Which of these fower, that here you see,
In greatest daunger you thinke to be.
A Clyent, betweene two Lawyers. A Maide, betweene two Friers.
[...] the [...]equell doe nor doubt.
Betweene [...] both, with lossse I must wrinng out.
But it's I must bring thy matter well about.
I am [...] elder, and can best counsaile giue.
I still shall doubt, when two such doe meshrieue.
I am the younger, doe ⟨him beeleeve⟩.
Clyent.
Good Sir what thinke you of my case?
Lawyer.
Tis cleere, & good, & iust.
Clyent.
But what say you Sir?
Lawyer.
This I say, take heede to whom you trust.
Clyent.
Why Sir? thinke you he is not learn'd?
Lawyer.
Yes, but his power is small,
Giue me my fee, it is in me to make an end of all.
Clyent.
Now in what daung [...]r standes my case, in these two Lawyers handes?
That while I creepe to them for wordes, they creepe into my Landes.
Maide.
What say you holy man to me?
Frier.
I say, faire holy maide,
Leane thou to me, and on my loue, let all thy sinnes be laide:
Maide.
And what say you good man?
Frier.
I say shew all to me;
That better then that aged man, can helpe and comfort thee.
Maide.
Now in what perill standes a Maide, in shrieft betweene two Friers?
That only make the Church a Cloake, to couer foule desires.
A Goose, betweene two Foxes. A Rat, betweene two Cats.
Gossip be silent, and doe leaue your prate.
Then what meanes Raynards walke abroad so late.
Neighbours you knowe, false dealing I doe hate.
Tis pittie that this spoyling beast doth liue.
My smallest faults must punisht be,
When greater theeues are let goe free.
Then Sister Pusse, doe you the onset giue.
Goose.
Sir Raynard, what say you to me?
Raynard
I say you slaine the grasse:
And you are like to answer for, the trespasse ere you passe.
Goose.
And what say you good Sir?
Raynard.
Your keakeing wak'd my Dame,
And you shall knowe, what tis to bring the house so out of frame.
Goose.
Alas hard hap, one simple Goose, to be two Foxes prey,
When from one Fox, a flocke of Geese can hardly scape away.
Rat.
Good Mistris Pusse, tell me wherefore you aime thus at my head?
Cat.
Because you stole my Mistris Cheese, her Candles, and her Bread.
Rat.
And what say you good Pusse?
Cat.
You gnaw'd my Mistris Ruffes, Her Aprons, Towells, Handkerchiefes, her Falling Bands, and Cuffes.
Rat.
Alas, that one poore Rat, should come, to die betweene two Cats, When one good Cat, will serue the turne, to kill a world of Rats.
LONDON Printed in Shoe-lane, at the signe of the Golden Faulcon. by R: S. 1623.