shewd themselues like swine. 

The sterne no man could guide, 

the master sleeping lay, 5 o 

The saylers all beside, 

went reelling euerie way. 
So that the Ship at randome roode, 

vpon the foaming flood, 
Whereby in perill of their Hues, 

the Princes alwayes stood. 

Which made distilling teares, 

from their faire eyes to fall : 
Their heartes were fild with feares, 

no helpe they had at all. 60 

They wisht themselues vpon the land, 

a thousand times and more. 
And at the last they came in sight, 

of Englands pleasant shore. 

Then euery one began, 

to turne their sighes to smiles: 
There coulours pale and wan, 

a cheerefull looke exciles. 
The princely Lordes most louingly, 

their Ladies do imbrace : 70 

For now in England shall we be, 

(quoth they) in little space. 

C C 2 



388 Strange Histories. 



Take comfort now they said, 

behold the land at last: 
Then be no more dismaid, 

the worst is gone and past, 
But while they did this ioyfull hope, 

with comfort entertaine : 
The goodly ship vpon a rocke, 

on suddaine burst in twaine. 80 

With that a grieuous screeke, 

among them there was made, 
And euery one did seeke, 

on something to be staid. 
But all in vaine such helpe they sought, 

the ship so soone did sinke : 
That in the sea they were constraind, 

to take their latest drinke. 
There might you see the Lords, 

and Ladies for to lie : 9 

Amidst the salt sea foame, 

with manie a grieuous crie : 
Still labouring for their Hues defence, 

with stretched armes abroad : 
And lifting vp their Lillie handes, 

for helpe with one accorde. 
But as good fortune would, 

the sweet yong Duke did get, 
Into the Cock-boat then, 

where safely he did sit. 100 

But when he heard his sister crie, 

the Kings faire daughter deere. 
He turnd his boat to take her in, 

whose death did draw so neere. 
But while he stroue to take, 

his sweet yong sister in : 
The rest such shift did make. 

in Sea as they did swimme. 
That to the boate a number got, 

so many that at last: no 

The boate and all that were therein, 

was drownd and ouercast. 

95 Lillie] little 1607 



Strange Histories. 

Of Lords and Gentlemen, 

and Ladies faire of face : 
Not one escaped then, 

which was a heauie case. 
Threescore and ten were drownd in all, 

and none escaped death, 
But one poore Butcher which had swome, 

himselfe quite out of breath. 

This was most heauie newes, 

vnto our comly King : 
Who did all mirth refuse, 

this word when they did bring 
For by this meanes no child he had, 

his kingdome to succeede : 
Whereby his Sisters Sonne was King, 

as you shall plainely reede. 



389 



The Dutchesse of Suffolkes Calamitie. 




Or to the tune of Queene Dido. 



ff 



WHen God had taken for our sinne, 
that prudent Prince K. Edward away : 
Then bloudie Bonner did begin 
his raging mallice to bewray : 
Al those that did the Gospell professe, 
he persecuted more or lesse. 

Thus when the Lord on vs did lower, 

many in prison did he throwe : 
Tormenting them in Lollards tower, 

whereby they might the truth forgoe: 10 

Then Cranmer, Ridlie, and the rest, 

were burnt in fire, that Christ profest. 



39 Strange Histories. 

Smithfield was then with Faggots fyld, 

and many places more beside : 
At Couentry was Sanders kild, 

at Gloster eke good Hooper dyed : 
And to escape this bloudie day, 

beyond seas many fled away. 

Among the rest that sought reliefe. 

and for their faith in danger stood : 20 

Lady Elizabeth was cheefe. 

King Henries daughter of royall bloud : 
Which in the tower prisoner did lye, 

looking each day when she should die. 

The Dutches of Suffolke seeing this, 
whose life likewise the Tyrant sought : 

Who in the hope of heauenly blisse, 

which in Gods word her comfort wrought : 

For feare of death was faine to flye, 

and leaue her house most secretly. 30 

That for the loue of Christ alone, 

her landes and goodes she left behinde : 

Seeking still for that pretious stone, 
the word of truth so rare to finde. 

She with her nurse, her Husband and childe, 
in poore aray their sights beguild. 

Thus through London they past along, 
each one did take a seuerall streete : 

Thus all vnknowne, escaping wrong, 

at Billinsgate they all did meete 40 

Like people poore in Grauesend Barge, 
they simply went with all their charge. 

And all along from Grauesend Towne, 
with easie iourneis on foote they went : 

Vnto the sea coast they came downe, 
to passe the seas was their intent: 

And God prouided so that day, 

that they tooke Ship and saild away. 

And with a prosperous gale of wind, 

in Flaunders safe they did ariue. 5 



Strange Histories. 391 

This was to their great ease of mind 

which from their harts much woe did driue, 

And so with thankes to God on hie, 
they tooke their way to Germanic. 

Thus as they traueld thus disguisde, 

vpon the hie waie sudainely : 
By cruell theeues they were supprisde, 

assailing their small company : 
And all their treasure and their store 

they tooke away, and beat them sore. 60 

The Nurse in middest of their fight, 

laide downe the childe vpon the ground : 

She ran away out of their sight, 
and neuer after that was found : 

Then did the Dutches make great mone, 
with her good husband all alone. 

The theeues had there their horses kilde, 
and all their money quite had tooke : 

The prettie babie almost spild, 

was by their Nurse likewise forsooke : 70 

And they farre from friends did stand, 

all succourlesse in a strange land. 

The skies likewise began to scowle, 
it hailde and rainde in pittious sort : 

The way was long and wonderous foule, 
then may I now full well report 

Their griefe and sorrow was not small, 
when this vnhappy chance did fall. 

Sometime the Dutchesse bore the child, 

as wet as euer she could be, So 

And when the Ladie kinde and milde 
was wearie, then the childe bore he : 

And thus they one another easde, 

and with their fortunes were well pleasde. 

And after many wearied steppes, 

all wet-shod both in dyrt and myre : 

After much griefe their heart it leapes, 
for labour doth some rest require, 

58 assailing] assaulting 1607 76 I now full 1607 : I full 1602 87 itj 
yet 160"] 



392 Strange Histories. 



A towne before them they did see, 

but lodgd therein they could not be. 90 

From house to house they both did goe, 
seeking where they that night might lie, 

But want of money was their woe, 
and still the babe with colde did crie. 

With cap and knee they courtsey make, 
but none on them would pitie take. 

Loe here a Princesse of great blood 

doth pray a Peasant for reliefe: 
With teares bedewed as she stood, 

yet few or none regards her grief: 100 

Her speech they could not vnderstand, 

but gaue her a penny in her hand. 

When all in vaine the paines was spent, 
and that they could not house-roome get : 

Into a Church-porch then they went, 
to stand out of the raine and wet : 

Then said the Dutchesse to her deare, 
O that we had some fier heere. 

Then did her husband so prouide, 

that fire and coales he got with speede : no 

Shee sate downe by the fires side, 

to dresse her daughter that had neede : 
And while she drest it in her lap, 

her husband made the Infant pap. 

Anon the Sexten thither came, 

and finding them there by the fire : 
The drunken knaue all voyde of shame, 

to driue them out was his desire : 
And spurning forth this noble Dame, 

her husbands wrath it did inflame. 120 

And all in furie as he stood, 

he wroung the Church keyes out of his hand : 
And strooke him so that all of bloud, 

his head ran downe where he did stand. 
Wherefore the Sexten presently, 

for helpe and aide aloud did crye, 



Strange Histories. 393 

Then came the Officers in hast, 

and tooke the Duchesse and her child, 

And with her husband thus they past, 

like Lambs beset with Tigers wilde : 130 

And to the Gouernour were they brought, 
who vnderstood them not in ought. 

Then Master Bartue braue and bolde, 

in Latine made a gallant speech, 
Which all their miserie did vnfolde, 

and their high fauour did beseech : 
With that a Doctor sitting by, 

did know the Dutchesse presently. 

And thereupon arising straight, 

with minde abashed at this sight 140 

Vnto them all that there did waight, 

he thus brake forth in words aright : 
Beholde within your sight (quoth he) 

a Princesse of most high degree. 

With that the Gouernour and the rest, 

were all amazde the same to heare, 
And welcomed these new come guests, 

with reuerence great and princely cheare : 
And afterwarde conueyde they were, 

vnto their friend Prince Cassemere. 150 

A sonne she had in Germanic, 

Peregrine Bartue cald by name: 
Surnamde the good Lord Willobie : 

of courage great and worthie fame. 
Her Daughter young which with her went, 

was afterward Countesse of Kent. 

For when Queene Marie was deceast, 

the Dutchesse home returnd againe : 
Who was of sorrow quite releast, 

by Queene Elizabethes happie raigne 160 

For whose life and prosperitie, 

we may all pray continually. 

FINIS. 

162 we may prayse God continually i6oj 



394 Strange Histories. 

How King Henry the second crowning his Sonne king 
of England^ in his owne lifetime, was by him most 
grieuously vexed with warres : whereby he went about 
to take his Fathers Crowne quite from him. And 
how at his death he repented him thereof, and asked 
his Father hartily forgiuenesse. 

Cant. III. 




f\ oo A A *'- AO " AA 

w i> I 'I Q O u -UU-A. 



Or to the tune of Wygmors Galliard. 

YOu parents whose affection fond, 
vnto your children doth appeare : 
Marke well the storie nowe in hand. 

wherin you shall great matters here. 
And learne by this which shalbe tolde, 

to holde your children still in awe: 

Least otherwise they prooue too bolde, 

and set not by your state a strawe. 

King Henrie second of that name, 

for verie loue that he did beare : 10 

Vnto his sonne, whose courteous fame, 

did through the land his credite reare. 
Did call the Prince vpon a day. 

vnto the court in royall sort : 
Attyred in most rich aray, 

and there he made him Princely sport. 

And afterward he tooke in hand, 

for feare he should deceiued be: 
To crowne him king of faire England, 

while life possest his Maiestie. 20 

What time the king in humble sort, 

like to a subiect waited then: 
Vpon his Sonne, and by report 

swore vnto him his Noble-men. 

And by this meanes in England now, 

two kings at once together Hue. 
But lordly rule will not allow 

in partnership their daies to driue. 



Strange Histories. 395 

The Sonne therefore ambitiously, 

doth seeke to pull his Father downe, 30 

By bloudie warre and subtiltie, 

to take from him his princely crowne. 

Sith I am king thus did he say, 

why should I not both rule and raigne : 
My heart disdaines for to obay. 

yea all or nothing will I gaine. 
Hereon he raiseth armies great, 

and drawes a number to his part : 
His Fathers force downe right to beat. 

and by his speare to pearce his hart. 40 

In seuen set battles doth he fight, 

against his louing Father deere : 
To ouerthrow him in despight, 

to win himselfe a kingdom cleere. 
But naught at all could he preuaile, 

his armie alwaies had the worst: 
Such griefe did then his hart asaile, 

he thought himselfe of God accurst. 

And therefore falling wondrous sicke, 

he humbly to his Father sent : 50 

The worme of conscience did him pricke. 

and his vile deedes he did lament : 
Requiring that his noble grace, 

would now forgiue all that was past : 
And come to him in heauie case, 

being at poynt to breath his last. 

When this word came vnto our king, 

the newes did make him wondrous woe : 
And vnto him he sent his Ring, 

where he in person would not goe : 60 

Commend me to my Sonne he said, 

so sicke in bed as he doth lye : 
And tell him I am well apaide, 

to heare he doth for mercie crie : 

The Lord forgiue his foule offence, 

and I forgiue them all quoth he: 
His euill with good He recompence, 

beare him this message now from me, 



396 Strange Histories. 



When that the Prince did see this ring, 

he kissed it in ioyfull wise 70 

And for his faults his hands did wring, 
while bitter teares gusht from his eys. 

Then to his Lords that stood him nye, 

with feeble voyce then did he call: 
Desiring them immediately, 

to strip him from his garments all. 
Take off from me these roabes so rich, 

and lay me in a cloth of haire : 
(Quoth he) my grieuous sinnes are such, 

hell fires flame I greatly feare. 80 

A hempen halter then he tooke, 

about his neck he put the same : 
And with a grieuous pittious looke, 

this speech vnto them did he frame, 
You reuerend Bishops more and lesse, 

pray for my soule to God on hye : 
For like a theefe I do confesse, 

I haue deserued for to dye. 

And therefore by this halter heere, 

I yeeld my selfe vnto you all : 90 

A wretch vnworthie to appeere, 

before my God celestiall. 
Therefore within your hempton bed, 

all strewd with ashes as it is : 
Let me be laid when I am dead, 

and draw me thereunto by this. 

Yea by this halter strong and tough, 

dragge foorth my carcasse to the same : 
Yet is that couch not bad inough. 

for my vile bodie wrapt in shame. 100 

And when you see me lye along, 

bepowdered in ashes there : 
Say there is he that did such wrong, 

vnto his Father euerie where. 

And with that word he breath'd his last, 

wherefore according to his mind: 
They drew him by the necke full fast 

vnto the place to him assignd. 



Strange Histories. 397 

And afterward in solemne sort, 

at Roan in Fraunce buried was he: no 

Where many Princes did resort. 

to his most royall obsequie. 



If The Imprisonment of Queene Eknor, wife to King 
Henrie the second. 

The Argument. 

H The imprisonment of Queene Elenor, wife to King Henrie 
the second, by whose meanes the Kings sonnes so vnnaturally 
rebelled against their father. And her lamentation, being 
sixteene yeares in prison, whom her sonne Richard when he 
came to be King, relesed, and how at her deliuerance, she 
caused many prisoners to be set at libertie. 

Cant. IIII. 




THrice woe is me vnhappy Queene, 
thus to offend my princely Lord : 
My foule offence too plaine is seene, 
and of good people most abhord : 
I doe confesse my fault it was, 
these bloudie warres cam this to passe. 

My iealous mind hath wrought my woe, 
let all good Ladies shun mistrust : 

My enuie wrought my ouerthrow, 
and by my mallice most vniust, 

My Sonnes did seeke their fathers life, 
by bloudie warres and cruell strife, 



398 Strange Histories. 



What more vnkindnesse could be showne 

to any Prince of high renoune : 
Then by his Queene and loue alone, 

to stand in danger of his Crowne. 
For this offence most worthily 

in dolefull prison doe I lye. 

But that which most torments my mind, 

and makes my grieuous heart complaine 20 

Is for to thinke that most vnkind, 
I brought my selfe in such disdaine : 

That now the king cannot abide 
I should be lodged by his side. 

In dolefull prison I am cast, 

debard of princely company : 
The Kings good will quite haue I lost, 

and purchast nought but infamy : 
And neuer must I see him more, 

whose absence griues my hart full sore. 30 

Full sixteene winters haue I beene 

imprisoned in the dungeon deepe : 
Whereby my ioyes are wasted cleane, 

where my poore eys haue learnd to weepe. 
And neuer since I could attaine, 

his kingly loue to me againe. 

Too much indeed I must confesse. 

I did abuse his royall grace : 
And by my great malitiousnesse, 

his wrong I wrought in euerie place. 40 

And thus his loue I turnde to hate, 

which I repent but all too late. 

Sweete Rosamond that was so faire, 

out of her curious bower I brought, 
A poysoned cup I gaue her there, 

whereby her death was quickly wrought. 
The which I did with all despight, 

because she was the Kings delight. 

Thus often did the Queene lament, 

as she in prison long did lie. 50 

Her former deedes she did repent: 

with many a watrie weeping eye : 



Strange Histories. 399 

But at the last this newes was spred. 
the King was on a suddaine dead : 

But when she heard this tydings tolde, 

most bitterly she mourned then : 
Her wofull heart she did vnfolde, 

in sight of many Noble men. 
And her sonne Richard being King, 

from dolefull prison did her bring. 60 

Who set her for to rule the land, 

while to Jerusalem he went : 
And while she had this charge in hand, 

her care was great in gouernment. 
And many a prisoner then in holde, 

she set at large from yrons colde. 



If The lamentable death of King Iohn, how he was 
poysoned in the Abbey at Swinsted y by a false Fryer. 

Cant. V. 



R 




~ 



Or to the tune of Fortune. 



A Trecherous deede forthwith I shall you tell, 
1\. Which on King lohn vpon a sudden fell : 
To Lincolneshire proceeding on his way, 
At Swinestead Abby, one whole night he lay. 

There did the King oppose his welcome good, 
But much deceit lyes vnder an Abbots hood. 
There did the King himselfe in safetie thinke, 
But there the King receiued his latest drinke. 

60 her 2607 : he 1602 



4 oo Strange Histories. 



Great cheare they made vnto his royall grace, 
While he remaind a guest within that place. 10 

But while they smilde and laughed in his sight, 
They wrought great treason, shadowed with delight. 

A flat faced Monke comes with a glosing tale, 
To giue the King a cup of spiced Ale : 
A deadliar draught was neuer offered man, 
Yet this false Monke vnto the King began. 

Which when the king without mistrust did see, 

He tooke the Cup of him most courteously : 

But while he held the poisoned Cup in hand, 

Our noble king amazed much did stand. ao 

For casting downe by chance his princely eye, 
On pretious iewels which he had full nye : 
He saw the colour of each pretious stone, 
Most strangely turne and alter one by one. 

Their Orient brightnesse to a pale dead hue, 
Were changed quite, the cause no person knew 
And such a sweat did ouerspread them all, 
As stood like dew which on faire flowers fall, 

And hereby was their pretious natures tride, 
For precious stones foule poyson cannot bide 30 

But though our king beheld their colour pale, 
Mistrusted not the poyson in the Ale. 

For why the Monke the taste before him tooke, 
Nor knew the king how ill he did it brooke. 
And therefore he a hartie draught did take, 
Which of his life a quicke dispatch did make. 

Th'infectious drinke fumd vp into his head : 

And through the veines into the heart it spred, 

Distempering the pure vnspotted braine, 

That doth in man his memorie maintaine. 40 

Then felt the King an extreame grief to grow, 
Through all his intrels being infected so: 
Whereby he knew through anguish which he felt 
The Monks with him most traiterously had delt. 

1 8 courteously] couragiously 1607 



Strange Histories. 401 

The grones he gaue did mak al men to wonder, 

He cast as if his heart would split in sunder, 

And still he cald while he thereon did thinke, 

For that false Monke which brought the deadly drinke. 

And then his Lords went searching round about 

In euerie place to find this Traytor out : 50 

At length they found him dead as any stone, 

Within a corner lying all alone. 

For hauing tasted of that poysoned Cup, 
Whereof our King the residue drunke vp, 
The enuious Monk himself to death did bring 
That he thereby might kill our royall king. 

But when the king with wonder hard them tel, 

The Monks dead body did with poyson swel : 

Why then my Lords ful quickly now (quoth he) 

A breathlesse King you shall among you see. 60 

Behold (he said) my vaines in peeces cracke, 
A grieuous torment feele I in my backe : 
And by this poyson deadly and accurst, 
I feele my heart strings ready for to burst. 

With that his eyes did turne within his head : 
A pale dead colour through his face did spread, 
And lying gasping with a cold faint breath, 
The royall King was ouercome by death. 

His mournful Lords which stood about him then 
With al their force and troopes of warlike men : 70 

To Worcester the corpes they did conueye, 
With Drumbe & trumpet marching al the waye. 

And in the faire Cathedrall Church I find, 
They buried him according to their mind : 
Most pompiously best fitting for a king, 
Who wer aplauded greatly for this thing. 

FINIS. 



917.6 D d 



4O2 Strange Histories. 



Of the Imprisonment of King Edward the second. 



Argument. 

1! The cruell imprisonment of King Edward the second, at the 
Castle of Barkley^ the 22. of September. 1327. 

Cant. VI. 

YvSi T i I c )\ 1A o rl ^ .11 mi it -.- 

1 y I | 1 i ' ^ I ^ y * U U ^ i ^OJ[ f^A "?~ 

Or who list to lead a Soldiers life. 



i 






g-^"^. .'iTClt; 



WHen Isabel! faire England* Queene, 
In wofull warres had victorious beene : 
Our comely King her husband deere, 

Subdued by strength as did appeare, 
By her was sent to prison stronge, 

for hauing done his countrie wrong. 
In Barkly Castle cast was he, 

denied of royall dignitie : 
Where he was kept in wofull wise, 

his Queene did him so much dispise. 

There did he Hue in wofull state, 

such is a womans deadly hate : 
When fickle fancie followes change, 

and lustfull thoughts delight to range. 
Lord Mortimer was so in minde 

the Kings sweete loue was cast behinde : 
And none was knowne a greater foe, 

vnto King Edward in his woe : 
Then Isabell his crowned Queene, 

as by the sequell shall be seene. 



Strange Histories. 4.03 

While he in prison poorely lay, 

a Parliament was helde straight way, 
What time his foes apace did bring, 

billes of complaint against the King : 
So that the Nobles of the land, 

when they the matter throughly scand, 
Pronounced then these speeches plaine, 

he was vnworthie for to raigne: 
Therefore they made a flat decree, 

he should forthwith deposed be. 30 

And his Sonne Edward young of yeares, 

was iudged by the Noble Peares, 
Most meete to weare the princely Crowne, 

his Father being thus pulde downe. 
Which wordes when as the Queene did heare : 

dissemblingly as did appeare : 
She wept, shee waild, and wrong her handes, 

before the Lordes whereas she stands : 
Which when the Prince her Sonne did see, 

he spoke these words most courteously. 40 

My sweete Queene mother weepe not so, 

thinke not your Sonne will seeke your woe : 
Though English Lords chuse me their king, 

my owne deere Father yet liuing: 
Think not I will thereto consent, 

except my Father be content : 
And with good will his Crowne resigne, 

and grant it freely to be mine. 
Therefore Queene mother thinke no ill, 

in me or them for their good will. 50 

Then diuers Lords without delay, 

went to the King whereas he lay : 
Declaring how the matter stood. 

and how the Peeres did think it good : 
To chuse his Sonne there King to bee, 

if that he would thereto agree : 
For to resigne the princely crowne, 

and all his title of renowne : 
If otherwise they told him plaine, 

a stranger should the same attaine. 60 

D d 2 



404 Strange Histories. 



This dolefull tidings most vnkind, 

did sore afflict king Edwards mind : 
But when he saw no remedie, 

he did vnto their wils agree : 
And bitterly he did lament 

saying the Lord this plague had sent : 
For his offence and vanitie, 

which he would suffer patiently. 
Beseeching all the Lords at last, 

for to forgiue him all was past. 70 

When thus he was deposed quite, 

of that which was his lawfull right : 
In prison was he kept full close, 

without all pittie or remorce. 
And those that shewd him fauour still, 

were taken from him with ill will : 
Which when the Earle of Kent did here, 

who was in bloud to him full neere. 
He did intreate most earnestly, 

for his release and libertie. 80 

His words did much the Queene displease, 

who said he liu'd too much at ease : 
Vnto the Bishop did shee goe, 

of Hereford his deadly foe : 
And cruell letters made him wright, 

vnto his keepers with dispight : 
You are to kind to him (quoth shee) 

henceforth more straighter looke you bee : 
And in their writing subtillie, 

they sent them word that he should die. 90 

The Lord Matreuers all dismaid, 

vnto Sir Thomas Gourney said : 
The Queene is much displeas'd (quoth he) 

for Edwards too much libertie, 
And by her letters doth bewray, 

that soone he shall be made away: 
Tis best, Sir Thomas then replide, 

the Queenes wish should not be denide : 
Thereby we shall haue her good-will, 

and keepe our selues in credite still. TOO 

66 had] hath 1607 



Strange Histories, 



405 



Of King Edward the second, being poysoned. 

'The Argument. 

U How the King was poisoned, and yet escaped and afterward, 
how when they saw that thereby he was not dispatched of life, 
they locked him in a most noysome filthie place : that with the 
stinke thereof he might be choaked, and when that preuailed 
not, how they thrust a hot burning spit into his fundament, till 
they had burnt his bowels within his bodie, whereof he dyed. 

Cant. VII. 



fy'iM nfrrfatt-hl 

I I Vf I 1^ Vfl L L TT] 



Or how can the tree 



u 



N 



THe Kings curst keepers ayming at reward, 
hoping for fauour of the furious Queene : 
On wretched Edward had they no regard, 

far from their hearts is mercie mooued cleene 
Wherefore they mingle poyson with his meate, 
which made the man most fearefull for to eate. 

For by the taste he oftentimes suspected, 
the venome couched in a daintie dishe : 

Yet his faire bodie was full sore infected, 
so ill they spiced both his fleshe and fishe : 

But his strong nature all their craft beguiles, 
the poyson breaking foorth in blaines and byles. 

An vgly scabbe ore spreds his Lyllie skinne, 
foule botches breake vpon his manly face, 

Thus sore without and sorrowfull within : 

the dispisde man doth Hue in loathsome case: 

Like to a Lazer did he then abide, 

that shewes his sores along the hiewaies side : 

15 Thus] This 1602 



406 Strange Histories. 



But when this practise prooued not to their minde, 

and that they saw he liu'd in their dispight : 20 

Another dam'd deuice then they finde, 

by stinking sauours for to choake him quight. 

In an od corner did they locke him fast, 

hard by the which their carrion they did cast. 

The stinch whereof might be compared well nie, 
to that foule lake where cursed Sodome stood: 

That poysoned birdes which ouer it did flie, 
euen by the sauour of that filthie mud : 

Euen so the smell of that corrupted den, 

was able for to choake ten thousand men. 30 

But all in vaine, it would not doe God wot, 
his good complexion still droue out the same: 

Like to the boy ling of a seething pot. 

that castes the scumme into the fierce flame : 

Thus still he liu'd, and liuing still they sought, 
his death, whose downefall was alreadie wrought. 

Loathing his life at last his keepers came, 

into his chamber in the dead of night : 
And without noise they entred soone the same, 

with weapons drawne & torches burning bright, 40 

Where the poore prisoner fast asleepe in bed 

lay on his belly, nothing vnder his head. 

The which aduantage when the murderers saw 

a heauie table on him they did throw : 
Wherewith awakt, his breath he scant could drawe, 

with waight thereof they kept him vnder so, 
Then turning vp the cloathes aboue his hips. 

to hold his legges, a couple quickly skips. 

Then came the murtherers, one a home had got, 

which far into his fundament downe he thrust : 50 

Another with a spit all burning hot, 

the same quite through y e home he strongly pusht. 

Among his intrels in most cruell wise, 
forcing hereby most lamentable cries. 

And while within his body they did keepe, 
the burning spit still rolling vp and downe: 

Most mournefully the murthered man did weepe, 
whose wailefull noise wakt many in the towne, 



Strange Histories. 407 

Who gessing by his cries his death drew neere, 

tooke great compassion on that noble Peere. 60 

And at each bitter skreeke which he did make, 
they praide to God for to receiue his soule : 

His gastly grones inforst their harts to ake, 
yet none durst goe to cause the bell to towle : 

Ha me poore man alacke, alacke he cried, 
and long it was before the time he dyed. 

Strong was his heart, & long it was God knowes 
ear it would stoope vnto the stroke of death : 

First was it wounded with a thousand woes, 

before he did resigne his vitall breath : 70 

And being murdered thus as you doe heare, 
no outward hurt vpon him did appeare. 

This cruell murder being brought to passe, 
the Lord Matreuers to the Court doth hie 

To shew the Queene her will performed was, 
great recompence he thought to get thereby. 

But when the Queene the sequell vnderstands, 
dissemblingly shee weepes and wrings her hands. 

Ah cursed traytor hast thou slaine (quoth shee) 

my noble weded Lord in such a sort : 80 

Shame and confusion euer light on thee, 
O how I griefe to heare this vile report : 

Hence cursed catiue from my sight (shee said) 
that hath of me a wofull widdow made. 

Then all abasht Matreuers goes his way, 
the saddest man that euer life did beare : 

And to Sir Thomas Gurney did bewray, 

what bitter speech the Queene did giue him there : 

Then did the Queene out-law them both together, 

and banisht them faire England* bounds for euer. 90 

Thus the dissembling Queene did seeke to hide, 
the heinous act by her owne meanes effected : 

The knowledge of the deed shee still denied, 
that shee of murder might not be suspected : 

But yet for all the subtiltie shee wrought, 
the truth vnto the world was after brought. 

74 doth] did 2607 



408 Strange Histories. 

Of the Lord Matreuers and Sir 'Thomas Gurney, 
being banished. 

The Argument. 

51 The dolefull lamentation of the lord Matreuers and Sir Thomas 
Gurney, being banished the Realme. 

Cant. VIII. 




Or to the tune of light of loue. 



A, as that euer that day we did see, 
that false smiling fortune so fickle should bee : 
Our miseries are many our woes without end, 

to purchase vs fauour we both did offend. 
Our deedes haue deserued both sorrow and shame, 

but woe worth the persons procured the same : 
Alacke, and alacke, with griefe we may crie, 
that euer we forced king Edward to die. 

The Bishop of Hereford ill may he fare, 

he wrote vs a letter for subtiltie rare: 10 

To kill princely Edward, feare not it is good, 

thus much by his letter we then vnderstood. 
But curst be the time that we tooke it in hand, 

to follow such counsell and wicked command : 
Alacke, and alacke, with griefe we may crie, 

that euer we forced King Edward to die. 

Forgiue vs sweet Sauiour that damnable deed, 

which causeth with sorrow our harts for to bleed : 
And taking compassion vpon our distresse, 

put far from thy presence our great wickednesse. 20 
With teares all be dewed for mercie we crie, 

and doe not the penitent mercie denie. 
Alacke, and alacke, with griefe we may say, 

that euer we made king Edward away. 



Strange Histories. 409 

For this haue we lost both our goods and our lands, 

our Castles and towers, so stately that stands : 
Our Ladies and babies are turnd out of doore, 

like comfortlesse catiues both naked and poore. 
Both friendlesse and fatherlesse do they complaine, 

for gon are their comforts y* should them maintaine : 30 
Alacke, and alacke, and alas may we crie, 

that euer we forced king Edward to die. 

And while they go wringing their hands vp & down : 

in seeking for succour from towne vnto towne : 
All wrapped in wretchednesse doe we remaine, 

tormented, perplexed in dolour and paine. 
Despised, disdained and banished quite, 

the coasts of our countrie so sweete to our sight. 
Alacke, and alacke, and alas may we crie, 

that euer we forced king Edward to die. 40 

Then farwel faire England wherin we were borne, 

our friends & our kindred which holds vs in scorn : 
Our honours and dignities quite haue we lost, 

both profitt and pleasure our fortune haue crost. 
Our Parkes and our Chases, our mansions so faire, 

our lems and our lewels most precious & rare : 
Alacke, and alacke, and alas may we crie, 

that euer we forced king Edward to die. 
Then farwell deare Ladies and most louing wiues, 

might we mend your miseries w* losse of our Hues, 50 
Then our silly children which begs on your hand, 

in griefe and calamitie long should not stand, 
Nor yet in their Countrie dispised should bee, 

that lately was honoured of euerie degree : 
Alacke, and alacke, and alas we may crie, 

that euer we forced king Edward to die. 

In Countries vnknowne we range too and fro, 

cloying mens eares with report of our woe : 
Our food is wild beries, greene bankes is our bed, 

the trees serue for houses to couer our head. 60 

Browne bread to our taste is most daintie & sweete, 

our drinke is cold water tooke vp at our feete : 
Alacke and alacke and alas may we crie, 

that euer we forced king Edward to die. 
30 their] our 2607 



4io Strange Histories. 



Thus hauing long wandred in hunger and cold, 

dispising Hues safetie most desperate bold : 
Sir T. Gurney toward England doth goe, 

for loue of his Ladie distressed with woe. 
Saying how happie and blessed were I, 

to see my sweete children and wife ear I die. 70 

Alacke, and alacke, and alas may we say, 

that euer we made king Edward away. 

But three yeares after his wofull excile, 

behold how false fortune his thoghts doth begile : 
Comming toward England was tooke by the way, 

& least that he should the chief murderers bewray, 
Commandement was sent by one called Lea, 

he should be beheaded forthwith on the sea : 
Alacke, and alacke, and alas did he crie, 

that euer we forced king Edward to die. 80 

Thus was Sir Thomas dispatched of life, 

in comming to visite his sorrowfull wife : 
Who was cut off from his wished desire, 

which he in his heart so much did require. 
And neuer his Lady againe did he see, 

nor his poore children in their miserie : 
Alacke, and alacke, and alas did he crie, 

that euer we forced king Edward to die. 

The Lord Matreuers the storie doth tell, 

in Germanie after long time he did dwell : 90 

In secret manner for feare to be seene, 

by any persons that fauoured the Queene : 
And there at last in great miserie, 

he ended his life most penitently. 
Alacke, and alacke, and alas did they say, 

that euer we made king Edward away. 

71-2 i6oj reads same as lines 63-4 



Strange Histories. 



411 



Of the winning of the He of Man, by the 
Earle of Salisburie. 

The Argument. 

If The winning of the Yle of Man, by the noble 
Earle of Salisburie. 

Cant. IX. 



Or the Queenes goeing to the Parliament 




THe noble Earle of Salsburie, 
with many a hardie Knight : 
Most valiantly preparde himselfe, 

against the Scots to fight. 
With his speare and his shield, 

making his proud foes to yeeld : 
Fiercely on them all he ran, 

to driue them from the lie of Man \ 
Drinnmes stricking on a row 
Trumpets sounding as they goe. 
Tan ta ra ra ra tan. 

There silken Ensignes in the field, 

most gloriously were spred : 
The Horsemen on their prauncing steeds, 

strucke many a Scotchman dead : 
The browne bils on their Corslets ring, 

the bowmen with the gray Goose wing: 
The lustie Launce the pearcing speare, 

the soft flesh of their foes doe teare. 
Drummes stricking on a rowe, 

trumpets sounding as they goe. 
Tan ta ra ra ra tan. 

(under music) Queenes] Kings 1607 



4-12 Strange Histories. 



The batell was so fearce and hot, 

the Scots for feare did flie : 
And many a famous Knight and Squire, 

in gorie bloud did lie : 
Some thinking to escape away, 

did drowne themselues within the sea : 
Some with many a bloudy wound, 

lay gasping on the clayey ground. 30 

Drummes stricking on a row, 

trumpets sounding as they goe. 
Tan ta ra ra ra tan. 

Thus after many a braue exployt, 

that day performd and donne : 
The noble Earle of Salsburie, 

the He of Man had wonne. 
Returning then most gallantlie, 

with honour fame and victorie : 
Like a conquerer of fame, 40 

to Court this warlike champion came, 
Drummes stricking on a row, 

trumpets sounding as they goe. 
Tan ta ra ra ra tan. 

Our King reioycing at this act, 

incontenent decred 
To giue the Earle this pleasant He, 

for his most valiant deed : 
And forthwith did cause him than, 

for to be Crowned king of Man, 50 

Earle of famous Sahburie, 

and King of Man by dignitie : 
Drummes stricking on a row, 

trumpets sounding as they goe. 
Tan ta ra ra ra tan. 

Thus was the first King of Man, 

that euer bore that name : 
Knight of the princely Garter blew, 

an order of great fame : 
Which braue king Edward did deuise, 60 

and with his person royallise: 



Strange Histories. 413 



Knights of the Garter are they cald, 
and eke at Winsor so instald. 

With princely royaltie, 
great fame and dignitie. 

This knight-hood still is held. 



How Wat Tiler and lacke Straw, rebelled against 
king Richard the second. 



Argument. 

U The rebellion of Wat Tiler and lacke Straw, with others, 
against King Richard the second. 

Cant. X. 

I JUortlTTII n a ? * o * o ? * V* f?^o^i""t~tT^ 

R0gfl<>"f "6" il V " i-fl-j " I r -H--"t- I ooooo ^-^ 
'" 

Or the Miller would a woing ride. 



. 

V v i v T v <? 




T T 7^4^ 7>7<?r is from Darford gon, 
r I/ and with him many a proper man : 
And he a Captaine is become, 

marching in field with Phife and Drumme, 
lacke Straw an other in like case, 

from Essex flockes a mightie pace. 
Hob Carter with his stragling traine, 

lacke Shepperd comes with him a maine : 
So doth Tom Miller in like sort, 

as if he ment to take some Fort : 10 

With bowes and bils, with speare and shield, 

on Blacke-heath haue they pitcht their field, 
An hundred thousand men in all, 

whose force is not accounted small. 
And for king Richard did they send, 

much euill to him they did intend : 
For the taxe the which our king, 

vpon his Commons then did bring : 



414 Strange Histories. 



And now because his royall grace, 

denied to come within their Chace, ao 

They spoyled Southwarke round about, 

and tooke the Marshals prisoners out : 
All those that in the Kings bench lay, 

at libertie they set that day, 
And then they marcht with one consent, 

through London with a lewd intent : 
And for to fit their lewd desire, 

they set the Sauoy all on fire, 
For the hate which they did beare, 

vnto the Duke of Lancastere^ 30 

Therefore his house they burned quite, 

through enuie, malice, and dispighte. 
Then to the Temple did they turne, 

the Lawyers bookes there did they burne: 
And spoyld their Lodgings one by one, 

and all they could lay hand vpon. 
Then vnto Smithfield did they hie, 

to Saint lohns place that stands thereby, 
And set the same on fire flat, 

which burned seuen dayes after that. 40 

Vnto the Tower of London then, 

fast troped these rebellious men, 
And hauing entered soone the same, 

with hidious cries and mickle shame : 
The graue Lord Chauncelor thence they tooke, 

amas'd with fearefull pittious looker 
The Lord high Treasurer likewise they, 

tooke from that place that present day: 
And with their hooting lowd and shrill, 

strucke off their heads on Tower hill: 50 

Into the Cittie came they then, 

like rude disordered franticke men: 
They robd the Churches euerie where, 

and put the Priests in deadly feare. 
Into the Counters then they get, 

where men imprisoned lay for debt : 
They broke the doores and let them out, 

and threw the Counter bookes about, 
Tearing and spoyling them each one, 

and Recordes all they light vpon. 60 



Strange Histories. 415 

The doores of Newgate broke they downe, 

that prisoners ran about the towne : 
Forcing all the Smithes they meete, 

to knocke the yrons from their feete : 
And then like villaines voide of awe, 

followed Wat Tylor and lacke Straw. 
And though this outrage was not small, 

the King gaue pardon to them all, 
So they would part home quietly, 

but they his pardon did defie : 70 

And being all in Smithfield then, 

euen threescore thousand fighting men, 
Which there Wat Tylor then did bring 

of purpose for to meete our king. 
And there withall his royall grace, 

sent Sir lohn Newton to that place : 
Vnto Wat Tylor willing him, 

to come and speake with our young king. 
But the proud Rebell in dispight, 

did picke a quarrell with the knight. 80 

The Mayor of London being by, 

when he beheld this villanie : 
Vnto Wat Tylor rode he then, 

being in midst of all his men : 
Saying Traytor yeelde tis best. 

in the Kings name I thee arrest : 
And therewith to his Dagger start, 

and thrust the Rebbell to the heart. 
Who falling dead vnto the ground, 

the same did all the hoast confound : 90 

And downe they threwe their weapons all 

and humbly they for pardon call. 
Thus did that proud Rebellion cease, 

and after followed a ioyfull peace. 

FINIS. 

A speeche betweene Ladies, being shepheards 
on Salisburie plaine. 

TRuely (said the Ladies) this was a most hardie & couragious 
Mayor, that durst in the midst of so mightie a multitude of 
his enemies arrest so impudent and bold a Traytor, and kill him 



Strange Histories. 



in the face of all his friendes, which was a deed worthie to be had 
in euerlasting memory and highly to be rewarded : 

Nor did his Maiestie forget (said the Lady Oxenbridge) to 
dignifie that braue man for his hardie deed, for in remembrance 
of that admired exploit, his maiestie made him Knighte, and fyue 10 
Aldermen more of the Cittie, ordayning also, that in remember- 
ance of Sir Wil. Walworthes deede, against Watte Tyler, that all 
the Mayors that were to succeede in his place should be Knighted : 
and further he granted, that there shoulde be a Dagger added to 
the Armes of the Citie of London, in the right quarter of the 
shielde for an augmentation of the armes. 

You haue tolde vs (quoth the Ladies) the end of Wat Tylor, 
but I pray you what became of lacke Straive, & the rest of the 
rebellious rout. 

I will shew you (quoth she) lacke Straw with the rest of that 20 
rude rabble, being in the ende apprehended (as Rebels neuer 
florish long) was at last broght to be executed at London, where 
he confest that there intent was, if they could haue brought their 
vile purpose to passe, to haue murdered the King and his Nobles, 
and to haue destroyed so neere as they coulde : all the gentilitie of 
the land, hauing especially vowed the death of all the Bishops, 
Abbots & Monks, and then to haue inriched themselues, they 
determined to set London on fire, and to haue taken the spoyie of 
that honourable Cittie, but the gallowes standing betwixt them 
& home, they were there trust vppe before they could effect any 30 
thing. 

And such ends (said the ladies) send all Rebels, and especially 
the desperate Traytors, which at this present vexeth the whole 
state. 

With that word, one of their seruants came running, saying : 
Madam, the Rebels are now marched out of Wiltshire & Hamp 
shire, making hastie steppes towards London, therefore now you 
need not feare to come home, and commit the flockes to there 
former keepers. 

The Ladies beeing ioyfull thereof, appointed shortly after a 40 
banquet to bee prepared, where they all met together againe, by 
which time the Kings power hauing incountered the Rebels on 
Blacke-faath, ouerthrew their whole power where the lorde Awdly 
was taken and committed to Newgate, from whence hee was 
drawne to the Tower hill in a cote of his owne Armes painted 
vpon paper, reuersed and all to torne, and ther was beheaded the 
24. of lune. And shortly after Thomas Flamocke, and MicJiaell 
loseph the blacke Smith were drawne, hanged & quartered after 
the manner of Traytors, but when the husbands to these faire 
ladies came home & heard how their wiues had dealt to saue 5 
themselues in this daungerous time, they coulde not chuse but 
heartily laugh at the matter, saying, that such shepheards neuer 
kept sheepe on Salisburie plaine before. 



CALAM1TIE 

lerufalems Mifevy, 
_ 

The dolefull deftruftion of /ai're le- 

rufalem by Trrrs, the Sonncof rafpt/ttn 
Emferour of R ome, in the jure of Chrifts 

tot aw won 74. 

Wherein is flicwcd the woonderful) mi/cries which 
oughtvpofl that titty for finM>lHing t vtttrlj 

oucr-thro w ne and dcOroycd by Swoid, 
fcfttlencc And famine. 




At LOKDOKj 

Printed for Thomas Bayly , and arc to be fould at 
thetorner-fyof in the middle row iu Holbornc, 
occrc adioyning imiaSttpkl 



917.6 E e 



TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFVLL 

M. Richard Kingsmill Esquier, Justice of peace 

and Quorum in the Countie of Southampton^ and 

Surveyer of her Maiesties Courtes of Wardes 

and Liveries. All prosperitie and happines. 

HAuing (Right worshipfull) often heard of your extraordinary 
fauour, shewed in the depth of extremitie, to some poore 
freindes of mine, remayning in your pleasant Lordship of High- 
ckere\ by meanes whereof, they haue had no small comfort for 
the recouerie of their wished desire : I haue been studious how 
I might in some measure declare both their thankfulnesse and 
mine owne for so great a good. But such is our weake abillity 
that we cannot requite the least poynt of that life prolonging 
kindnes, which the riches of your courtesie did yeeld : neuerthe- 
lesse to make apparent, that our poore estates shall not obscure, 
or clowd with ingratitude, the well intending thoughts of our 
hearts : I haue presumed to present to your worship this little 
booke, an vnfaigned token of our good affection, hoping that like 
the Princely Pertian you will more respect the good will then 
the gift, which I confesse farre vnworthy so worthy a Patron in 
respect of the simple handling of so excellent a matter: But 
a playne stile doth best become plaine truth, for a trifling fable 
hath most neede of a pleasant pen. Wherefore if it shall please 
your Worship to esteeme of my simple labour, and to let 
this passe vnder your fauorable protection, I shall 
haue the end of my desire. And resting thus 
in hope of your worships courtesie I cease, 
wishing you all hearts content in this 
life, and in the world to come 
eternall felicitie. 

Your worships most humblie affectionate : 
T. D. 



To the Gentlemen Readers health. 

GEntlemen, I present you heere with the mourning song of 
lerusalems sorrow : whose destruction was Prophesied by our 
Lord lesus Christ, while he liued among them : notwithstanding 
they neither regarded, nor beleeued his ivords. And after they had 
in the mallice of their hearts compact his death, and that the ludge 
sought to cleare himself e of so foule a crime : The curssed lewes 
cryed with one consent saying: his blood be on vs, and one our 
children. Which wicked wish of theirs the Lord brought to passe 
within a short time after , as in this following Historie you shall 
perceiue. At what time both Cittie and Temple was brought to 
vtter confusion : the misery whereof was so extreame as the like was 
neuer before, nor since : And you shall perceiue that this destruction 
came vpon them in the time of their greatest prosperitie, when their 
gould and Treasure most abounded, when pride excelled, and that 
the people were bent to all wantonnes. Such was their daintinesse 
and delicasie, that they could not deuise, with what meate they might 
best please their nice stomachs y wishing for better bread then could be 
made of Wheate : abusing in such sort, the blessings of God (which 
was in great abundance bestowed vpon them) that being glutted with 
to much wealth and plentie, they loathed euery thing that bore not 
an high price : casting scornefull eyes vpon Gods great blessings : but 
in reading this Historie, you shall see how soone their state 
was changed, and the great plagues that followed their 
peuish and hatefull pride : by whose wofullfall, 
God graunt vs and all Christians to take 
example, least following them in 
the like sinne, we feele the 
like smart. Vale. 

Yours in all courtesie. T. D. 



E e 2 



A description of Jerusalem and the Riches thereof. 

Like to a Mourner clad in dolefull black, 
That sadly sits to heare a heauie tale : 
So must my pen proceed to shew the wrack, 
That did with terror Syon hill assaile. 
What time Jerusalem that Cittie faire, 
Was sieg'd and sackt by great Vespatians heire. 

A noble lew losephus writes the storie. 

Of all the stories euer yet recited, 

Neuer could any make the mind more sorie, 

Than that which he so dolefully indighted : 10 

Which sets in sight how for abhomination. 

That goodly Citty came to desolation. 

In all the world the like might not be seene. 

To this faire Citty famous to behold, 

A thousand Towers stood there the streetes between, 

Whose carued stones great cunning did vnfold : 
The buildings all, so stately fine and rare, 
That with Jerusalem no place might compare. 

In mid'st whereof the glorious Temple stood, 

Which Nehemia had so faire erected, 20 

Whose Timber worke was all of precious wood, 

By Gods appointment wounderously effected : 

Where all the People came with one accord, 

And offered sacrifice, vnto the Lord. 

Three stately walles begirt this Citty round, 

Strongly raild vp of gallant squared stone, 

Vnpossible in fight foes should them confound, 

By warlike Engines seized therevpon. 

The spacious gates most glorious to behold, 

Were all gilt ouer, with rich burnisht gould. 30 

And round about Jerusalem likewise, 
Were pleasant walkes prepard for recreation, 
Sweet daintie gardens feeding gazers eyes, 
With workes of wonder and high admiration, 
Where in the midst of sweetest smelling flowers, 
They built for pleasure, many pleasant bowers. 



The Destruction of Jerusalem. 421 

In treasures store this Citty did excell, 

For pompe and pride it was the onely place, 

In her alone did richest Marchants dwell, 

And famous Princes sprung of Royall race : 40 

And fairer Dames did nature neuer frame, 
Then in that Citty dwelt and thither came. 



Christs Prophesie of the destruction 

of this Cittie and how it came to passe accordingly 

within Forty yeares after, shewing the cause that 

mooued the Emperour to come against it. 

ah Sauiour Christ tracing the bordring hilles, 
Vhen he on this faire Cittie cast his eye 
The teares along his rosiall cheekes distilles : 
Mourning for their destruction drawing nie. 
O Jerusalem Jerusalem (quoth hee) 
My heart bewailes thy great calamitie. 

The time shall come and neere it is at hand, 
When furious foes shall trench thee round about, 50 

And batter downe thy Towers that stately stand, 
All thy strong holds within thee and without: 
Thy golden buildings shall they quite confound, 
And make thee equall with the lowly ground. 

O woe to them that then giues sucke (he sayes) 

And hilles their Infants on their tender knees, 

More woe to them that be with child those dayes, 

Wherein shalbe such extreame miseryes : 

Thou mightst haue shund these plagues, hadst thou bin wise, 

Which now for sinne is hidden from thy eyes. 60 

This dreadfull Prophesie spoken by our Lord, 
The stubborne people naught at all regarded, 
Whose Adamantine heartes did still accord, 
To follow sinne, which was with shame rewarded: 
They flouted him for telling of this storie, 
And crucifide in spite the Lord of glorie. 



422 The Destruction 



Reprochfully they fleered in his face, 
That wept for them in tender true compassion, 
They wrought his death and did him all disgrace, 
That sought their life, and waild their desolation : 70 

Their hardened heartes beleeu'd not what was said, 
Vntill they saw the siege about them layd. 

Full fortie yeares after Christes passion, 
Did these proud people Hue in peace and rest, 
Whose wanton eyes seeing no alteration, 
Christs words of truth, they turned to a iest : 

But when they thought themselues the surest of all, 

Lo then began their neuer raised fall. 

Their mounting minds that towred past their strength 
Scorning subiection to the Romaine state, 80 

In boyling hatred loath'd their Lords at length, 
Dispis'd the Emperour with a deadly hate : 
Reiecting his authoritie each howre, 
Sought to expell the pride of forraine power. 

Which foule contempt the Emperours wrath inflam'd, 
Mightie Vespatian hot reueng did threat, 
But all in vaine they would not be reclaim'd; 
Relying on their strength and courage great : 

And hereupon began the deadly iarre, 

And after followed bloody wofull warre. 90 



The signes and tokens shewed be- 

fore the destruction^ alluring the lewes to repen- 
tance, and their little regard thereof, interpre 
ting all things to be for the best, flattering 
themselues in their sinnes. 

YEt marke the mercy of our gracious God, 
Before the grieuous scourge to them was sent, 
That they might shun his heauie smarting rod, 
And hartely their filthy faultes repent : 
Strange signes and wonders did he shew them still, 
Fore-runners of their ruine, woe, and ill. 



of lerusalem. 423 

For one whole yeare as well by day as night, 

A blazing starre appeared in the skie, 

Whose bushie tayle was so excelling bright, 

It dim'd the glory of the sunns faire eye, 100 

And euery one that on this obiect gazed, 
At sight thereof stood wonderous sore amazed. 

In right proportion it resembled well, 

A sharp two edged sword of mighty strength, 

The percing poynt a needle did excell, 

And sure it seem'd a miracle for length : 
So strange a starre before was neuer scene, 
And since that time the like hath neuer been. 

And ouer right that goodly famous Cittie, 
Hung still this dreadfull apparition, no 

Which might haue mou'd had they bin gracious witty, 
For outward follies, inward hearts contrition : 

And neuer did that wonder change his place, 

But still lerusalem with woe menace. 

The wondring people neuer lookt thereon, 
But their mistrusting heart suspected much, 
Saying great plagues would follow thereupon, 
Such priuie motions did their conscience touch: 

But other-some would say it was not so, 

But signe that they their foes would ouerthrow. 120 

Thinke not (quoth they) that Jacobs God will leaue 

The blessed seed of Abraham in distresse, 

First shall his Sword the heathens Hues bereaue, 

As by this token he doth plaine expresse, 
His fierie sword shall shield this holy towne, 
And heaw in heapes the proudest Remains downe. 

Thus flattered they themselues in sinfull sort, 

Their harts were hard, their deepest iudgments blinded 

What godly teachers did to them report, 

They soone forgot, such things they neuer minded: 130 
Their chiefest study was delight and pleasure, 
And how they might by all meanes gather treasure. 

Men would haue thought this warning had bin faire, 
When God his standard gainst them did aduance, 
His flagge of lustice waued in the ayre, 
And yet they count it, but a thing of chance : 



424 The Destruction 



This bad them yeild, and from their sinnes conuart, 
But they would not till sorrow made them smart. 

Then in the ayre God shewed another wonder, 
When azurd skies were brightest faire and cleere, 140 

An hoast of armed men, like dreadfull thunder, 
With hidious clamours, fighting did appeare : 
And at each other eagerly they ran, 
With burnisht Falchions murdering many a man. 

And marching fiercely in their proud aray, 

Their wrathfull eyes did sparkle like the fier, 

Or like inraged Lyons for their pray, 

So did they striue, in nature and desire : 

That all the plaine wherein they fighting stood, 
Seem'd to mens sight all staind with purple blood. 150 

This dreadfull token many men amazed, 
When they beheld the vncouth sight so strange, 
On one another doubtfully they gazed, 
With fearefull lookes their coulour quite did change : 
Yet all, they did interpret to the best, 
Thinking themselues aboue all other blest. 

The conquering sort that did with warlike hand, 
Suppresse the other in the bloudy field, 
Declares (quoth they) that ludaes sacred band, 
Shall make vnhallowed Romaines die or yeeld : 160 

And ouer them we shall haue honour great, 
That proudly now vsurpes King Dauids seat. 

See how the Diuell doth sinfull soules beguile, 
Filling the same with vaine imagination, 
Thinking themselues cock-sure, when al the while, 
They stand vpon the brink of desolation : 

All faithfull Christians warning take by this, 

Interpret not Gods fearfull signes amisse. 

Yet loe the Lord would not giue ouer so, 

But to conuert them, if that it might bee, 170 

Hee doth proceed more wonders yet to show, 

All to reclayme them from iniquitie : 

That so he might remoue his plagues away, 
Which threatned their destruction euery day. 



of lerusalem. 425 



The Temple gates all made of shining brasse, 
Whose massie substance was exceeding great, 
Which they with yron barres each night did crosse, 
And lockt with brazen bolts, which made them sweat, 

Did of themselues start open and vndoe, 

Which twenty men of might could scant put to. 180 
Vpon a day most high and festiuall, 
The high Priest went after a sacred manner, 
Into the glorious Temple most maiesticall, 
To offer sacrifice their God to honour : 

What time the Lord a wonder did declare, 

To all mens sight, prodigious, strange, and rare. 

A goodly Calfe prepar'd for sacrifice, 

And layd vpon the holy Alter there, 

Brought forth a Lambe most plaine before their eyes, 

Which filled some mens hearts with sodaine feare : 190 

And sore perplext the passions of their mind, 

To see a thing so farre against all kind. 

Soone after this they heard a wailefull voice, 

Which in the Temple shreeking thus did say, 

Let vs go hence^ and no man heere reioyce^ 

Thus figuring foorth their ruine and decay, 
All men did heare these speeches very plaine, 
But saw nothing, nor knew from whence it came. 

And foure yeares space before the bloody fight, 

One Ananias had a youthfull sonne, aoo 

Which like a Prophet cried day and night 

About the streets as he did go and runne : 

Shewing the people without dread at all, 

Most wofull plagues should on the Cittie fall. 
And in this sort began his dolefull cry: 
A fearefull voyce proceedeth from the East, 
And from the West, as great a voyce did fly, 
A voyce likewise from blustering winds addrest: 

A voyce vpon lerusalem shall goe, 

A voyce vpon the Temple full of woe. 210 

A mournefull voyce on wretched man and wife, 
A voyce of sorrow on the people all, 
Woe and destruction, mortall war and strife, 
Bitter pinching famine, misery and thrall : 



426 The Destruction 



In euery place these threatnings still he had, 
Running about like one distraught and mad. 

With lofty voyce thus ran he through the towne, 
Nor day and night did he his clamours cease, 
No man could make him lay these threatnings downe, 
By no intreaty would he hould his peace: aao 

Although he was in Dungeon deeply layd, 
Yet there his cryes did make them more afraid. 

The Maiestrates that most forbad his crie : 
And saw his bouldnesse more and more arise, 
With grieuous scourges whipt him bitterly, 
Yet came no teares out of his pleasant eyes : 

The more his stripes, the higher went his voyce, 

In sorest torment did he most reioyce. 

But when the lewes perceau'd how he was bent, 
And that their eares were cloyed with his cries, 230 

They counted it but sportfull merriment, 
A nine dayes wonder that in short time dyes : 
So that a fresh their follies they begin, 
And for his speech they passed not a pin. 

But as the holy Scriptures doe bewray, 

To dainty cheere they iocondly sat downe, 

And well refresht, they rose againe to play, 

In smiling sort when God did fircely frowne : 
And neuer more to mirth were they disposed, 
Then when the Lord his wrath to them disclosed. 240 



IF The tydings brought of the enimies approach, and the feare 
of the citizens : their provision of victuals for twenty yeares 
burnt in one night, by one of their owne captaines, of meere 
malice, which caused a sodaine dearth to follow : their sedition 
and diuision betweene themselues while the cittie was besieged. 

BVt whilst that they their sugred lunkets tasted, 
Vnto the Citty came a tyred post, 
Full weake and wearie, and with trauell wasted, 
Who brought them word their foes were on their coast: 
Which when they knew, their merriments were dashed, 
These dolefull newes made them full sore abashed. 



of Jerusalem. 427 

Their Cipres Tables then to ground they throw, 
Their siluer dishes, and their cups of gould, 
For haste to meet the proud inuading foe, 
Feare makes them mad, but courage makes them bould : 
And to defend the brunt of future harmes, 251 

They leaue their Ladies and imbrace their Armes. 
Instead of Lutes and sweete resounding Vials, 
They sound the Trumpet and the ratling drum, 
Their barbed Steeds they put to diuers tryals, 
How they can manage, stop, carrie, and run: 
Their cunning harpers now must harnesse beare, 
Their nimble dauncers war-like weapons weare, 
But ere their wrathfull foes approached neere, 
The store-houses the Gouerners did fill, 260 

With wholsome victuals which for twenty yeare 
Would serue two hundred thousand cast by bill, 
But all the same by one seditious Squire 
Was in one night consum'd with flaming fire. 

For why the Cittizens to discord fell, 
So giddy headed were they alwaies found, 
And in their rage like furious fiends of hell, 
In murdering sort they did each other wound : 
And when they entred in this diuellish strife, 
They spared neither Infant, man, nor wife. 370 

Into three parts the people were deuided, 
And one against an other hatred bore, 
The chiefest sort sediciously were guided, 
Whereby vnciuell mutines vext them sore : 

So that the sorrow of the forreine warre, 

Was nothing to their bloody ciuill iarre. 

And so malicious did their rancor rise, 

That they the holy Temple did defile, 

All such as came to offer sacrifice, 

They murdered straight, remorce they did exile : 280 

The Sacrificer with the sacrifice, 

Both bath'd in blood, men saw before their eyes. 

Thus did they make the sacred Temple there, 
The slaughter house of many a humane soule, 
So that the marble pauement euery where, 
Was blacke with blood like to a butchers bowle : 

247 Their] Three 1618, 1677 



428 The Destruction 

And with the fat of men so slippery made, 
That there for falling, none could goe vnstayd. 

And by this wicked meanes it came to passe, 
The streets and temple full of dead-men lay, 290 

With wounds putrified, where no buriall was, 
Which rais'd a grieuous pestilence that day : 
So hot, and fell, that thereof dyed a number, 
Whose foule infection all the towne did cumber. 

And that which was more heauie to behold, 
As men and women past along the street : 
Their weeping eyes did to their hearts vnfold, 
A mappe of Murder at their trembling feete : 
Some saw their Fathers fetching deadly groanes, 
Some their Husbands braines scattered on the stones. 

Here lay a woman stabbed to the heart, 301 

There a tender Infant one a souldiers speare, 
Strugling with death, and sprawling with each part: 
The channels ran with purple blood each wheare : 
A thousand persons might you daily see, 
Some gasping, groaning, bleeding fresh to bee. 

Lo, all this mischiefe was within the towne 
Wrought twixt themselues in wonderous hatefull sort, 
While noble Tytus beat their bulwarkes downe, 
And at their walles did shew them warlike sport : 310 

But by distresse to bring them vnto thrall, 
He brake their pipes, and stopt their cundits all. 



IF A description of the horrible Famine within 
the Cittie of Jerusalem. 

FOr true report rung in his royall eares, 
That bitter Famine did afflict them sore, 
Which was the cause of many bitter teares, 
And he to make their miserie the more, 
Depriu'd them quit of all their water cleere, 
Which in their want they did esteeme so deere. 

291 where buriall, 2628, l6^^ 



of lerusalem. 429 



Alack, what pen. Js -able to expresse? 

The extreame miserie of this people then? 320 

Which were with Famine brought to great distresse, 

For cruell hunger vext the welthiest men : 

When night approacht, well might they lye & winke, 
But cold not sleepe for want of meat and drinke. 

For by this time full Fourteene monthes and more, 
Had warlike Titus sieg'd that famous towne, 
What time the lewes had quite consum'd their store, 
And being staru'd, like Ghosts went vp and downe : 
For in the markets were no victuals found, 
Though for a Lambe, they might haue twenty pound. 330 

When bread was gone, then was he counted blest, 

That in his hand had either cat or dogge, 

To fill his emptie maw : and thus distrest, 

A dozen men would fight for one poore frogge, 
The fairest Lady lighting one a mouce, 
Would keepe it from her best friend in the house. 

A weazell was accounted daynty meate, 
A hissing snake esteemed a Princes dish, 
A Queene vpon a moule might seeme to eate, 
A veanom neawt was thought a wholesome fish : 340 

Wormes from the earth were dig'd vp great & small, 
And poysoned spiders eaten from the wall. 

A hundred men vnder this grieuous crosse, 
With hunger-starued bodies wanting food, 
Haue for a morsell of a stinking horse, 
In deadly strife, shed one an others blood: 

Like famisht Rauens, that in a shole doe pitch, 

To seaze a caryon in a noysome ditch. 

But when these things were all consumed quite, 
(For famines greedy mawe destroyeth all,) 350 

Then did they bend their study day and night, 
To see what next vnto their share might fall : 
Necessitie doth seeke an hundred wayes, 
Famines fell torment from the heart to rayse. 

Then did they take their horses leather raignes, 
And broyling them suppos'd them wonderous sweete, 
A hungry stomack naught at all refraines, 
Nor did they spare their shooes vpon their feete: 



43 TAe Destruction 

But shooes, and bootes, and buskins, all they eate, 
And would not spare one morsell of their meate. 360 

But out alas my heart doth shake to show, 
When these things fail'd, what shift these wretches made, 
Without salt teares how should I write their woe, 
Sith sorrowes ground-worke in the same is layd : 

All English hearts which Christ in armes doe hem, 

Marke well the woes of fayre Jerusalem. 

When all was spent, and nothing left to eate, 
Whereby they might maintaine their feeble life, 
Then doth the wife her husband deere intreat, 
To end her misery by his wounding knife : 370 

Maides weepe for foode, & children make their moane, 
Their parents sigh when they can giue them none. 

Some men with hunger falleth raging mad, 
Gnawing the stones and timber where they walke, 
Some other staggering, weake and wonderous sad, 
Dyes in the streetes, as with their friends they talke ? 
And other some licks vp the vomit fast, 
Which their sick neighbours in their houses cast. 

Nay more then this, though this be all to much, 
losephus writes, that men and maidens young 380 

The which of late did scorne brown-bread to touch, 
Sustain'd themselues with one an others doong. 
Remember this you that so dainty bee, 
And praise Gods name for all things sent to thee. 

All things were brought by famine out of frame, 
For modest Chastitie to it gaue place, 
High honoured Virgins that for very shame, 
Would hardly looke on men with open face, 
One bit of bread neuer so course and browne, 
Would winne them to the foulest knaue in towne. 390 



of Jerusalem. 431 

IF The seditious Captaines Schimion & lehocanan search 

all the houses in the Cittyfor Victuals, they take from a noble 

Lady all her prouision y leauing her and her Sonne comfort- 

lesse, shewing the great moane she made. 

THe curst seditious Captaines and their crue, 
When they perceiu'd the famine grow so great, 
In all mens houses would they search, and view, 
In euery corner both for bread and meat: 
If any did their bould request denie, 
On murdering swords they were right sure to dye. 

Among the rest where they a searching went, 
Vnto a gallant Ladyes house they came, 
And there before her victuals quite was spent, 
With hardened hearts, and faces void of shame : 400 

They tooke her store with many a bitter threat, 
And left her not one bit of bread to eate. 

The noble Lady on her tender knees, 
With floods of teares distilling from her eyes, 
Their crueltie when she so plainely sees, 
In mournefull sort vnto them thus she cries : 
Vpon a wofull Lady take some pittie, 
And let not famine slay me in this Cittie. 

Of all the store which you haue tooke away, 

Leaue one browne loafe, for my poore child and me : 410 

That we may eat but one bit in a day, 

To saue our Hues from extreame misery. 
Thus holding vp her lillie hands she cried, 
The more she crau'd the more she was denied. 

If you (quoth she) cannot afford me bread, 

One dried stock-fish doe one me bestow, 

For my poore Infants life I greatly dread, 

If thus distrest you leaue me when you goe : 
Braue men of might, shew pittie for his sake, 
And I thereof a thousand meales will make. 430 

O call to minde my childe is nobly borne, 

Of honorable blood and high degree, 

Then leaue vs not braue Captaines thus forlorne, 

Your countries friend one day this child may bee: 



43 2 The Destruction 

let me not this gentle fauour misse, 

1 may one day requite far more then this. 

Then answered they in harsh and churlish sort, 
Tut tell not vs of honourable state, 
And if thou wilt we'l cut thy Infants throat, 
So shall he neede no meate, then cease to prate : 430 
Men must haue meate, let children dye and starue, 
Yf we want foode, in warres how can we serue. 

With bended browes they stroue to get away 

But she vpon her knees did follow fast, 

And taking hould on their confus'd aray, 

This sad complaint from her hearts pallace past : 
Renouned Lords, our Citties sure defence, 
O let me speake once more, ere you goe hence. 

Yf you lack money, see I haue good store, 
Wherein great Cesars Image is portrayde, 440 

Therefore of gift, I will demaund no more, 
* To buy me foode, let me not be denayd. 

For flue red herrings, ten Crownes shall you haue, 
He pay it downe, with vantage if you craue. 

That damned coyne (quoth they) wee doe detest, 
And therewithall thy selfe, which all this while, 
Hast kept our foes foule picture in thy chest, 
Which seekes this holy Citty to defile : 

Thou getst no foode, and therefore hold thy toungue 
Hang, starue, & dye, thou canst not dye more young. 450 

O pardon yet (quoth she) my earnest speech, 
Do not my words to poyson so conuert, 
Take heere my chaine, I humbly doe beseech, 
Of pearle and Diamonds for one silly sprat : 

One sprat (sweete men) cast but vpon the ground, 
For this faire chaine, which cost a thousand pound. 

Talke not to vs (quoth they) of lems and chaines, 

Of Diamonds, Pearls or precious rings of Gould, 

One sprat to vs is sweeter gotten gaines, 

Then so much siluer, as this house can hold: 4 6 

Gould is but drosse, where hunger is so great, 
Hard hap hath hee, that hath but gould to eate. 

442 foode 1677 : some foode 1618 455 cast but vpon 1677 : cast 

vpon 1618 



of lerusalem. 433 

With that the testie Souldiers get them out, 
Proud of the purchast pray which they had got, 
The woefull Ladye did they mocke and flout, 
Her plaints and teares regarding not a iott : 
Shee sighes, they smile, she mournes, and they reioyce, 
And of their pray they make an equall choyce, 

But Megar famine couetous of all, 

Enuying those that should thereof haue part, 470 

In sharing out there purchasse bread a brawle, 

Wherein one stabd the other to the heart: 
This fellow said the other did deceiue him, 
He swore againe enough they did not leaue him. 

Lo thus about the victuals they did fight, 
Looke who was strongest bore away the prize, 
And for a crust of bread, in dead of night, 
They cut their Fathers throats in wofull wise : 
The mother would her childrens victuals snatch, 
And from his wife, the husband he did catch. 480 



IT How the noble Lady and her young Sonne went 

out the dung of beasts to eate, being ready to dye with 

hunger, and could finde none: shewing what moane 

they made camming home without^ 

BVt now of Miriams sorrow will I speake, 
Whom the seditious Souldiers so distrest, 
Her noble heart with griefe was like to breake, 
With gnawing hunger was she sore opprest, 
No kind of foode had she, then to reliue her, 
Nor for her child : which most of all did grieue her. 

Alas (quoth shee) that euer I was borne, 
To see these gloomie daies of griefe and care, 
Whome this false world hath made an open scorne, 
Fraught full of miserie passing all compare : 490 

Blest had I been if in the painefull birth, 
I had receiu'd sweete sentence of my death. 
917.6 F f 



434 The Destruction 



Why hath the partiall heauens prolong'd my life, 
Aboue a number of my deerest friends, 
Whose blessed soules did neuer see the strife, 
How happy were they in their happy ends : 

Great God of Abraham heare my mournefull crie, 

Soone rid my life or end this miserie. 

With that her little sonne with eager looke, 
Vnto his wofull mother crying came, 500 

His pretty hands fast hold vpon her tooke, 
Whose presence brought her praying out of frame : 
And to his Mother thus the child did say, 
Giue mee some meate, that eat nothing to day. 

I am (deere Mother) hungry at the heart, 
And scalding thirst makes me I cannot speake, 
I feele my strength decay in euery part, 
One bit of bread for me good Mother breake, 
My lesson I haue learnd, where you did lay it, 
Then giue me some-what: you shall heere me say it. 510 

The sighing Ladie looking quite a-side, 
With many sobs sent from her wofull soule, 
Wroung both her hands, but not one word replide, 
Sighes stopt her toung, teares did her tongue controul, 

Sweete Lady mother, mother speake (quoth he) 

O let me not with hunger murdered bee. 

Deere child (she said) what wouldst thou haue of me : 
Art thou a thirst, then come and drinke my teares, 
Fo