The Fishwifes Tale of Brainford.

IN Windsor, not long agoe, dwelt a Sumpter man, who had to wife a very faire (but something wanton) creature; ouer whom (not without cause) he was something iealous, yet had hee ne­uer any proofe of her inconstancie: but he feared he was, or should be a Cuckold, and therefore preuented it so much as he could by re­straining her libertie: but this did but set an edge to her wanton appetite, and was a prouocatiue to her Lust (for what women are restrained from, they most desire) for long hee could not hold his watchfull eye ouer her, 'cause his businesse call'd him away, which alway lay farre from home. He being to depart from home, be­thought himselfe what he were best to do: put another in trust with his wife he durst not: (for no greater shame is there to a man, then to be knowne iealous ouer his wife) himselfe could tarry no lon­ger at home for feare of losing his place, and then his liuing was gone: thus was h [...]e troubled in minde, not knowing what to doe. Now he repented himselfe that he had vsed his wife so ill, which had giuen her cause to hate him, and procure him a mischiefe: for he saw that he had no other way now to take, but to put his credit into his w [...]es hands: therefore the day and night before hee went from home, he vsed her extraordinary kindely, making more on her then the first day they were married. His wife maruelled at this sud­daine change, and though she liked this vsage well, yet she thought neuer the better of him in her heart, and in her outward carriage bare her selfe as before: which was euer modestly in his sight. The morning being come that he was to depart from home (after many swéet kisses, and kinde imbraces giuen by him) hee said: Swéet honey, I cannot blame thee, that thou takest my vsage heretofore vnkindly: but if thou knewest (as I meane to shew thee) what my intent was, thou wilt change that bad thought for a better liking of me. Know then, my loue, that I vsed thee thus strangely, to know how deepe thy loue was settled on me: (for to vse a friend froward­ly, tryes her loue, in forbearance of his iniuries: and in seeking to please him) which I haue found by proofe immoueable. Oh my more then deare wife, thy loue is fixed sure on me, and not to be re­moued by any crosse whatsoeuer. Thus did hee seeke to vnsnare [Page] himselfe, but was caught faster: for his wife perceiuing his iealou­sie, vowed to be reuenged, and giue him good and sufficient cause to thinke himselfe a Cuckold: and with very ioy to see him creepe to her after this manner, she let fall a few teares, which proceeded ra­ther of inward laughter, then any griefe. Hee seeing this, thought they proceeded from pure loue, yet did hee not thorowly trust her, but minded to returne ere she was aware of him. To be short, they broke their fasts together, and louingly parted: His wife beeing glad of this, sent for a woman in the towne, one that was the pro­curer of her friend, to whom she told all that had hapned betweene her Husband and her selfe: requesting her in all haste to giue her friend notice that her husband was now from home, and that shee would meete him, when and wheresoeuer he pleased. The old wo­man glad of this, gaue her Louer to vnderstand of this good hap, who soone met her at a place in the towne, where they vsually met, where they plumed the Sumpter-mans Cap: there she gaue the old Woman a key which would open her doore, by which meanes shee might come to the speech of her at any time of the night without knocking: so carefull was she to keepe her selfe cleere and spotlesse in the eyes of her neighbours: who would not haue thought well of her, if they had heard noise at her doore in the night, and her hus­band from home; hauing passed the time away in louing comple­ments, they parted, each going their seuerall wayes: not any one of her neighbours mistrusting her, she bare her selfe so cunningly modest. Her husband being on his iourny, following his Sumpter-horse, thought his wife at home working like a good huswife (when perchance she was following a Stalion she tooke more delight in, then he poore man did in his) yet put he no more trust in her then he was forced to doe: for hee dispatches his businesse so soone as hee could, and returned three dayes sooner then he promised her. When he came home he knocked at the doore: there might he knocke long inough for his Wife, who was knocking the Vintners pots with her Louer. He hauing no answere, began to curse and ban, bidding a poxe on all Whores: his neighbours began to perswade him, tel­ling him that she went but new forth, & would returne suddenly a­gaine: and iust at that instant came she homeward, not knowing her good man was returned, for she had appointed the old Woman to come and call her that night: Seeing her Husband, you may iudge [Page] what a taking this poore Woman was in: back she durst not goe for that would haue but sharpened his rage: and if shee went for­ward, she was sure of some seuere punishment: yet taking cou­rage, on she went: Her husband entertained her with halfe a doo­zen gadding Queans, and such like words, & she excused her selfe so well as she could But to be briefe, in a dores they went: then made he the doore fast, and came to her (who was almost dead with feare that her close play now would be descride) saying; Thou Whore, long time haue I doubted this loosenes in thy life, which I now haue plaine proofe of by thy gadding in my absence, and doe thou at this present looke for no other thing at my hands, then reward fit for so vilde a creature as a Whore is. At these words she would haue skreeked out: but he stopped her mouth, pulling withall a rusty Dagger from his side, vowing to scowre it with her bloud, if shee did but offer to open her mouth. She poore creature forced more with feare, then with duty, held her peace, while hee bound her to a post hard by the dore, vowing she should stand there al night, to coole her hote bloud. Hauing done this, about ten of the clock he went to bed, telling her that he meant not to sleepe, but watch her if she durst once open her mouth: but he was better then his word, though hee held it not, for he was no sooner in bed but he foll fast asleepe, being wearied with riding. Long had not he beene so, but the old Wo­man came & opened the dore with the key that the Sumpter-mans wife had giuen her, and was going to the bed which the Sumpter-man lay vpon, to call his Wife: but as she passed by, the poore wo­man that was bound to her good behauiour, call'd her by her name (yet very softly) saying, Mother Ione, I am héere, mother Ione, pray goe no furder, and speake softly: for my Husband, mother Ione, is a bed. This good old Woman went to her, and finding her bound, as­ked her the cause: to whom the afflicted Wife related (with still speech, which is contrary to womens nature) euery circumstance, for she knew her Husband fast enough for three houres. Is that all, said the old Woman? then feare not but you shal enioy your friends bed: with that she vnloosed her. The Sumpter-mans wife maruel­led what she meant to doe, saying, Mother, what meane you? this is not the way that I must take to cléere my selfe. Alas, should he wake and finde me gone to morrow he will kill mee in his rage. Content you, said the old Wife, I will bide the brunt of all: and heere will [Page] I stand tyed to this post till you returne, which I pray let be so soone as you can. This wanton Wife praised her counsell, and imbraces the same, and leauing the old Woman bound (as she desired) in her place, she went to her lusty Louer, who long time had expected her: to whom she related her husbands vnluckie comming home, her ill vsage, and the old Womans kindnesse: for all which he was sorrie, but could not mend, onely hee promised to reward this kinde wo­man, call'd Mother Ione: so leauing that talke they fell to other.

The Sumpter-man, who could not soundly sleepe, because still he dreamed of Hornes and Cuckolds, wakened not long after his wife was gone: and being wakened, he fell to talking after this manner: Now you queane, is it good gadding? Is your hote bloud cooled yet with the cold ayre? Will your insatiable desires be allayed with hunger and cold? if they be not, thou arrant Whore, I will tye this thus vp, not onely nine dayes, but nineteene times nine dayes, till thou hast lost this hote and damnable pride of thine: Ile doo 't, Whore, I will, I sweare I will. This good old Woman hearing him rayle thus frantickly, wished (with all her heart) her selfe out of doores, and his Wife in her old place. Shee durst not speake to him, for feare she should be knowne by her speech to bee another, and not his Wife: and hee lay still calling to her, asking if her hote desires were cooled. At length hee hearing her make no answere, thought her to be sullen: and bid her speak to him, or else she should repent it: (yet durst not the old wife speake.) He hearing no speech, rose vp, and tooke his knife, swearing hee would marke her for a Whore, and with those words he ranne to her, and cut her ouer the nose: all this the old Woman indured quietly, knowing her words would haue but increased her punishment. To bed went he againe, with such words as hee vsed before, saying, that since her bloud would not coole, he would let it out. Hauing lyen a while, he fell a­sleepe, leauing old Ione bleeding at nose, where shee stood till three of the clocke in the morning: at which time this honest Lasse (the Sumpter-mans wife) came home: when she had quietly opened the doore, she went to the old Woman, asking her how shee had sped? Marry, quoth she, as I would wish my enemies to speed, ill: I pray vnkinde me, or I shall bleed to death. The good wife was sorry to heare that she had receiued such hurt, but farre gladder that it did not happen vnto her selfe: so vnbinding her, she stood in her place. [Page] Homeward went the old Woman, bethinking her selfe all the way how she might excuse that hurt to her Husband: At last she had one (for excuses are neuer further off women then their apron strings) which was this: she went home to her husband, who was a Mason, and went euery morning betimes to worke out of the towne: him she calleth, telling him it was time to goe to worke; the silly man rose, and being ready to goe, he missed a Chisell (which his wife had hid) and went vp and downe groping for it in the darke, praying his Wife to helpe him to looke it. She made as she had sought for it, but in stead of that, she gaue him a sharpe knife (which a Butcher had brought to grinding) he catching at this suddenly (as one being in haste) cut all his fingers, so that with anger he threw the knife to the earth, cursing his Wife that gaue it him. Presently vpon y^e fall of the knife, she cryed out that shee was hurt. The Mason being a­mazed, went and lighted a Candle, and returning, he found his wiues nose cut. The silly man (perswading himselfe that hee had done it with hurling the knife) intreated her for to forgiue him, for he protested that hee thought her no hurt when hee did it: then fet­ched he a Surgeon who cunningly stitched it vp, that it was whole in a short time. The Sumpter-man all this while did little thinke how he was beguiled: who when he was awaked, lighted a Can­dle to sée what hurt he had done his Wife in his rage: he comming neere her, and seeing her face whole, stood in amaze, not knowing what to thinke on it, for he was sure that he had cut her nose. His Wife séeing him stand in this maner, asked him what he did ayle, & why he gazed so on her as though he knew her not? Pardon mee, Wife, quoth he, for this night hath a miracle beene wrought: I doe see plainely that the heauens will not suffer the Innocent to suffer harme. Then fetched hee his knife which was all bloudy, saying, Deare Wife, with this knife did I giue thee this present night, a wound on the face, the which most miraculously is whole: which is a signe thou art free, and spotlesse, and so will I euer hold thee. His Wife said little (for feare of laughing) onely shee said, she knew heauen would defend the Innocent: so they went to bed louingly together, he vowing neuer to thinke amisse on her. So had she more libertie then before, & the old had gold for her wound, which wound was so well cured (I thanke God) that you can scarce see it on my nose. Hereat they all laughed, saying, she had told a good Tale [Page] for her selfe: at which she bit her lip, to thinke how she was so very a foole to betray her selfe. But knowing that excuses would but make her more suspected, she held her tongue, giuing the next leaue to speake.

The next that sate to her was a Fishwife of Standon the Gréene, who said her Tale was pleasant, but scarce honest: shee taxed wo­men with too much immodestie: to salue which, she would tell the aduentures of a poore Gentlewoman, that was vsed vnkindly by her Husband. They all liked this well, and intreated her to pro­ceede: which she willingly consented vnto.

Her Tale.

IN the troublesome raigne of King Henry the sixt, there dwelt in Waltam (not farre from London) a Gentleman, which had to Wife a creature most beautifull: so that in her time there were few found that matched her, (none at all that excelled her) so excellent were the gifts that nature had bestowed on her. In body was she not onely so rare, and vnparaleld, but also in her gifts of minde: so that in this creature it seemed, that Grace and Nature stroue who should excell each other in their gifts toward her. The [Page] Gentleman her Husband thought himselfe so happy in his choise, that he beleeued, in choosing her, he had tooke hold of that blessing which heauen proffereth euery man once in his life. Long did not this opinion hold for currant; for in his height of loue, he began so to hate her, that he sought her death: the cause I will tell you. Ha­uing businesse one day to London, he tooke his leaue very kindly of his Wife, and accompanied with one man, he rode to London: be­ing toward night, he tooke vp his Inne, and to be briefe, he went to supper amongst other Gentlemen. Amongst other talke at table, one tooke occasion to speake of women, and what excellent crea­tures they were, so long as they continued loyall to man. To whom answered one, saying: This is truth, Sir: so is the Diuell good so long as he doth no harme, which is meaner: his goodnes and wo­mens loyaltie will come both in one yeere, but it is so farre off, that none in this age shall liue to see it.

This Gentleman louing his Wife dearely (and knowing her to be free from this vnciuill Gentlemans generall taxation of wo­men) in her behalfe, said: Sir, you are too bitter against the sexe of women, and doe ill (for some ones sake that hath proued false to you) to taxe the generalitie of women-kinde with lightnesse: and but I would not be counted vnciuill amongst these Gentlemen, I would giue you the reply that approued vntruth deserueth, you know my meaning, Sir: construe my words as you please: excuse me, Gentlemen, if I be vnciuill: I answere in the behalfe of one, who is as free from disloyaltie, as is the Sunne from darknes, or the fire from cold. Pray, Sir, said the other, since wee are opposite in opinions, let vs rather talke like Lawyers, that wee may bee quickly friends againe, then like Souldiers which end their words with blowes. Perhaps this woman that you answere for, is chaste, but yet against her will: for many women are honest, 'cause they haue not the meanes, and opportunitie to bee dis-honest (so is a Thiefe true in prison, 'cause he hath nothing to steale:) had I but opportunitie, and knew this same Saint you so adore, I would pawne my life and whole estate, in a short while to bring you some manifest token of her disloyaltie. Sir, you are yong in the know­ledge of womens slights, your want of experience makes you too credulous: therefore be not abused. This speech of his made the Gentleman more out of patience then before, so that with much [Page] adoe he held himselfe from offering violence: but his anger beeing a little ouer, hee said, Sir, I doe verily beleeue, that this vaine speech of yours proceedeth rather from a loose and ill manner'd minde, then of any experience you haue had of womens loosenes: and since you thinke your selfe so cunning in that (diuellish art) of corrupting womens chastitie, I will lay downe heere a hundred pounds, against which you shall lay fifty pounds, and before these Gentlemen I promise you, if that within a moneths space you bring me any token of this Gentlewomans disloyaltie (for whose sake I haue spoken in the behalfe of all women) I doe freely giue you leaue to inioy the same: conditionally you not performing it, I may enioy your money. If that it be a match, speake, and I will acquaint you where she dwelleth: and besides, I bow, as I am a Gentleman, not to giue her notice of any such intent that is toward her. Sir, quoth the man, your proffer is faire, and I accept the same: so the mony was deliuered into the Oast of the house his hands, and the sitters by were witnesses: so drinking together like friends, they went euery man to his chamber. The next day this man hauing knowledge of the place, rid thither, leauing the Gentle­man at the Inne, who being assured of his wiues chastitie, made no of her account but to winne the wager, but it fell out otherwise: for the other vowed either by force, policie, or free will to get some Iewell or other toy from her, which was enough to perswade the Gentleman that he was a Cuckold, and win the wager he had laid. This Villaine (for hee deserued no better stile) lay at Waltam a whole day, before he came to the sight of her: at last he espyed her in the fields, to whom he went and kissed her (a thing no modest wo­man can deny:) after his salutation, he said, Gentlewoman, I pray pardon me if I haue beene too hold, I was intreated by your Hus­band which is at London (I riding this way) to come and fée you, by me he hath sent his commends to you, with a kinde intreat that you would not be discontented for his long absence, it being serious businesse that keepes him from your sight. The Gentlewoman ve­ry modestly bade him welcome, thanking him for his kindnes, with­all telling him that her Husband might command her patience so long as he pleased. Then intreated shee him to walke homeward, where shee gaue him such entertainment as was fit for a Gentle­man, and her husbands friend. In the time of his abiding at her [Page] house, he oft would haue singled her in priuate talke, but she percei­uing the same, (knowing it to bee a thing not fitting a modest wo­man) would neuer come in his sight but at meales, and then were there so many at boord, that it was no time for to talke of lone mat­ters: therefore hee saw hee must accomplish his desire some other way: which he did in this maner: He hauing layne two nights at her house, and perceiuing her to bee free from lustfull desires, the third night he fained himselfe to be something ill, and so went to bed timelier then he was wont. When he was alone in his chamber, he began to think with himselfe that it was now time to do that which he determined; for if he tarried any longer, they might haue cause to think that he came for some ill intent, and waited opportunity to execute the same therefore he resolued to doe something that night, that might winne him the wager, or vtterly bring him in despaire of the same. With this resolution he went to her chamber, which was but a paire of staires from his, and finding the doore open, her went in, placing himself vnder the bed: Long had he not lyne there, but in came the Gentlewoman with her maiden; who hauing béen at prayers with her houshold, was going to bed. She preparing her selfe to bedward, laid her Head-tyre & those Iewels she wore, on a little table there by: at length hee perceiued her to put off a littel Crucifix of gold, which dayly she wore next to her heart: this Ie­well he thought fittest for h [...] t [...]ne, and therefore obserued where she did lay the same: At length the Gentlewoman hauing vntyred her selfe, went to bed: her Maid then bolting of the doore, tooke the Candle, and went to bed in a withdrawing roome onely separated with Arras. This Villaine lay still vnder the bed, listning if hee could heare that the Gentlewoman slept: at length he might heare her draw her breath long: then thought hee all sure, and like a cun­ning villains rose without noise, going straight to the Table, where finding of the Crucifix, he lightly went to the doore, which he cun­ningly vnbolted; all this performed he with so little noise, that nei­ther the Mistris nor the Maid heard him. Hauing gotten into his Chamber, he wished for day, that he might carry this Iewell to her husband as signe of his wiues disloyaltie: but seeing his wishes but in vaine, he laid him downe to sleepe: happy had shee beene had his bed proued his graue. In the morning so soone as the folkes were stirring, he rose and went to the Horse-keeper, praying him to [Page] helpe him to his Horse, telling him that hee had tooke his leaue of his Mistris the last night. Mounting his horse, away rid he to Lon­don, leauing the Gentlewoman in bed: who when she rose, attiring her selfe hastity ('cause one tarried to speake with her) missed not her Crucifix: so passed she the time away, as shee was wont other dayes to doe, no whit troubled in minde, though much sorrow was toward her: onely shee seemed a little discontented that her ghest went away so vnmannerly, she vsing him so kindely. So leauing her, I will speake of him, who the next morning was betimes at London; and comming to the Inne, hee asked for the Gentleman, who then was in bed, but he quickly rose and came downe to him, who seeing him return'd so suddenly, he thought hee came to haue leaue to release himselfe of his wager: but this chanced otherwise: for hauing saluted him, he said in this manner: Sir, did not I tell you that you were too yong in experience of womans subtilties, and that no woman was longer good then she had cause, or time to doe ill? this you beleeued not, and thought it a thing so vnlikely, that you haue giuen me a hundred pounds for the knowledge of it. In briefe, know, your Wife is a woman, and therefore a wanton, a changeling: to confirme that I speake, sée heere (shewing him the Crucifix:) know you this? if this be not sufficient proofe, I wil fetch you more.

At the sight of this, his bloud left his face, running to comfort his faint heart, which was ready to breake at the sight of this Cru­cifix, which he knew she alwayes wore next her heart, and therefore he must (as he thought) goe something neere, which stole so priuate a Iewell. But remembring himselfe, he cheeres his spirits, seeing that was sufficient proofe, and he had wonne the wager, which hee commanded should be giuen to him. Thus was the poore Gen­tleman abused, who went into his Chamber, and beeing weary of this world (seeing where he had put onely his trust, he was decei­ues) he was minded to fall vpon his sword, and so end all his mise­ries at once: but his better Genius perswaded him contrary, and not so (by laying violent hand on himselfe) to leape into the Di­uels mouth. Thus being in many mindes, but resoluing no one thing, at last he concluded to punish her with death, which had de­ceiued his trust, and himselfe vtterly to forsake his house and lands, and follow the fortunes of King Henry. To this intent he [Page] called his man, to whom he said; George, thou knowest I haue euer held thee deare, making more account of thee, then thy other fel­lowes, and thou hast often told me that thou diddest owe thy life to me, which at any time thou wouldest bee ready to render vp to doe me good. True Sir, (answered his man) I said no more thne, then I will now at any time, whensoeuer you please, performe. I beleeue thée, George (replyed he:) but there is no such need: I onely would haue thee doe a thing for me, in which is no great danger, yet the profit which thou shalt haue thereby shall amount to my wealth: for the loue that thou bearest to me, and for thy own good wilt thou do this? Sir (answered George) more for your loue, then any reward, I will doe it, (and yet money makes many men valiant) pray tell mee what it is? George (said his Master) this it is, thou must goe home, praying thy Mistris to meete me halfe the way to Lon­don: but hauing her by the way, in some priuate place kill her: I meane as I speake, kill her, I say, this is my command, which thou hast promised to performe: which if thou performest not, I vow to kill thee the next time thou commest in my sight. Now for thy re­ward it shall be this, Take my Ring, and when thou hast done my command: by vertue of it, doe thou assume my place till my returne, at which time thou shalt know what my reward is, till then gouern my whole estate: and for thy Mistris absence, & my own, make what excuse thou please: so be gone. Well Sir (said George) since it is your will, though vnwilling I am to doe it, yet I will performe it. So went he his way toward Waltam: and his Master presently rid to the Court, where hee abode with King Henry, who a little be­fore was inlarged by the Earle of Warwicke, and placed in the Throne againe.

George beeing come to Waltam, did his dutie to his Mistris, who wondred to see him, and not her husband, for whom she deman­ded of George: he answered her, that hee was at Enfield, and did re­quest her to meet him there. To which shee willingly agreed, and presently rode with him toward Enfield. At length they being come into a by way, George began to speake to her in this manner, Mi­stris, I pray you tel me what that Wife deserues, who through some lewd behauiour of hers, hath made her Husband to neglect his e­state, and meanes of life, seeking by all meanes to dye, that he might be free from the shame, which her wickednesse hath purchased him? [Page] Why George (quoth shee) hast thou met with some such creature? Be it whomsoeuer, might I be her Iudge, I thinke her worthy of death: How thinkest thou? Faith, Mistris (said he) I thinke so too, and am so fully perswaded that her offence deserueth that pu­nishment, that I purpose to bee executioner to such a one my selfe. Mistris, you are this woman, you haue so offended my Master (you know best how your selfe) that he hath left his house, vowing ne­uer to see the same till you be dead, and I am the man appointed by him to kill you; therefore those words which you meane to vtter, speake them presently, for I cannot stay. Poore Gentlewoman, at the report of these vnkinde words (ill deserued at her hands) she loo­ked as one dead, and vttering aboundance of teares, she at last spake these words: And can it be, that my kindnes and louing obedience, hath merited no other reward at his hands then death? It cannot be. I know thou onely tryest me, how patiently I would endure such an vniust command. I'le tell thée héere, thus with body pro­strate on the earth, and hands lift vp to heauen, I would pray for his preseruation, those should be my worst words: for deaths fear­full visage shewes pleasant to that soule that is innocent. Why then prepare your selfe (said George:) for by heauen I doe not rest. With that shee prayed him stay, saying, And is if so; then what should I desire to liue, hauing lost his fauour (and without offence) whom I se dearely loued, and in whose sight my happinesse did con­sist? come, let me die. Yet, George, let mee haue so much fauour at thy hands, as to commend me in these few words to him: Tell him, my death I willingly imbrace, for I haue owed him my life (yet no otherwise but by a wiues obedience) euer since I call'd him Hus­band: but that I am guilty of the least fault toward him, I vtterly deny: and doe (at this houre of my death) desire that heauen would powre down vengeance vpon me, if euer I offended him in thought. Intreat him that he would not speake ought that were ill on mee, when I am dead, for in good troth I haue deserued none. Pray hea­uen blesse him, I am prepared now strike prethée home, and kill me and my griefes at once.

George séeing this, could not withhold himselfe from shedding teares, and with pitie he let fall his sword, saying: Mistris, that I haue vsed you so roughly, pray pardon me, for I was commanded to by my Master, who hath vowed, if I let you liue, to kill me: But [Page] I being perswaded, that you are innocent, I will rather vndergoe the danger of his wrath, then to staine my hands with the bloud of your cléere and spotlesse brest: Yet let mee intreat you (so much) that you would not come in his sight (lest in his rage he turne your butcher) but liue in some disguise till time haue opened the cause of his mistrust, and shewed you guiltlesse, which (I hope) will not belong.

To this she willingly granted (being loth to die causelesse) and thanked him for his kindnes; so parted they both, hauing teares in their eyes. George want home, where he shewed his Masters King for the gouernment of the house, till his Master and Mistris re­turne, which he said liued a while at London, 'cause the time was so troublesome, and that was a place where they were more secure then in the Countrey. This his fellowes beléeued, and were obe­dient to his will, amongst whom hee vsed himselfe so kindely, that he had all their loues. This poore Gentlewoman (Mistris of the house) in short time got mans apparell for her disguise; so wandred she vp and downe the countrey, for she could get no seruice, because the time was so dangerous, that no man knew whom hee might trust; onely she maintained her selfe with the price of those Iewels which she had, all which she sold. At the last, being quite out of mo­ney, and hauing nothing left (which she could well spare) to make money of, she resolued rather to starue, then so much to debate her selfe to become a begger: with this resolution she went to a solita­ry place beside Yorke, where shée liued the space of two dayes on Hearbs, and such things as she could there finde. In this time it chanced that King Edward (béeing come out of France, and lying thereabout with the small forces hée had) came that way with some two or thrée Noble men, with an intent to discouer, if any ambushes were laid to take him at an aduantage. He séeing there this Gentle­woman, whom he supposed to be a Boy, asked her what she was, & what she made there in that priuat place? To whom shée very wise­ly and modestly withall answered, that she was a poore Boy, whose bringing vp had bin better then her outward parts then shewed, but at that time she was both friendlesse, & comfortlesse, by reason of the late warre. He being moued, to sée one so well featur'd (as she was) to want, entertained her for one of his Pages, to whom she shewed her selfe so dutifull, and louing, that (in short time) shee had his loue [Page] aboue all her fellows. Still followed she the fortunes of K. Edward, hoping at last (as not long after it did fall out) to be reconciled to her husband. After the battell at Barnet (where K. Edward got the best) she going vp & down amongst the slaine men (to know whether her husband, which was on K. Henries side, were dead or escaped) happe­ned to sée the other who had béen her ghest, lying there for dead: she remembring him, and thinking him to be one whom her husband lo­ued, went to him, & finding him not dead, she caused one to helpe her with him to a house there-by: where opening of his brest, to dresse his wounds, she espied her Crucifix; at sight of which her heart was ioyfull (hoping by this, to find him that was the originall of her dis­grace) for she remembring her selfe, found that she had lost that Cru­fix, euer since that morning he departed from her house so suddenly: But saying nothing of it at that time, she caused him to be carefully looked vnto, and brought vp to London after her, whither she want with the King, carrying the Crucifix with her. On a time when hée was a little recouered, shee went to him, giuing him the Crucifix, which shee had taken from about his necke: to whom hee said, Good gentle Youth, kéep the same: for now in my misery of sicknes, when the sight of that picture should be most comfortable, it is to me most vncomfortable, and bréedeth such horrour in my conscience (when I think how wrongfully I got the same) that so long as I sée it, I shall neuer be in rest. Now knew she that he was the man that caused the separation twixt her husband, and her selfe; yet said shée nothing, vsing him as respectiuely as she had before: only she caused the man, in whose house he lay, to remember the words he had spo­ken concerning the Crucifix. Not long after, she being alone, atten­ding on the King, beséeched his Grace to doe her iustice on a villain that had bin the cause of all the misery she had suffered. He louing her (aboue all his other Pages) most dearely, said; Edmund (for so had she named her selfe) thou shalt haue what right thou wilt on thy enemy; cause him to be sent for, & I will be thy Iudge my selfe. She being glad of this (with the Kings authority) sent for her husband, whom she heard was one of the prisoners that was taken at y^e bat­tell of Barnet, she appointing the other, now recouered, to be at the Court the same time. They being both come (but not one séeing of the other) the King sent for the wounded man into the Presence: be­fore whom the Page asked him, how he came by the Crucifix? He [Page] fearing that his Villany would come forth, denyed the words hée had said before his Oast, affirming he bought it. With that she cal­led in the Oast of the house where he lay, bidding him boldly speake what he had heard this man say, concerning the Crucifix. The Oast then told the King, that in the presence of this Page, he heard him intreat, that the Crucifix might be taken from his sight, for it did wound his conscience, to thinke how wrongfully he had gotten the same. These words did the Page auerre: yet he vtterly denyed the same, affirming that he bought it, and if that he did speake such words in his sicknesse, they proceeded from the lightnesse of his braine, and were vntruthes.

She seeing this Villains impudency, sent for her Husband in, to whom she shewed the Crucifix, saying, Sir, doe you know, doe you know this? Yes, answered hee: but would God I ne're had knowne the owner of it? It was my Wiues, a woman vertuous, till this Diuell (speaking to the other) did corrupt her purity, who brought me this Crucifix as a token of her inconstancie.

With that, the King said, Sirra, now are you found to be a knaue: did you not euen now affirme you bought it? To whom he answe­red (with fearefull countenance) And it like your Grace, I said so, to preserue this Gentlemans honour, and his Wiues, which by my telling of the truth would haue beene much indamag'd: for indéed she being a secret friend of mine, gaue me this, as a testimony of her loue.

The Gentlewoman, not being able longer to couer her selfe in that disguise, said, And it like your Maiesty, giue mee leaue to speake, and you shall seeme make this Villaine confesse, how hee hath abused that good Gentleman. The King hauing giuen her leaue, she said, First, Sir, you confessed before your Oast, and my selfe, that you had wrongfully got this Iewell: then before his Ma­iestie, you affirmed you bought it: so denying your former words: Now you haue denyed, that which you so boldly affirmed before, and haue said it was this Gentlemans wiues gift. (With his Ma­iesties leaue) I say thou art a Villaine, and this is likewise false: (with that she discouered her selfe to be a woman, saying) Hadst thou (Villaine) euer any Strumpets fauour at my hands? Did I (for any sinfull pleasure I receiued from thee) bestow this on thée? Speake, and if thou haue any goodnes left in thée, speake the truth.

[Page]With that he being daunted at her sudden sight, fell on his knées before the King, beséeching his Grace to be mercifull vnto him, for he had wronged that Gentlewoman: therewith told he the King of the match betweene the Gentleman and himselfe, and how he stole the Crucifix from her, and by that meanes, perswaded her Hus­band that she was a Whore. The King wondred how hee durst (knowing God to bee iust) commit so great Villany: but much more admired he, to sée his Page to turn a Gentlewoman; but cea­sing to admire, he said: Sir, (speaking to her Husband) you did the part of an vnwise man, to lay so foolish a wager, for which offence, the remembrance of your folly is punishment inough: but seeing it concernes me not, your Wife shall be your Iudge. With that Mistris Dorrill (thanking his Maiestie) went to her Husband, say­ing, Sir, all my anger to you I lay downe with this kisse. He won­dring all this while to see this strange and vnlooked for change, wept for ioy, desiring her to tell him how she was preserued: wher­in she satisfied him at full. The King was likewise glad that hee had preserued this Gentlewoman from wilfull familie, and gaue Iudgement on the other in this manner: That he should restore the money treble which he had wrongfully got from him: and so was to haue a yeeres imprisonment. So this Gentleman and his Wife went (with the Kings leaue) louingly home, where they were kindely welcomed by George, to whom for recompence hee gaue the money which he receiued: so liued they euer after in great con­tent. How like you of this woman? Some praised her (as shee de­serued) extraordinarily.

But (said the Brainford Fishwife) I like her as a garment out of fashion; shee shewed well in that innocent time, when women had not the wit to know their owne libertie: but if she liued now, she would shew as vild as a paire of Yorkeshire sleeues in a Gold­smithes shop.

But wee being come almost at Brainford, I asked if any of them would land there? They all cryed, No: perswading the two wiues that dwelt at Brainford, and Standon the Greene, to goe to King-stone, whither they purposed all to goe and be merry. Little intreating serued them: so putting their Fish-baskets aboord a Fisher-boate, they cryed, On to King-stone. I being well content therewith, set forward, and the Fishwife of Richmond proceeded [Page] in telling of her Tale: but first I will tell you what manner of creature she was.

Her Tale.

NOt long agone, in a towne not farre from London, dwelt an old Widdower, which tooke to Wife a faire, yong and lusty Damozell, ouer whom his owne weakenesse made him iealous, so that continually his eye was on her, and she could not looke away, but with most spitefull words he would reuile her, calling her so many Whores, that it was vnpossible to make him so many times Cuckold: This poore wench liued so miserable a life with him, that she rather wished to be with the dead, then to liue with so froward, and such a doting old foole: but her wishes were in vaine, and her misery still increased: For he complained to her friends, how that she shewed not that dutie to him, which other Wiues did to their Husbands, but flighted him as if he had beene a stranger, and that shee delighted in other mens companies more then his.

Vpon this complaint of his, shee had likewise the ill will of her [Page] friends, who told her they would continue her foes, till they heard she vsed her Husband with more respect. At this shee grieued more, then at her Husbands frowardnes, hauing their hate with­out a cause: and being one day at Church she made mone to her Pew-fellow (which was a wench that would not be out-faced by her Husbands great lookes) telling her how ill her Husband vsed her, for when hee was within doores, his eyes were neuer off her, so that she could not speake to any friend: and if he went forth, he would locke her in the house like Pusse-Cat; and euery night he locked the doore himselfe, laying the key vnder his pillow. Why, said her Pew-fellow, wherfore haue you hands, but to take the key when hee is asléepe, and to goe whither you will, onely you must be carefull to come in at the houre he vseth to wake? Fie, I am ashamed, that you haue no more wit: doe as I tell you, and since he barreth you of your libertie in the day, take it your selfe in the night: for company take no care, come to me; and if wee can­not finde sport to passe away the time, wee will sleepe for company.

This yong Lasse thanked her for her counsell, vowing to put it in practice the next night what soeuer did happen: so returning from the Church with her husband, she went home, where all the day she sate demurely in his sight, as she was wont to doe, yet could shée scarce haue one good word from him.

Night being come, he locked the doore as he was wont, & going to bed, he layed the key vnder his pillow, falling quickly asleep, which she perceiuing, softly tooke the same, opening the doore therewith: away she went to her Pew-fellow, where she reuelled that night, till three of the clocke in the morning, at which time her Husband vsed to wake: then comming home, she softly opened the doore, locking the same againe with as little noise as she could: then laid she her selfe downe by her good man, who when he waked, ne­uer mistrusted that his Wife had stirred from his side: This did shee many times, and neuer was so much as suspected for such a matter.

One night aboue the rest (her good fortune hauing made her bold) she tarrying a little longer then her houre, her Husband chan­ced to awake; who presently missing her, call'd her by her name, thinking she had beene in the house: he hearing no answere, rose and went about the house to looke her, but he could not set his eyes [Page] on her, and to aske for her was in vaine, for his Cat could not speake, and he had no other to inquire of: for his Cat, his Wife, and himselfe, was all the houshold he had.

To bed went this old man againe, where hee looked for the key, but could finde none: there he lay, vexing and chafing himselfe, euer and anon féeling on his browes, which he perswaded himselfe were in their Spring-time, and would shortly bring forth fruit: though the rest of his body were in Autumne. At length he might heare a noise, and lying still, he might perceiue his Wife come stealing to the bed, to whom hee said nothing, hoping one night to take her out of the doores, where hee would keepe her to her euerlasting shame, and giue the Parish notice of her night-walking: so taking no notice that he knew any thing, he vsed her that day very kind­ly, which made her to beleeue that the Prouerbe is true (Cuckolds are kinde men) for before she played loose with him, she neuer had that good vsage at his hand, as she had that day found.

This encouraged her to goe on in these her mad prankes, so that the same night she purposed to walke againe, which she did, taking the key from vnder his pillow (as she was wont to doe) she vnlocked the doore, and away she went to her Pew-fellow: hee perceiuing it (for he slept For sleepe) went downe, and bolted the doore after her, so that she could not come in, but he must know of it: when he had so done, he layd him downe to sleepe.

His Wife ending her Reuels, at her vsuall houre, returned home, and very quietly assayed to open the doore: but perceiuing that it was bol [...]ed on the inside, her heart was dead (as a spent pro­digals, at the sight of a Sergeant:) then repented shee that she had taken that wanton course, knowing a seuere punishment would follow her sweet pleasure: Thus shee, poore soule, stood at the doore shaking with feare, more then cold: but at last (hauing no o­ther way to get in) she resolued to knocke: so laying her hand gen­tly on the ring of the doore, she knocked twise or thrise before hee would heare her. At last, hee looked out of the window, asking who knockt at the doore? Tis I, kinde Husband, (answered shee) that haue beene at a womans labour; prethée sweet heart open the doore. All these kinde words would not get her admittance, but gained this churlish answere at his hands: Hast thou beene at a womans labour? Then prethee sweet heart returne, and amongst [Page] the residue of the wiues, help thou to deuoure the groning Cheess, and sucke vp the honest mans Ale till you are drunke, by that time 'twill be day-light, and I will haue thy friends at thy returne, who shall giue thée thankes for thy charitie.

The poore woman knew his wicked mind toward her; by these his mocking words, yet sought she to pacifie the same; saying, A­las, kinde Loue, these things are done already; therefore pray o­pen the doore? No (quoth he) auaunt Whore; damn'd Whore, auaunt. Heere is no place, your labours haue not deserued such fruits at my hands: No, I haue taken you, you are intrapt, you are snared, your friends shall now know, and all the world sée, that you are a most cunning Whore: therefore rest quiet, for there you shall stand till morning.

This sharpe answere of his kild her heart; but she quickly re­uiued the same with a tricke which she hoped would get her ad­mittance, which she put in execution after this manner: Am I rewarded thus (quoth she) for my charitie toward a poore distres­sed woman? and is this thy thankes thou giuest mee for all my care which I haue had of thy old and crazed carkasse? I see it is, therefore will I liue no longer, but presently will make away my selfe, and with my selfe thee, for the world iudging thee to bee author of my death, will giue thee the punishment that is due vnto a murderer.

At this the old man laughed, bidding her proceed. Which she hearing, tooke vp a great stone, going therewith to a Pond which was within a yards length of her house, and standing at the brink, said these words: Oh blessed element of water, it is thou which wast ordained to end my misery, and to reuenge me on my wic­ked husband: therewith hurled she in the stone which made a great noise: then placed shee her selfe hard by the doore. Her hus­band thinking shee had leaped in, and considering what danger hee might come in if shee was drowned, ranne hastily out of doore to helpe her: which his Wife seeing, stept in, bolting of him forth.

The old man stood a long time looking with his Spectacles on the Pond: but perceiuing nothing to stirre, hee thought her to be drowned, and with that cryed out he was vndone. Long inough might he cry, for no neighbours dwelt neere him: at length his [Page] Wife pittied him, saying, Alas, good man, what wouldst thou haue? He hearing it to be his wiues voice, was glad thereof: yet continuing his churlish speeches vnto her, he bid her open the doore, calling her dissembling Queane.

To all this said she nothing: but at last shee tooke occasion to emptie the Pis-pot on his head, and then said, There is some Cuc­kolds Vrine to coole your tongues heat; I'le warrant thee it is right, 'tis of my Husbands making: so prethee, fellow, bee gone and let me sleepe.

This abuse of hers, made the old man to raile more then before: but at last, séeing he could get nothing thereby, thee gaue her good words, intreating her to let him in, and hee would forgiue all that was past, neuer letting her friends vnderstand of her night-wal­king.

She seeing him so meeke, said, Old man, I could well afford thee shelter in my house, though thou hast not deserued the same: but in so doing I shall breake my oath, for I haue sworne that thou shalt not come through the doore not this fiue houres: now to saue my oath, and doe thee pleasure (in taking thee out of the cold) I will open the window in the lower roome, that thou mayst come in that way. Her husband being glad any way to get out of the cold, than­ked her for that kindnes.

Downe came she straight and opened that window: the old man glad thereof, thrust in his head, praying her to helpe him. She now thinking it time to bee reuenged on him, tooke hold of his Beard, and with her other fist batterd his face, and scratched him in such pitious manner, that the old man thought shee would haue killed him: and therfore pulling his head out of the window, he all be bat­tered the Casements with stones, calling her a hundred Whores.

At this she laughed, and bid him bee a patient Cuckold, for his greatest misery was to come; so going to a backe window, shee espyed a Boy, whom she called, willing him to goe to such a ones house (naming her Pew-fellow) and intreat her straight to come and speake with her. The Boy doing her errand, her Pew-fellow came: to whom shee told (not without great laughing) the whole story of her good hap; willing her to goe to her Mother, and the rest of her friends, and (as she could well inough without her instructions) frame a complaint, how that her Husband of a [Page] long time had vsed to goe on whore hunting in the night: yet shee hauing no iust proofe of the same, was loth to speake: but now it was her hap to take him forth of the doores, where she would keep him, till they came to take some order that she might bee separated from him, for she feared her life.

With this Tale ranne her Pew-fellow to her friends (which dwelled not farre off) to whom she told such a pitious story) of the miserable life their poore kinswoman led, with that knowne and proued old adulterer; that her friends moued with the wrong she sustained, got the Parson of the towne to goe with them to their Kinswomans house, that hee might be a witnesse of her wrong.

When they came thither, they found the old man sitting at the doore, with a face more deformed (with beating and scratching) then euer was any Witches. The Mother to this lusty Lasse, séeing him sit there with such a deformed face, raised her voice to a high key, saying: Ah, thou old Knaue, thou Whore monger, thou de­crepit Lecher, Hast thou alwayes complained of my Daughter, making mee, and other that are her good friends (not onely to re­proue her, but more which I speake to my griefe) to hate her, for her neglect of dutie toward thee, when the fault was in thy selfe, when thou gauest her right to others? but see, now it is come home by thee, shee hath intrapt thee in thy snare; then art come home with thy face mangled like a true Ruffian: now thou art the true Picture of a brothell-house companion: thou hast the Seales on thy face, which those creatures (called Whores) doe giue: thou hast, villaine, thou hast.

He wondring to see her Mother so against him, of whom he ho­ped to be righted, said: Mother, I confesse, these seales are the seales of a Whore; but of what Whore? Euen of what whore thou wilt (quoth she:) thou knaue, hold thy tongue, confesse not heere, keepe that for the gallowes. Beare witnesse, good Sir Iohn, and the rest of my neighbours, that see how my daughter is abused: for I purpose to teach this knaue how to vse his wife better; and not to abuse her, and then threaten her with death, if she complaine: come downe my child and speake for thy selfe, and let the knaue touch thee if he dare.

The yong Wife liked this well, who came downe as her Mo­ther bid her; & falling at her feet, intreated her (with fained teares) [Page] that she might be diuorced from her wicked husband, or else shee said her dayes were but short, for he assuredly would doe her a mischiefe.

Content thee, Daughter (said her Mother) I will haue him consent to let thee goe, giuing thee that portion hee had with thée; or else I will sell Cow, Coat, house and all, to goe to Law with the Knaue. The old man (her Husband) perceiuing) that they were all on her side, and how that they would not heare him speake in his owne defence: likewise thinking if that hee liued with his Wife againe, he must be a contented Cuckold, said, Will you heare this? Take your Daughter with you: and I will pre­sently giue her that portion I receiued, and take all this wrong.

This pleased them all; so the Priest drew a Bill of diuorce be­tweene them, and the old man deliuered backe her portion, beeing glad that he was rid of his Wife. His wife on the other side was glad that she had escaped that punishment which shee deserued: so they all part [...] seeming friends.

I [...]rry (quoth the Fishwife of Brainford) this was a wench worth talking of; she deserueth as much praise as those women called Amazones, who out of a braue minde cut their husbands thr [...]ates: and so made themselues, rulers of themselues.

But what praise (quoth the wife of Stand on the Greene) had shee deserued, if she had been discouered, or failed in this attempt? No­thing but curses in my minde, for she had giuen cause to all men to speake ill of vs women: it is not the euent, but the honesty of the intent, that iustifies the action. I thinke so too, said a Fishwife of Twitnam, I doe not like this foolish hardinesse: and men are apt to speake ill of vs without cause: therefore to make amends, I will tell of a vertuous and chaste Dame, one whose life may bee a mirrour for all women.

Her Tale.

SOmetime in Brittaine there raigned a mighty Prince, called Oswald, who for his iust gouernment and holy life, had the name of Saint giuen him. This Oswald tooke to his wife a vertuous Maiden, named Beblam, daughter to Kynygils King of West-Saxons: by whom he had one sonne, after whose birth they willingly agréed (that they might the better serue their Sauiour) not to touch one the other after any carnall manner.

Thus liued this vertuous couple vntill their deaths, onely e­stéeming the seruice of God, and the auoiding of worldly tentations for their chiefe pleasure. A Hermet being enuious at the report of his holy life, one day went to him, asking the King how hee could liue so holy, and yet liue with a Wife? To whom the King an­swered: Marriage is no hinderance to holy life, for therein doe we but follow the institution of God, which hee ordained for the increase of the world: but further to satisfie thée, that it is no hin­derance to my holy life; take thou this King, and goe to her, bidding her vse thée as she would vse my selfe.

The Hermet glad of this (hoping to haue kinde entertainment at his Quéenes hands) went merily to her, deliuering her the King: and told her, that it was her Husbands will that she should vse him in all respects as shee would vse himselfe, if hee were there.

To this the Quéene was willing, and bid him welcome, telling him he should be serued in all points as the King her Royall hus­band was. When the time of supper was come, and the Hermet expected some delicate cheere, he onely was fed with bread, which was serued vp in a stately manner, by diuers Gentlemen that did attend him: likewise when he called for drink, they gaue him whole­some water to coole his hote desires: no other cates got hee, yet [Page] was it no worse then the Queene her selfe ate of.

This stately seruice, and homely fare, scarce pleased the Her­met, yet still he hoped for better, but his hopes were vaine, for the cloth was taken vp, and one asked him if hee pleased to goe to bed? To this hee was willing, hoping now to sleepe out the remembrance of his hard fare: but being come to his Chamber, a sodaine ioy extinguished the griefe he would haue slept out; for he saw no worser woman then the Queene should be his bedfellow. So quickly vndressing himselfe he went in bed to her (not forget­getting in his thoughts to praise her for obeying her Husbands will) where hauing lyne a while, thinking of some strange things, lust and the euill disposition of his minde beganne to in­fect his soule so, that with as kinde imbrace hee besought the Queene to shew some mercy towards his hot affection.

This vertuous Queene seeing this Hermet basely lasciui­ous, rung a Bell: then presently came in foure women, who took this Hermet and cast him in a Cisterne full of water, that stood in the Chamber: he being well cooled, they tooke him forth, pla­cing him in the bed as they found him. There hee lay shiuering with cold a good space; but at length his bloud being heated, hee fell to thinking with himselfe: how perchance the Queene shew­ed her selfe thus chaste, to take suspition from her women, and that she might all the night after play the wanton securely: His burning Lust, seconding this Opinion, made him once more [...]en­ter a ducking: so turning himselfe to the Queene, he began with this speech:

Most rare, beauteous, admirable, and vnparalelled woman, I will not onely commend thée for thy beauty, and greatnesse of Birth and place; but also I will adore thee with more then hu­mane worship, for the extraordinarie vnderstanding which thou hast aboue others of thy sexe. With what a graue and sober carriage doest thou hide thy hote affections, which inwardly doe burne thee? Oh it is strange! therewith not onely blinding the eyes of strangers, but also thy neerest attendants: now I con­ceiue why thou commandest mee to bee hurled in the water Ci­sterne, it was thy policy (thou wonder of thy sexe) to auoid suspi­tion in thy seruants.

I knew this well, and therfore did willingly endure the same, [Page] that I might the more freely enioy thy beauty now: therewith 'gan he lo clip her in his armes; which shee perceiuing, rung the Bell: her women presently comming in, tooke this Yongster, ducking him twise so much as they did before, so that they laid him in the bed halfe drowned: and hauing done, presently voided they the Chamber.

The Hermet being come to himselfe, had a better opinion of K. Oswald & his Wife, for he then held them for the holyest peo­ple in England: and his hote bloud being cooled, he lay still that night, not daring to stirre, lest shee giuing the alarum, his enemies would come vpon him and put their crueltie in exe­cution.

The morning being come, hee kindely tooke his leaue of the Quéene, telling her he had sufficiently tryed the Kings seuere and holy life, and would euer after giue testimonie of the same: so went he to his Cell, being ashamed of this his foolish attempt, and neuer after would looke into other mens liues, but mended his owne.

She hauing ended her Tale, they all said, This Queene was a vertuous woman, and worthy to bee had in memory, but shee was not to be any president for them, seeing shee was a Queene, and they were but Fishwiues.

Truely (quoth a Fishwife of Kingstone that fate next to her) if wee would be thus chaste, alas, our husbands would not suf­fer vs to continue to; therefore, for my part, I will neuer goe a­bout it: I will tell you a Tale of one that was a great woman (though she was no Queene) and yet kept a friend besides her husband.

Her Tale.

A Certaine great Lady, hauing to her husband a man old and vnfit to satisfie her youthfull desires, asked her Con­fessor whether she might not enioy (her desire being hot, and her husband vnable) a friend which might supply her want, caused by her husbands weakenesse? The Fryer (hoping shee would make choise of him) told her she might, for the sinne was but little, and did deserue little or no penance. She thanked him for this kinde absolution, telling him she onely tooke this carefull course, that her husband might not die without issue, hauing his memory buried with him in the dust.

The Priest (still hoping he was the man she would select) said, her care was good, and no whit offensiue, if she chose a friend that would kéepe it from the world. She said, her diligence would choose such a one, and so they parted: the Priest being still in the minde that he should be the man.

But this Lady meant otherwise: for she chose a Gentleman that sometime had beene a suter vnto her, who louing her deare­ly, and she him, they enioyed each others company without sus­pect of any, onely two of her trusty seruants knowing of it.

The Priest perceiuing he was not the man appointed for this businesse, vexed himselfe in thinking what a foole he was, that he did not make proffer of his seruice, when shee first opened her minde vnto him. Thus thinking of her beauty, and his neglect, hee vowed to performe something which might giue him con­tent; with this resolue went hee to a pleasant walke thereby, [Page] where oftentimes the Lady vsed; there hauing obscured him selfe, he might perceiue her with her Louer comming that way. He lying close, and listening to heare something that might bee for his aduantage: amongst other things he heard her aske, why hee had chosen Hercules for his watch-word, seeing there were many words, and names, which were more proper to that busi­nes? The Priest stayed not to heare his answer, (thinking he had enough in knowing of that word which had the power to bring him to her bed) but closely got him home, waiting the comming of night, which he prayed might hasten on, that hee might inioy the pleasure he so wished for.

To be short, her friend and shee parted when they saw time, and night being come, she went to bed, where she lay alone: (for her old husband was at Court:) long had she not lyen there: but the Priest (beeing well acquainted with all the turnings in the house) came to her Chamber doore and knockt: She asked who was there? Hercules, quoth the Priest. With that she rose, and (thinking it to be her Swéet-heart) let him in. The Priest caught her in his armes, kissing and vsing other dalliance, so long, till hee had fully satisfied his hot desires: Then quietly tooke hee his leaue without words, which she wondred at.

Long had he not been gone, when came her Sweet-heart, who softly knocked at the Chamber doore: she hearing it, asked who was there? Hercules, said he. She wondring at his sudden return, opened the doore, and asked him why hee came? To enioy thy sweet company (said hee) and to passe away this night in such sports as shall content vs both.

She wondring to see him, and hee not knowing what shee meant, (and thinking she mis doubted his loyaltie) prayed her to tell him the meaning of those words, which seemed more strange to him, then rattling Welch, or wilde Irish: and he protested like­wise, that but euen then he came from his Chamber.

The Lady now knew that shee was deceiued, and that some craftie knaue had got at her hands a more then ordinarie kind­nesse: and 'cause he should suspect nothing, she told him that shee dreamed she had inioyed his company that night, and that he par­ted from her after an vnkinde manner.

Tut, said he, dreames are but false shaddowes: now hast thou [Page] the substance those shaddowes did present. With such louing words passed they the night: and morning being come, her friend kindely tooke his leaue, secretly going to his Chamber.

She being vexed in her minde that she was deceiued, and not knowing by whom, passed away that day, hoping ere long to en­trap her cunning Louer.

Night being come, after her vsual maner she went to bed, where she had not long beene, but the Priest (his appetite being rather sharpened, then any way slacked) came to the doore, softly knoc­king. She hoping it was he she looked for, went to the doore, de­manding who was there? Hercules, said the Priest: she knowing it to be him (by his voice) that had deceiued her, prayed Hercu­les to come in and act a new labour: and vnder colour of vsing him kindely, she felt by the short haire on his head, that it was the Priest.

Being glad she had found her too officious friend, she intreated him to repose himselfe on the bed, till shee cleered the house of some seruants that she heard vp in the next roome: to which the Priest was very willing, being loth to bee descryed at his going forth by any of the houshold seruants.

But shee had another meaning: for shee called by her two ser­uants, seruants which she trusted with her chiefe secrets, bidding them go into her Chāber, where they should find the Priest, whom they should binde, and with a sharpe knife (which shee gaue to them) cut out one of his genitours. They obeying her command, rushed into the Chamber, where they found the Priest (fearing the noise be heard) crept vnder the bed, whom they drew out by the heeles, and bound his hands, and feete. The Priest séeing them handle him thus roughly, intreated them to forbeare, say­ing, he was a Church-man, and it was sacriledge to offer him violence. He séeing this preuailed him nothing, set out his throat: but they soone stopped the same, and with a sharpe knife, and a quick hand, made him lighter by a stone.

Then called they their Lady, who seemed to pitie Sir Iohn, and bid them binde vp his wound, putting thereto salue which she gaue them. They hauing done this, shee hung a paper about his neck, bidding them vnbinde him, and turne him foorth the doores: which they performed, and shutting the doore after him, [Page] they went to bed laughing. The poore Priest hyed him home, getting to bed, where he tooke little rest for the paine hee felt; but he passed away the night in cursing the Lady, on whom hee could not tell how to be reuenged. The morning being come, hée espyed the writing which hung about his neck; hee opening the same, found therein this written:

At this the Fryer bit his lip, wishing he had as much power ouer her life, as he had ouer that paper: but not knowing how to mend himselfe, but by looking to his wound, hee rested him­selfe content, and ventured to steale no more flesh: and the Lady inioyed her friend quietly, being neuer after troubled with the Fryer.

Now tell me (quoth this Fishwife) if this Lady bee not as much praise-worthy for her wit, as the other was for her hone­stie? Most of them confirmed her argument to be sound, & the rest confirmed it by their silence. Then the last Fishwife which was of Hampton, said, but for a womā out of the abundance of her wit, to abuse any man, or her selfe, in such dishonest courses, I thinke it not good: 'cause oftentimes the harme which shee intendeth, and the shame which shee deserueth, lighteth on her selfe: which I will make good by this example.

Her Tale.

IN Deuonshire (sometime) there dwelt a maiden, to whom na­ture (hauing beene something liberall) gaue such beauty, that she in all mens iudgements was held the comeliest and fairest creature in all those parts: she being a right woman, tooke notice of her good parts, & withall grew so proud, that she rewarded all those which honestly sought to enioy her loue, either with scoffes or vnkinde denials.

A yong Gentleman of that countrey, long time loued this same vnkind and vnmatched creature, but neuer could he receiue better comfort at her hands, then vnkinde answeres, or scornefull lookes. One day (not willing to liue longer betweene hope and feare) hee resolued to haue of her either a flat deniall, or firme grant; and with this resolution went to her, to whom he spake after this manner:

Faire Millisant, long time (amongst other of your suters) haue I dearely loued you, yet neuer did I receiue the least token of ac­ceptance at your hands: disdaine you my Birth? I am a Gentle­man, though not descended of the highest houses, yet not of the meanest. Mislike you my wealth? I haue enough to maintaine a priuate Gentleman. Mislike you my parts of body? They are as nature gaue them, I could wish they were more pleasing to your minde. Doe you mis-doubt my loue to you? Set mee some taske in mans possibility to performe, and it shall confirme the same. [Page] Tell me for what it is you cannot loue me, and I will reforme the same, and by fashioning my selfe to your liking, giue you testimo­nie of my loue.

No whit was she moued with his pure loue, but after her v­suall manner determined to abuse the same; and to that purpose she answered him thus:

Sir, such little libertie hath our sexe, and men such corrupt iudgements, that our mirth is counted immodesty, our ciuillest lookes lasciuious, our words loose, our attires wanton, and all our doings apish: to shunne these slanders, it behooueth vs to bée carefull ouer our selues, and not through our kindnesses to giue inconstant and dissembling men occasion to speake ill. I taxe not you with this common fault; yet haue I bad no proofe that your loue is any other then dissembling; therefore till I haue made proofe of the same, by your obedience in executing my will, looke not for any kinde fauour at my hands.

These words gaue him some hope: and he being willing to ex­presse his loue to her, desired her to acquaint him with that taske whose performance would giue him that great happinesse of her loue: and he vowed to doe it, excepting no danger.

She séeing him thus blinde with her loue, that for her sake hee would vndergoe any danger, with a cruell and vnmerciful heart vttered these words: Sir, I shall try you whether your loue is of that purenesse you praise it for; I charge you, as euer you did respect me, or hope to inioy me, for this two yéeres comming to keepe a voluntary silence, not speaking to any creature liuing, or to sing, or vse any kinde of sound, whereby your meaning may be vnderstood: this is my pleasure, which if you performe not, ne­uer see me: if you will do it, let your silence and sudden departure be signe of consent.

The Gentleman hearing this vnkind taske, was almost struck dead with griefe, yet said he nothing, but obseruing her cōmand, presently departed with silence.

Being thus silenced by that vnmercifull Maid, hee left his friends, and went into Cornwal, where he was entertained by the Duke (hee being an excellent Musician) to teach his children to dance and play on sundry Instruments wherein he had skill: In his seruice he bore himselfe so worthily, and vsed such diligence [Page] [...] the childe on that the Duke delighted in his com-paring [...] other Gentlemen and sought all the meanes [...] his speech? [...] seeing all [...] cost was in vaine, and that the [...] did him no good, he caused it to be publisshed that whosoever could restore his speech, [...]ue [...] pounds should be their reward: [...]ut they not performing [...] [...] should give the Duke so much [...] or else haue impri­sonment till they paid it. This large, but [...]ea [...]efull pro [...]se, was [...] that [...]o think that she could with one word doe that which so great a Duke could not vndoe, with all his exp [...] and care She knowing it was in her power to re­store his speech and being couetous of the great reward, she went into Cornwall, proffering her selfe before the Duke to performe the cure, or undergoe the punishment.

The Duke being glad that hee had one that would undertake the cure, bid her to take her time for the performance of it; She set down three weeks, and that she not performing it in that time, was lyable to his sharpest punishments: so with a g [...] courage did she begin her cure.

The Gentleman seeing his hard-hearted Loue come to be his Physician, would neither by signe, or any word make knowne, that he had any remembrance what she was but seemed to her as to a strong [...] though she gaue him many kinde words, ex [...]ing her [...] folly in that she knew him not to be of that worth and e­stimation, which she now saw he was of. All this would get ne­uer a word from him; which shee sheeing, intreated to breake that rash and foolish [...]ow she had caused him to make, [...] she would giue him sufficient [...] of her loue; thus continued she the spa [...]e of twelue dayes, but could neuer get any cheerefull looke at his hand: she now fearing he would be reuenged on her, and by his wilfull silence suffer her either to pay the money, or else to lye in prison with a kinde and louing countenance said these words to him:

Sir if euer you loued me (as you vowed you did) let not my [...] be any longer cause of your neglecting mee, [...] are sufficient testimony of the griefe I haue for it, and [...] offer up my loue to you as satisfation for my former [Page] fault: Oh then be mercifull, and louing me, [...] sence, and through my louing duty, let me [...] good opinion of me: with these [...] [...] [...]oying to cause him [...].

All this predaa [...]ed her nothing, for he [...] A [...] her one word: yet with a seeming vnwillingnesse did hee accept her im­braces, whe he [...] enioyed, [...].

But to be [...] come, and she could not for [...] and the Duke seeing her folly (he vndertaking his [...], and not performing it) caused her to be [...], [...] (not being able to pay the money [...] she had cured him) till she [...]. That time being come, he went to the Duke, [...] him to pardon his long wilfull silence, paused by [...], withall felling [...] and how he had [...].

The Duke was exceeding [...] to [...] him speake, [...] praised his wit for vsing so vngentle a person so vntowardly: yet blamed him withall, for keeping so [...], and vnreasonable a vow so straightly: [...] both hauing had [...] enough for their folly, hee [...] them both, continuing his loue to the Gentleman, and rel [...]ng her, who by that [...] has got a great belly with her awise physicke, but he that owed the [...]rait, would not acknowledge it: so that shee was to looke [...] new cu­stomer, or else endure the open shame belonging to a S [...]mpe [...]: which of them she did, I know not, eyther of them was bad e­nough: and had that Gentlewoman had no better fortune in a­busing the Fryer, then this by exercising her with on this Gen­tleman, shee had deserued no more then this foolish woman doth.

It is ture (said the Brainford Fishwife:) and since it conernes vs not, let vs leaue this pro and contra, let euery tub stand on it owne bottome: and so our mirth and [...]ourney ends about one time: for yonder is Kingstone, whose large and conscion­able pots are praised throughout England; whose Ale is of great strength and force, as our Westerne Watermens sicke [Page] braines can witnesse. Then since it is so neere, let vs not bee factious, and contend for trifles; but let vs seeke to enioy that which we came for, mirth; that best preseruer of our liues: so land vs with all speed, honest Waterman.

They hearing her speake but reason, agréed to be ruled by her, and therefore gaue her the name of Captaine. With all haste (and ease) as I could possible, landed I my merry Fare of Fish­wiues, who went straight to the signe of the Beare, where they found such good liquor, that they stayed by it all night: where I left them, and so ended my iourney, Westward for Smelts.