CHAP. I.

IN the daies of King Henrie the eight, that most noble and victorious Prince▪ in the heginning of his reigne, Iohn Winchcomb, a broad cloth Weauer, dwelt in Newberie, a towne in Bark­shire: who for that he was a man of a merry disposition & honest conuersa­tion, was wondrous wel-beloued of Rich and Poore, especially, 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 Iacke 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 many acquaintance; by meanes whereof, Iacke 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: neyther at any time would hee bee ouercome in drinke, but so discreetly behaue himselfe wish honest mirth, and pleasant conceits, that he was euery Gentlemans com­panion.

[Page]After that Iack had long led this pleasant life, being (though he were but poore) in good estimation: it was his Masters thance 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 Iohn▪ committed vnto his gouernement the guiding of all her worke-folkes for the space of thrée yeares together: In which time shee found him so carefull and diligent, that all things came forward and prospered wondrous well. No man could intice him from his businesse all the wéeke by all the entreaty 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 Iacke to his treadles, and coniured him within the compasse of his Loome, that he can stirre no further. You say true, quoth Iacke, and if you haue the leasure to stay till the Charme be done, the space of sixe dayes and flue nights, you shall finde me ready to put on my holy-day-apparell, and on Sunday morning for your paines I will giue you apot of Ale ouer against the May-pole. Nay, quoth another, Ile lay my life, that as the Salamander cannot liue without the fire, so Iack cannot liue without the smel of his Dames smock. And I maruell, quoth Iacke, that you being of the nature of a Herring (which so soone as he is taken out of the Sea, present­ly dyes) can liue so long with your nose out of the pot. Nay Iacke, leaue thy testing, quoth another, and goe along with vs, thon shalt not stay a iot. And because I will not stay; nor make you a lyer (quoth Iacke) Ile kéepe 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 bée ledde by their lure, they left him to his owne will. Neuer the­lesse, euery Sunday in the afternoone, and euery Holy-day, Iacke would kéep 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 hee get pen­nis of it againe: which when Iacke perceiued, he would neuer [Page] 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.

Thus was Iackes 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 shée had neuer a Prentise that yéelded 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, shée beganne to cast a very good countenance to her man Iohn, 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.

When Iacke 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 mée your seruant to pry into your secrets, nor to bee busie about [Page] 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 Iohn, fayth she, that you shall, and I pray thée take a cushion and sit downe by me. Dame, quoth hée, 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 find fauour. Iohn replied, that ma­keth me indéed to want fauour: for I neuer durst try may­dens because they séeme coy, nor wiues for feare of their hus­bands, nor widowes doubting their disdainfulnes. Tush Iohn (quoth she) he that feares and doubts womankinds, cannot be counted mankinde: and take this for a principle, All things are not as they séeme. But let vs leaue this, and procéed to our former matter. My first sutor dwels at Wallingford, by trade a Tanner, a man of good wealth, and his name is Grafts, 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 Iohn, you were best to haue him. Is that your opinion quoth shée? now trust mée, 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 euer loth to loue him: and the other, that I know one néerer hand.

Beléeue me dame (quoth Iack) 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? Iohn, quoth shee, it may séeme immodesty in mee to bewray my louers secrets: yet séeing thy discretion, and being perswaded of thy secrecy. I will shew thée: 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 hee professes much good will: for his person, he may please any woman. I dame, quoth Iohn, because he pleaseth you. Not so, said she, for my eyes are [Page] vnpartiall Iudges in that case: and albeit my opinion may be contrary to others, if his Art deceiue not my eye-sight, hée is worthy of a good wife, both for his person and conditions. Then trust mée Dame (quoth Iohn) for so much as you are without doubt of your selfe that you will proue a good wife, and so well perswaded of him, I should thinke you could make no better a choice▪ Truly Iohn (quoth shée) 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 néerer hand. Who is that, quoth lacke? Saith she, the third Suter is the Parson of Spinhom-land, who hath a proper liuing, hée is of holy con­uersation and good estimation. whose affection to me is great. No doubt Dame (quoth Iohn) you may doe wondrous well with him, where you shall haue no care but to serue GOD, and to make ready his meate. O Iohn (quoth she) the flesh and the spirit agrees not: for hee 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 Iohn) I must néeds speake in his behalfe, and the rather, for that he is a man of the Church, and your 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 hee will remember a woman at home or abroad. Well Iohn (quath 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? Iohn (quoth shee) they are worthy to know nothing, that cannot keep something: that man (I tell thee) must goe namelesse: 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 Iohn) for your bodies health, your hearts ioy, and your eares delight, delay [Page] not the time, but entertaine him with a kisse, make his bed next yours, and chop vp the match in the morning. Well, quoth shée, I perceiue thy consent is quickly got to any, ha­uing no care how I am matcht so I bée matcht: I wis, I wis I could not let thee goe so lightly, being loth that any one should haue thée, except I could loue her as well as my selfe. I thanke you for your kindnesse and good will, good Dame, quoth hée, but it is not wisedome for a yongue man that can scantly kéepe himselfe▪ to take a wife: therefore I hold it she best way to leade a single life: for I haue heard say, that ma­ny sorrowes follow marriage, especially where want re­maines: and beside, it is a hard matter to finde a constant wo­man: for as yongue maides are fickle, so are old women iea­lous: the one a griefe too common, the other a torment into­lerable. What Iohn (quoth she) consider that maidens fickle­nesse procéedes of vaine fancies, but old womens iealousie of superabounding 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 séeing but her husbands shirt hang on a hedge with her maides smocke. I grant that this fury may haunt some, quoth shée, yet there bée many other that complaine not without great cause. Why, is there any cause that should moue iealousie, quoth Iohn? 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 sée 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 hée turnes to his wife, it is in such solemnesse, and wearisome drowsie lamenesse, that it brings rather lothsomnesse than any delight? can you then blame a woman in this case to be angry and displeased? Ile tell you what, among brute beasts it is a griefe intolerable: for I heard my Grandame tell, that the Bel-weather of her [Page] flocke fancying one of the Eawes aboue the rest, and séeing Gratis the Shéepheard 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 sléeping in the field, and suddenly ranne against him in such violent sort, that by the force of his wrea­then hornes, hée beat the braines out of the Shepheards head and slew him. If then a Shéepe could not endure that iniury, thinke not that women are so shéepish to suffer it. Beléeue mée (quoth Iohn) if euery horne-maker should be so plagued by a horned beast, there should bee lesse hornes made in New­bery by many in a yeare. But Dame (quoth hée) to make an end of this prattle, because it is an argument too déepe to be discussed betwéen you and I, you shall heare mee sing an old song, and so we will depart to supper.

[Page]Well, said Iohn (quoth she) thy song is not so sure, but thy voice is as swéete: but séeing the time agrées 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 neighbous. And in the meane space Iohn got him vp into his chamber, and there began to medi­tate on this matter, bethinking with himselfe what hée were best to doe: for well hee perceiued that his Dames affection was great towards him: knowing therefore the womans disposition, and withall, that her estate was reasonable good, and considering beside, that hée should finde a house ready fur­nished, seruants ready taught, and all other things for his trade necessary, hée thought it best not to let slip that good oc­casion, lest hée should neuer come to the like. But againe, when hée considered her yeares to bée vnfitting to his youth, and that she that sometime had béen his Dame, would (per­haps) disdaine to bée gouerned by him that had béen her poore seruant, and that it would prooue but a bad bargaine, doub­ting many inconueniencies that might grow thereby, hée therefore resolued to be silent, rather than to procéed 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, shée by and by arose, and in seemely sort attyring her selfe, shée came into the worke-shop, and sat her downe to make quills, quoth Iohn, Good morrow Dame, how doe you to day? God a mercy Iohn (quoth shée) 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 communication 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 to pecke vp the scattered corne, left by the weary Rea­pers [Page] hand. At lengh (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 hée was not there: shée kindely searching vp and downe the high stubble to finde him, lights at length on a Hogge fast asléep, 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 pitty ranne vnto her, and thinking to take 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 upon the feathers like the siluer pearled deaw on the gréene grasse, which made me to weepe most bitterly. But presently, mee thought there came one to mée crowned like a Queene, who told me my heart would dye in time, except I got some of that sléeping Hogs grease to heale the wounds thereof. Whereupon I ranne in all haste to the Hog with my heart bléeding in my hand, who (mee thought) grunted at mee in most churlish sort, and va­nisht out of my sight. Whereupon comming straite home, mee thought, I found this Hog rus [...]ing among the Loomes, 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 mée groane. Trust mée Dame, I heard you not (quoth Iohn) I was so sound asleep And thus (quoth shee) a woman may dye in the night before you will haue the care to sée what she asles, or aske what she lackes. But tru­ly Iohn (quoth she) all is one: for if thou shouldest haue come, thou couldest not haue got in, because my chamber door was lockt: but while I liue, 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 truly (quoth shee) so thou wilt not hinder me. Who I, quoth Iohn? on my faith Dame, not for a hundred pounds, but rather will further you to the vttermost of my power. Indéed [Page] (quoth shée) thou hast no reason to shew any discourtesie to me in that matter, although some of our neighbours do not stick to say, that I am sure to thée already. If it were so (quoth Iohn) there is no cause to deny it, or to bée ashamed thereof, knowing my selfe farre vnworthy of so high a fauour. Well, let this talk rest (quoth shée) and take there thy quils, for it is time for mée to goe to market.

Thus the matter rested for two or thrée dayes, in which space shée daily deuised which way shée might obtaine her de­sire, which 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 shée became wondrous sad, and as ciuill as the nine Sibbels; and in this melancholy humour continued thrée wéekes or a monesh, till at last it was her luck vpon a Batholomew day (hauing a Fayre in the towne) to spie her man Iohn giue a paire of Gloues to a proper maide for a Fayring, which the maiden with a bathfull modesty kindly accepted, and requited it with a kisse: which kindled in her an inward iealousie: but notwithstanding ve­ry discréetly shée couered it, and closely past along vnspied of her man or the maid.

Shée had not gone farre, but shée met with one of her su­tors, namely the Taylor, who was very fine and briske in his apparell, and néedes hée would bestow the wine vpon the Widow: and after some faint deniall, méeting 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 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 courtesie at that present bestowed, shée would not flatly deny him. Therefore (quoth shée) séeing this is not a place to conclude of such masters, if I may intreate you to come to my poore house on thursday next, you shall bee hear­tily welcome, and be further satisfied of my minde: and thus [Page] preferred to a touch of her lips, hée 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 hée saiuted her, and to the wine she must, there was no nay. The Wid­dow séeing his importunacy, calls her gossip, and along they walked together. The old man called for wine plenty, and the best chéere in the house: and in an hearty manner hée 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, queth the old man, let vs heare good fellowes what you can doe, and play mée The beginning of the World. Alas, quoth the widow, you had more néed to harken to y^e ending of the world. Why Widow, quoth hée, I tell thée the beginning of the world was the begetting of Children: and if you finde mée faulty in that occupation, turne mée out of thy bed for a bungler, and then send for the Sexton. Hée had no sooner spoken the word, but the Parson of Speen with his corner cap, popt in at the doore, who séeing the Widow sitting at the table, eraued pardon and came in. Quoth shée, for want of the Serton, héere is the Priest if you néed him. Marry (quoth the Tanner) in good time, for by this meanes wée néede 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 mée­ting a marriage: as I lighted on you vnlookt for, so came I hither vnprouided for the purpose. I trust, quoth the Tan­ner, you came not without your eyes to sée, your tongue to speake, your eares to heare, your hands to féele, 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 ears to iudge twixt flattery & friendship, & my féet to run from such as would wrong mée. Why then, quoth the Parson, by your gentle abiding in this place, it is euident that here are none but those you like & [Page] loue. God forbid I should hate my friends (quoth the widow) whom I take all these in this place to bée. But there bée 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 kindnesse, 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? Beléeue me (saith the Parson) as much as another. Why then Parson sit downe said the Tanner: for you that are equall with mée in desire, shall surely be halfe with mée 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, I heartily drinke to the Ministrels 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 firsh: but to tell you my opinion, it is small discretion for a woman to disclose her secret affection in an open assembly: therefore, if to that pur­pose you spake, let mée 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, Ile take my leaue. The shot being paid, and the Mufftians pleased, they all departed, 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.

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 [Page] Goose. The Parson being as mindfull as hée, 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 hée 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 néere, the Table was coue­red, and euery other thing prouided in conuenient and come­ly sort.

At length the guests being come, the Widow bade them all heartily welcome. The Priest and the Tanner séeing the Taylor, mused what hée 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 néedle worke vnder the same, and an Apron before her as white as the driuen snow: then very modestly making curt­sie to them all, shée requested them to sit 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 méete you should sit highest at the Table: and therefore I pray you sit downe there on the bench side. And Sir, said shée to the Tan­ner, as age is to bée honoured before youth for their experi­ence, so are they to sit aboue Bachelers for their grauity: and so shée set him downe on this side the Table, ouer against the Parson. Then comming to the Taylor, shée said, Batche­ler, though your lot bée the last, your welcome is equall with the first, and séeing 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 béen an old saying, that thrée 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 shée brought in an old woman with scant euer a good tooth in her head, and placed her right against [Page] the Batcheler. Then was the meate brought to the boord in due order by the Widowes seruants, her man Iohn being chiefest seruitor. The Widow sate downe at the Tables end, betwéene the Parson and the Tanner, who in very good sort carned meate for them all, her man Iohn waiting on the Table.

After they had sitten awhile, & 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 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 Church-men haue so much minde of yongue Rabbets, old men such ioy in yongue 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 séen by mée, else I should haue béene better remembred. Well old woman, quoth the Parson take here the legge of 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 péece 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, swéet yongue man. The old woman lackes most of her teeth, quoth the Tanner: and therefore a péece 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 [Page] called her man Iohn to bring her a bowle of fresh Ale, which hée did. Then said the Widow: My masters, now for your 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 frée 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 Ierkin, and setting his Hat on one side, hée began to speake thus. I trust swéet Widow (quoth hee) you remember to what end my comming was hither to day: I haue long time beene a sutor vnto you, and this day you promised to giue mée a direct answer. 'Tistrue, quoth shée, 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 thée? a flat deniall is méete for a sawey sutor: but what saiest thou to mée faire Widow (quoth the Tanner?) Sir, said shée, 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 sóone (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 indeed the Widow is for no man but my selfe. Master Parson (quoth shée) many haue runne née the goale, 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 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 bée a witnesse to the contract▪ and the old woman fetcht in for the same purpole, else I would [Page] neuer haue put vp so many dry bobs at her hands. And sure­ly, quoth the Tanner, I knowing shée to bée a Taylor, did assuredly thinke, that theu wast appointed to come and take measure for our wedding apparell. But now wée are all de­ceiued, quoth the Parson: and therefore as wée 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 bréede a jarre 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 vnrequested of mée, 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 wée haue lost our labours, wee 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 Iohn with all the rest sate at supper, she sitting in a Chaire by, spake thus vnto them. Well my masters, you saw, that this day your poore Dame had her choice of hus­bands, if shée had listed to marry, and such as would haue lo­ued and maintained her like a woman. 'Tis true, quoth Iohn, and I pray God you haue not withstood your best fortune. Trust mée (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 néere Christmas, at what time the weather was so wonderfull cold, that all the running 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 Iohn, 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, shee caused her maid [Page] in a merriment to plucke off his hose and shooes, and caused him to bée laid in his masters best bed, standing in the best Chamber, hung round about with very faire curtaines. Iohn being thus preferred, thought himselfe a Gentleman, and ly­ing soft, after his hard labour and a good supper, quickly fell a­sleep.

About midnight, the Widow being cold on her féet, crept into her mans bed to warme them. Iohn féeling one lift vp the cloathes, asked who was there? O good Iohn it is I, quoth the Widow; the night is so extreme cold, and my Chamber walles so thin, that I am like to bée 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.

Iohn being a kind yongue man, would not say her nay, and so they spent the rest of the night both together in one bed. In the morning betime shée arose vp and made her selfe rea­die, and wild her man Iohn to run and fetch her a linke with all spéede: for, quoth shée, I haue earnest businesse to doe this morning. Her man did so. Which done, shée made him to carry the Linke before her, vntill she came to Saint Barthol­mewes Chappell, where Sir Iohn the Priest with his Clark and Sexton, stood waiting for her. Iohn, quoth she, turne in­to the Chappell: for before I goe further, I will make my prayers to S. Bartholmew, so shall I spéede 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. Iohn mused at this matter, to see that his Dame should so suddenly be married, and hée hea­ring nothing thereof before. The Widow rising from her prayers, the Priest told her that the Bridegroome was not yet come. Is it true, quoth the Widow? I promise you I will stay no longer for him, if hée were as good as George a Green: and therefore dispatch, quoth she, and marry mée to my man [Page] Iohn. Why Dame (quoth he) you doe but iest, I frow. Iohn (quoth shée) I iest not: for so I meane it shall bée, and stand not strangely, but remember that you did promise mée on your faith, not to hinder mée when I came to the Church to be married, but rather to set it forward: therefore set your link aside, and giue mée your hand: for none but you shall be my husband. Iohn séeing no remedy, consented, because hée saw the matter could not otherwise bee amended; and married they were presently. When they were come home, Iohn entertained his Dame with a kisse, which she other seruants séeing, thought him some what sawcy. The Widow caused the best cheare in the house to bée set on the Table, and to breakfast they went, causing her new husband to bee set in a chaire at the tables end, with a faire napkin laid on his tren­cher: then shée called out the rest of her seruants, willing them to sit downe and take part of their good cheare. They wondring to sée their fellow Iohn 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 sat by his side: which shée perceiuing, asked if that were all the manners they could shew before their master? I tell you, quoth shée, he is my husband: for this morning we were married, and therefore hence forward looke you acknowledge your duty towards him. The folkes looked one vpon an­other, maruelling at this strange newes. Which when Iohn perceiu [...]d, 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 bée your master, I am not thereby so much puft vp in pride, that any way I will for­get my former estate: Notwithstanding, séeing I am now to hold the place of a master, it shall bée wisedome in you to forget what I was, and to take mée as I am, and in doing your diligence, you shall haue no cause to repent that God made me your master. The seruants hearing this, as also knowing his good gouernement before time, past their yeares with him in dutifull manner.

[Page]The next day, the report was ouer all the Towne, that Iacke of Newberie had married his Dame: so that when the woman walked abroad, euery one bade God giue her ioy: some said that shee was matcht to her sorrow, saying, that so lusty a yongue man as hée, would neuer loue her, being so an­cient. Whereupon the woman made answer, that shée would take him downe in his wedding 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 shée 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 inconuenience would grow thereby: the which sometime shée would take in gentle part, and sometime in dis­daine, saying.

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 Iackes 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▪ should correct my conceit, and giue mee in­structions, as if I were not able to guide my selfe: but y faith, y faith, 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 fiue. Well (quoth her husband) I trust you will bee better aduised: and with that hee went from her about his businesse, leauing her sweating in her fu­stion furies.

[Page]Thus the time▪past on, till on a certaine day shée had béen abroad in her wonted manner, and staying forth very late, hée shut the doores and went to bed. About midnight shée 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 shée, you will not shut mee out of doores like a dogge, or let me lye in the stréetes like a Strumpet. Whether like a dogge or drab, quoth hée, all is one to mée, knowing no reason, but that as you haue staied out all day for your delight, so you may lye forth all night for my pleasure. Both birds and beastes at the nights appreach repaire to their rest, and obserue a conuenient time to returne to their habitation. Looke but vp­on the poore Spidee, the Frog, the Flye, and euery other silly worme, and you shall sée all these obserue time to returne to their home: and if you, being a woman, will not do the like, content your selfe to beare the brunt of your owne folly: and so farewell.

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 shée liued vowde neuer to do 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 shée went quaking, and as hée was about to locke it againe, in very sorrowfull manner shée said, Alacke husband, what hap haue I? my wedding King was euen now in my hand, and I haue let it fall about the doore: good swéet Iohn come forth with the candle, and helpe mée to séeke it. The man incontinent did so, and while hée sought for that which was not there to bée found, shee whipt into the house, and quickly clapping to the doore, shée lockt her husband out. Hée stood calling with the candle in his hand to come in, but shée made as if shée heard not. Anon shée went vp into her chamber, and carried the key with her: but when he saw shée would not answer, hée presently began to knock as lowd [Page] as hée could at the doore. At last shée thrust her head out at the window, saying: Who is there? Tis I, quoth Iohn, what meane you by this? I pray you come downe and open the doore that I may come in.

What sir, quoth shée, is it you? haue you nothing to doe but dance about the stréetes at this time of night, and like a Spright of the Buttery hunt after Crickets, are you so hote that the house cannot hold you? Nay, I pray thée swéet heart, quoth he, doe not gybe no longer, but let mée in. O sir, re­member, quoth shée, how you stood euen now at the window, like a Iudge on the Bench, and in taunting sort kept mée out of mine owne house. How now Iacke, am I euen with you? What, Iohn my man, were you so lusty to locke your Dame out of doores? Sirra, remember you had mée goe 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 féet did fréeze, and my téeth chatter, while you stood preaching of birds and beasts, telling me a tale of Spiders, Flies, and Frogs: goe try now if any of them will bée so friendly to let thée 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 they are such ill husbands as you, to be abroad at this time of night.

With this Iohns patience was greatly mooued, insomuch, that hée déepely swore, that if shée would not let him in, hée would breake downe the doore. Why Iohn, quoth shée, you néede not be so hote, your cloathing is not so warme, and be­cause I thinke this will bée a warning for you against an­other time, how you shut mée 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 mée thou shalt not lye to night. With that shée clapt to the casement, and got her to bedde, loc­king the chamber doore fast. Her husband that knew it was in vaine to séeke to come into her chamber, and being no longer able to indure the cold, got him a place among his prentises, and there slept soundly. In the morning his wife [Page] rose betime, and merrily made him a Cawdle, and bringing it vp to his bed side, asked him how he did?

Quoth Iohn, troubled with a shrew, who, the longer shée liues, the worse shée is: and as the people of Illyris kill men with their lookes, so shée kills her husbands heart with vnto­ward conditions. But trust mée wife, quoth hée, séeing I finde you of such crooked qualities, that (like the Spider) ye turne the swéete flowers of good counsell into venemous poyson, from henceforth I will leaue you to your owne wil­fulnesse, and neither vere 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 shée) thinke that women are like starlings, that will burst their gall before they will yéeld to the Fowler: or like the Fish Scolopendra, that cannot be toucht without danger. Notwithstanding, as the hard stéele doth yeeld to the ham­mers 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 swéete iuyce of a faithfull kisse, and shaking hands, bequeath all our anger to the eating vp of this Cawdle. 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.

NOw Iack of Newberie being a wido­wer, had the choice of many wiues, mens daughters of good credit, & wi­dowes of great wealth. Notwithstan­ding he bent his only like to one of his owne seruants, whom he had tried in the guiding of his house a yeare or two: and knowing her carefulnesse in her businesse, faithfull in her dealing, an excellent good huswife, thought it bettsr 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 swéet fauour, and fairs complexion. In the end, hee opened his minde vnto her, and craued her good will. The maid (though shée tooke this motion kindly) said, shee would do nothing without consent of her pa­rents. Whereupon a Letter was writ to her father, being a poore man, dwelling at Alesburie in Buckinghamshire: who being ioyfull of his daughters good fortune, spéedily 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.

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

But Father (quoth Iacke 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 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 Iacke heard his offer, he was straight content, ma­king more reckoning of the womans modesty, than her Fa­thers money. So the marriage day being appointed, all [Page] things was prepared méete for the wedding, and royall chéere ordained, most of the Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen there­about, were inuited thereunto: the Bride being attyred in a gowne of shéepes russet, and a kertle of fine woosted, her head attyred with a villiment 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: shée was led to Church betwéene two swéete boyes, with Bride-laces & Rosemary tied about their silken sléeues: 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 néedelesse for mée to make any mention here of the Bridegroome, who being a man so well beloued, wanted no company, 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 Béere 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 Bridegroome had receiued, hée gaue them great thankes: Notwithstanding hée 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 yéeld, I giue you for your good will, cost, and courtesie, and while I liue make bold to [Page] vse mée in any thing that I am able, and in requitall of the gift you gaue mée 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 broadcloath as shall make you a cloake, and my mo­ther a holiday gowne, and when this is worne out, come to me and fetch more.

O my good zonne (quoth the old woman) Christs benizon bée with thée euermore: for to tell thée true, we had zold all our kine to make money for my daughters marriage, and this zeauen yeare we should not haue béen able to buy more: Not­withstanding we should haue zold all that euer wée had, be­fore my poore wench should haue lost her marriage. I (quoth the old man) chud haue zold my coate from my backe, and my bed from vnder mée, before my gyrle should haue gone with­out you. I thanke you good father and mother, said the Bride, and I pray God long to kéepe you in health: then the Bride knéeled downe and did her duty to her parents, who wéeping for very ioy, departed.

Not long after this, it chanced while our noble king was making warre in France, that Iames 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 bée rea­dy with his men and furniture, at an houres warning, on paine of death. Iacke of Newberie was commanded by the Iustices to set out sixe men, foure armed with Pikes, and two Caliuers, and to meet the Queen in Buckinghamshire, who was there raising a great power to goe against the faith­lesse king of Scots.

When Iacke had receiued this charge, hée came home in all haste, & cut out a whole broadcloath for horsemens coates, and so much more as would make vp coates for the number of a hundren men: in short time hée had made ready fifty tall men well mounted in white coates, and red caps with yellow Feathers, Demilances in their hands, and fifty [Page] 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 likewise 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 Iustices: who at the first approach did not a little wonder what he should be.

At length when hée had discouered what hée was, she Iustices and most of the Gentlemen gaue him great com­mendations for this his good and forward minde shewed in this action: but some other enuying hereat, gaue out words that hée shewed himselfe more prodigall than prudent, and more vaine-glorious than well aduised, séeing 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 Iacke 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 yeare be halfe done, may be glad to haue his bed in a bush.

These disdainfull spéeches being at last brought to Iacke of Newberies eare, though it grieued him much, yet patient­ly put them vp till time conuenient. Within a while after, all the souldiers of Barkshire, Hampshire, and Wiltshire, were commanded to shew themselues before the Quéene at Ston­ny Stratford, where her Grace, with many Lords, Knights, and Gentlemen were assembled, with tenne thousand men. Against Iacke should goe to the Quéene, hée caused his face to bée smeared with bloud, and his white ceate 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.

[Page]May it please your Maiesty to vnderstand, that hee which rideth foremost there, is called Iack of Newbery, and all those gallant men in white, are his owne seruants, who are main­tained all the 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 sée him: which was done accordingly. Then Iacke with all his men allighted, and humbly on their knées fell before the Queen. Her Grace said, Gentleman arise; and putting forth her lilly white hand, gaue it him to kisse. 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 wadden shuttle. Neuerthelesse, most gratious Queene, these my poore seruants and my selfe, with life and goods, are ready at your Maiesties command, not onely to spend our blouds, but also to lose our liues in defence of our King and Country.

Welcome to mee Iacke of Newberie, said the Queene, though a Clothier by trade, yet a Gentleman by condition, and a faithfull subiect in heart: and if thou chance to haue any sute in Court, make account the Queene will bée 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 méete 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 poysoned téeth of a Crocodile, his breath like the Basilisks, killing afarre off. I vnderstand, his name was Enuie, who assailed mee inuisibly, like the wicked spirit of Mogunce, who flung stones at men, & could not bee séene: and so I come by my scratcht face, not know­ing when it was done. What was the cause this monster [Page] should afflict thée aboue the rest of thy company, or other men in the field? Although, most Souereigne Quéen, quoth hée, 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 mée, 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. It were happy for England, said the Quéen, if in euery market Towne there were a Iybbet to hang vp curres of that kinde, who like Aesops dogge lying in the Manger, will doe no goodhimselfe, nor suffer such as would to doe any.

This spéech being ended, the Quéene caused her Army to be set in order, and in warlike manner to march toward Flodden, where King Iames had pitcht his field. But as they passed along with Drum and Trumpet, there came a Past from the valiant Earle of Surrey, with tydings to her Grace, that now shée might dismisse her Army, for that it had plea­sed God to grant the noble Earle victory ouer the Scotts: whom hee had by his wisedome and valiancy vanquished in fight, and slaine their King in battell. Upon which newes, her Maiestie discharged her forces, and ioyfully tooke her iourney to London, with a pleasant countenance, praysing God for her famous victory, and yéelding 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, shée nothing forgot Iacke 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 Katharine the noble 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 bée Lord of this Land, watching opportunity 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, [Page] 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 of which aduantage, hée inuaded the Countrey, boasting of victory before he had wonne: which was no small griefe to Quéene 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.

CHAP. III.

ABout the tenth yeare of y^e kings reigne, his Grace made his progresse into Barkshire, against which time Iack of Newbery cloathed 30. tall fellowes, being his houshold seruants, in blew coates, faced with Scarcenet, euery one hauing a good sword & buckler on his shoulder, himselfe in a plaine russet coate, a paire of white kersie bréeches without welt or guard, and stockens of the same péece sowed to his slops, which had a great codpéece, whereon he stucke his pinnes: who know­ing the King would come ouer a certaine meadow, neere ad­ioining to the Lowne, got himselfe thither with all his men; and repairing to a certaine Ant-hill, which was in the field, took vp his seate 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 séeing 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 what end you stand here with your swords and bucklers prepared to fight. With that, Iacke of Newbery started vp, and made this answer. Harrold (quoth he) returne to his Highnesse, it is poore Iacke of Newbery, who being scant Marqnesse of a Mole-hill, is chosen Prince of Ants: and here I stand with my weapons and Guard about mee, to defend and kéep these my póore 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.

[Page]The messenger returning, told his Grace that it was one Iacke of Newbery, that stood there with his men about him, to guard (as they say) a company of Ants, from the fu­rieus wrath of the Prince of Butterflies. With this newes the King heartily laught, saying: Indéed it is no maruell he stands so well prepared, considering what a terrible tyrant he hath to deale withall. Certainly my Lords (quoth hée) this séemes to bée a pleasant fellow: and therefore we will send to talke with him.

The messenger being sent, told Iacke he must come speak with the King. Quoth he, his Grace hath a horse and I am on foote; therefore will him to come to mée: beside that, while I am away, our enemies might come and put my people in hazzare, as the Scots did England, while our King was in France. How dares the Lambe be so bold with the Lyon, quoth she Herald? Why, quoth hée, if there be a Lyon in the field, here is neuer a cocke to feare him: and tell his Ma­iesty, hée might thinke me a very bad Gouernour, that would walke aside vpon pleasure, and leaue my people in perill. Herald (quoth hée) it is written, 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, Iacke of Newbery and his seruants put 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 mée sée, where is the Lord Generall of this great Campe? With that, Iacke of Newbery with all his seruants fell on their knées, 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 bée pretty fellowes to fight against Butterflies: I must com­mend your courage, that dares withstand such mighty gy­ants. Most dread Soueraigne (quoth Iacke) not long agoe, in my conceit, I saw the most prouident Nation of the Ants, summoned their chiefe Péeres to a Parliament, which was [Page] held in the famous city Dry Dusty, the one and twentith day of September: whereas, by their wisdomes, 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 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 hée himselfe might bée seated aboue them all. (These were proud Butterflies, quoth the King.) Whereupon I with my men (quoth Iack) prepared our selues to withstand them, tili such time as your Maiestles royall presence put them to flight.

Tush (said the King) thou must think that the force of flies is not great. Notwithstanding (quoth Iacke) 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. I, quoth Iacke. wée bée 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 nolonger a Prince, because the maiesty of a King hath eclipst my glory: so that looking like the Peacocke on my blacke féet makes mée abase my vaine-glorions feathers, and humbly yéeld vnto his Maiesty all my Souereigne rule and dignity, both of life and goods, casting my weapons at his féete, to doe any seruice wherein his Grace shall com­mand me. God a mercy good Iack (quoth the King) I haue of­ten heard of thée, and this morning I mean to visite thy house,

[Page]Thus the King with great delight rode along vntill hée came to the Townes end, where a great multitude of peo­ple attended to sée his Maiesty: where also Quéen 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 Bée-hiue, most richly gilt with gold, & all the Bées there­in were also made of gold curiously by Art, and out of the top of the same Hiue, sprung a flourishing gréen trée, which bore golden Apples, and at the roote thereof lay diuers Serpents, seeking to destroy it, whom Prudence and Fortitude trode vnder their féet, holding this inscription in their hands;

The King fauourably accepted this Embleme, and recei­uing it at the womens hands, willed Cardinall Wolsie to look thereon, commanding it should be sent to Windsor Castle. This Cardinall was at that time Lord Chancellor of Eng­land, and a 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 [Page] woe through England, especially among Clothiers: in so much, that hauing no sale for their cloath, they 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 Quéenes Grace. All the floore where the King sate was couered with broad cloathes in stead of gréene rushes: these were choice péeces of the finest wooll, of an Azure colour, valued at an hundred pound a cloath, which afterward was giuen to his Maiestie. The King being set with the chiefest of the Councell about him, after a delicate dinner, a sumptuous banquet was brought in, serued all in glasse: the description whereof 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 themselues, 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 & Sarke, 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 redownded 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 hée) but to note the vain-glory of these Artificers, you should finde no small cause of dislike in many of their actions. For an instance, the fellow of this house, hée hath not stucke this day to vndoe himselfe, onely to become famous by receiuing of your Maiesty: like Herostratus the Shoomaker, that bur­ned [Page] the Temple of Diana, onely to get himself a name, more than for any affection he beares to your Grace, as may well be prooued 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 bée not the twentieth part of their substance, they will so grudge and repine, that it is wonderfull: and like people desperate cry out, they bée quite vndone. My Lord Cardinall, quoth the Quéen, (vnder cor­rection of my Lord the King) I durst lay an hundred pound lacke of Newbery was neuer of that minde, nor is not at this instant: if yée 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 fifty into the field. 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 béen 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 Quéene laughing heartily, rose from the Ta­ble. By which time Iacke of Newbery had caused all his folkes to goe to their worke, that his Grace and all the No­bility might sée it, so indéed the Queen had requested. Then came his Highnesse where hée saw a hundred Loomes, stan­ding in one roome, and two men working in euery one, who pleasantly sung on this sort.

Well sung good fellowes, said our King: Light hearts and merry mindes liue long without gray haires. But (quoth Will Sommers) seldome without red noses. Well, said the King, there is a hundred angells to make chéere withall: and looke that euery yeare once you make a feast among your selues, and frankly (euery yeare) I giue you leaue to fetth foure Buckes out of Dunington Parke, without any mans let or controwlment. O I beséech your Grace (quoth Will Sommers) let it be with a condition. What is that, said our King? My Liege, quoth hée, that although the Kéeper will haue the skins, that they may giue their wiues the hornes. Goe to said the Quéene, 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 béen a cu­stome among the Weaners, euery yeare presently after Bar­tholmewride, in a remembrance of the Kings fauour, to méet together, and make a merry feast. His Maiesty came next [Page] 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 sée these maidens get their liuing, as Buls doe eate their meate, How is that, said the Queen? By going still backward, quoth Will Sommes: and I will lay a wager, that they that practise so well being maides to goe backward, will quickly learne ere long to fall backward.

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 Quéene, and all the Nobility héedfully 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 burden.

After the Kings Maiesty and the Quéene had heard this song swéetly sung by them, hee cast them a great reward: and so departing thence, went to the Fulling-mils, and Dye­house, 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 in all the Land was so much to bée cherished and maintained as this, which, quoth hée, 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 white silke, fringed with gold, their heads crowned with golden Bayes, and about their armes each one had a scarfe of gréen 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 blacke as pitch, and her garments all bloudy, a great sword shee had in her hand all stained with purple gore: they called her name Bellona, Goddesse of warres, who had thrée daughters: the first of them was a tall woman, to leane and il fauoured, that her théeke bones were ready to start out of the shinne, of a pale and deadly colour: her eyes sunke into her head: her legges so féeble, that they could [Page] scantly carry the body; all along her armes & hands through the skinne you might tell the sinewes, ioints and bones: her téeth were very strong and sharpe withall: she was so gréedy, that shée was ready with her téeth to teare the skinne from her owne armes: her attyre was blacke, and all torne and ragged, she went 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 Stéele, 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 hate, that none could stand neere her, and they cal­led her name Fire.

After this they retyred againe, and brought vnto his Highnesse 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 trée: 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 swéete smel­ling Gilliflower, after the manner of the Persians, offering something in token of loyalty and obedience. The King and Quéene beholding the swéete fauour and countenance of these children, demanded of Iacke of Newberie 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 wéeke. With that the King began to tell his Gilliflowers, whereby hee found that there was 96. children. Certainely, said the Quéene, I perceiue God giues as faire children to the poore as to the rich, and fairer many times: and though their dyet and kéeping bée but simple, the blessing of God doth cherish them. Therefore said the Quéene, I will request to haue two of them to waite in my Chamber. Faire Katharine, said the King, thou and I haue [Page] tumpt in one opinion, in thinking these children utter for the Court than the Countrey: whereupon hée 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. 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 néeded to care for them: and God so blessed them, that each of them came to bée men of great account and authority in the Land, whose posterities remaine to this day worshipfull and fa­mous. The King, Quéene, and Nobles, being ready to de­part, after great thankes and gifts giuen to Iacke of New­bery, his Maiesty would haue made him Knight, but hée méekely refused it, saying, I beséech your Grace let mée liue 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 séeke to defend, and these be the Bées which I kéepe: who labour in this life, not for our selues, but for the glory of GOD, and to do ser­uice to our dread Souereigne. Thy Knighthood néed be no hinderance of thy Faculty, quoth the King. O my dread Soueraigne, said Iacke, honour and worship may bée compa­red to the Lake of Laethe, which makes men forget them­selues that taste thereof: and to the end I may still kéepe in minde from whence I came, and what I am, I beséech your Grace let mée rest in my rufset coate, a poore Clothier to my dying day. Séeing then (said the King) that a mans minde is a Kingdome to himselfe, I will leaue thée to the riches of thy owne content, and so farewell. The Quéenes 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 péece, valued at nine 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 [Page] 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 payment wée refuse for two causes, quoth the maides: the one, for that wée estéeme not kisses at so base a rate; and the other, because in so doing we should giue as much as you.

CHAP. IIII.

THe maidens contented together, séeing 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 féet, and set him vpright against a post, tying him thereto: which hée tooke in ill part, notwithstanding he could not resist them. And because he let his tongue run at randome, they set a faire gagge in his mouth, such a one as he could not for his life put away: so that hée 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 Ierkin, and put an house­cloath 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 ha. Faine hée would haue spet, and could not, so that hée was faine to swallow downe such licour as hée neuer fasted the like. When hée had a pretty while béen washed in this sort, at the length he croucht downe vpon his knées, yéelding himselfe to their fauour: which the mai­dens perceiuing, pulled the gag out of his mouth. Hée had no sooner the liberty of his tongue, but that hée curst and swore like a diuell: the maids that could scant stand for laughing, at [Page] last askt how hée liked his washing? Gods ounds, quoth hee, I was neuer thus washt, nor euer met 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 mée, and I will neuer hereafter offend you. Tush, said the Maides, you haue made our whéeles cast their hands, and bruised the téeth of our cardes in such sort, as the effence 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 wish all speede to per­forme, wee will let you loose. O, 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 do it with all diligence. Then they vnbound him, and brought him among a great company of Swine, which when Will had well 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. Is it true, quoth they, haue you ouertaken vs in this sort? Well, looke there bee not one hog vnserued wee would aduise you. William Sommers script 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:

Nay soft friend, quoth they, the deriest hog of all hath yet had nothing. Where the diuell is he, said Will, that I see him not? Wrapt in a motley Ierken, quoth they, take thy selfe by the nose, and thou shalt catch him by the snout. I was neuer so [Page] very a hog, quoth he, but I would alway spare from my owne belly to giue a woman. If thou doe not (say they) eate (like the prodigall Childe) with thy fellow hogs, we will so shaue thée, as thou shalt déerly repent thy disobedience. Hée séeing no remedy, committed himselfe to their mercy: and so they let him goe. When he came to the Court, he shewed to the King all his aduenture among the weauers maidens, where­at the King and Quéene laughed heartily.

CHAP. V.

IN a faire large Parlour which was wainscotted round about, Iack of Newberie had fiftéene faire Pictures hang­ing, which were couered with Curtaines of gréene silke, fringed with gold, which hee would often shew to his friends and seruants. In the first was the Picture of a shep­heard, before whom knéeled a great King named Viriat, who sometime gouerned the people of Portugall. Sée here, quoth Iacke, the father a shepheard, the sonne a Soueraigne. This man ruled in Portugall, 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 surpassing wisedome and manhood, was created King of Sicilia, and maintained battaile against the people of Car­thage. His father was a poore Potter, before whom he also knéeled. And it was the vse of this King, that whensoeuer he made a banquet, he would haue as well vessells of earth as of gold set vpon the Table, to the intent he might alwaies 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 Lacedomonians in plaine and open bat­taile. This man was Captaine Generall to Artaxerxes, [Page] 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 afterward, 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 fist 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 Béeke-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 painted by him, vsing his trade.

The seuenth was the Emperor 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 Maximinus, 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 at 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 Iohn the 22. whose father was a Shoomaker: hée, being elected Pope, encreased their rents and patrimante greatly.

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

The thirtéenth Picture was of Lamusius, King of Lom­bardy, [Page] who was no better than the son of a common Strum­pet: being painted like a naked childs walking in water, and taking hold of the poynt of a Launce, by the which hee held fast, and saued himselfe. The reason whereof, was this: After his lewde mother was deliuered of him, shée vn­naturally threw him into a déepe 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 hée was, the childe (though then newly 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 hée 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 ruine, subuersion and destruction.

In the fourtéenth 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 bée let into the field, without bridle or saddle, hauing all determined with most assured purpose to make him their king, before whom this horse rested: 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. Hée ordaned many good lawes, hée compassed the Citie of Prague with strong walles, besides many other [Page] things, meriting perpetuall laud and commendations.

The fiftéenth was the Picture of The ophrastus, a Philoso­pher, a counseller of Kings, and companion of Nobles, who was but sonne of a Taylor. Séeing then my good seruants, that these men haue béen 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 liue in reproach: but such as doe lead a vertu­ous life, and gouerne themselues discréetly, shall of the best be estéemed, and spend their daies in credit.

CHAP. VI:

BY meanes of the warres which our King had with o­ther countries, many Merchant strangers were prohi­bited for 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 an 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 hée that kept twenty put downe tenne. Many a poore man (for want of worke) was hereby vndone, with his wife and children, and [Page] it made many a poore widow to sit with a hungry belly. This bred great woe in most places in England. In the end lacke of Newberie intended (in the behalfe of the poore) to make a Supplication to the King: and to the end hee might doe it the more effectually, hee sent Letters to all the chiefe cloathing townes in England to this effect.

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. 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. Iames 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 faithfull sub­iects. My Lords (quoth the king) let these mens complaint bee throughly 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 Husband­man to féede 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 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 [Page] there is one Iacke of Newberie, I muse hée 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 answerable for his person. Nay (quoth the Lord Cardinall) all his treasure is little enough to main­taine warres against the butterflies. With that Iacke shew­ed himselfe vnto the king, and priuately told his Grace of their griefe anew. To whom his Meiesty 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 fréely traf­fique one with another, and that Proclamation thereof should bee made 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 withall; 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 way to hinder them. At last, Patch the Cardinals 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 wee 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? Mary (quoth he) I will put it vnder these honest mens feete, lest they should freeze ere they finde my Lord at leasury. 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 Iacke of Newbery) if my Lord [Page] Cardinalls father had béene no hastier in killing of Calues, than hee is in dispatching of poor mens sutes, I doubt he had neuer worne a Myter. This hée 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 thereof.

The Cardinall (who was of a very high spirit, and a lof­tie aspiring minde) was maruellously displeased at Iacke of Newbery: wherefore in his rage hée 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 at last they made their humble Petition to the King for their release: but some of the Car­dinalls friends kept it from the kings sight. Notwithstanding, the Duke of Sommerset knowing thereof, spake with the Lord Cardinall about the matter, wishing hée would spéedily release them, lest it did bréed him some displeasure: for you may perceiue (quoth the Duke) how highly the King e­stéemes men of that Faculty. Sir, quoth the Cardinall, I doubt not but to answer their imprisonment well enough, being perswaded that none would haue giuen mee such a quip but an Heretike: and I dare warrant you were this Iacke of Newbery well examined, hée would bée found to be 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 request) I will release them. Accordingly the Cardinall sent for the Clothiers afore him to White hall, his new built house by Westminster, and there bestowing his blessing vpon them, said: Though you haue offended mée I pardon you; for as Steuen forgaue his enemies that stoned him, and our Sauiour those sinfull men that crucified him, so doe I forgiue you that high trespasse committed in disgrace of my birth: for herein doe men come néerest vnto God, in [Page] shewing mercy and compassion. But sée hereafter you of­fend no more. Touching your sute it is granted, and tomor­row 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 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.

CHAP. VII.

AMong other seruants which Iacke of Newbery kept, there was in his house thréescore maidens, which e­uery Sunday waited on his wife to Church and home againe, who had diuers Offices. Among other, two were appointed to kéepe 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, faire and louely, borne of wealthy Parents, and brought vp in good qualities, her name was Ione: 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 cloth 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 Ione would take no knowledge thereof. Halfe the day sometime would hée sit by her, as shée was waighing wooll, often sighing and sobbing to himselfe, yet saying nothing, as if hée had béen tonguelesse, like the men of Coro­mandae; and the loather to speake, for that hée could speak [Page] but bad English. Ione 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 shée knew well enough before that shee was faire, yet did shée neuer so highly estéeme of her selfe as at this present: so that when shée heard him either sigh, or sob, or groane, shée would turne her face in a carelesse sort, as if shée had béen borne (like the woman of Taprobana) without eares. When Master Bennedicke saw shée made no reckoning of his sorrowes, at length hée blabo­red out this broken English, and spake to her in this sort. Metressa Ione, be me tra and fa, mee loue you wod all mine hart, and if you no shall loue me againe, me know mee shall die, sweet Mistresse loue a me, & by my fa & tra you shal Iack 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. Shée mistaking his spéech, began to be collericke, wishing him to kéepe that bodkin to picke his téeth. Ho ho Metresse Ione (quoth hee) be Got, you be angry. Oh Metresse Ione, bee no chafe with you friene for noting. Good sir (quoth she) kéepe your friendship for them that cares for it, and fixe your loue on those that can like you, as for mée I tell you plaine, I am not minded to marry. 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 shée could not forbeare laughing for her life. Ah ah Me­tresse Ione: mee is very glad to see you merrie, holde Me­tresse Ione, holde your hand I say, & there is foure Crowne because you laugh on mee. I pray you Sir keepe your Crownes, for I néed them not. Yes be Got you shal haue them Metresse Ione, to keepe in a pox for you. Shée that could not well vnderstand his broken language, mistooke 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 féeding [Page] so did poore Bennedicke féeding 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 of his friends did tell her of his ardent affection toward her, shee wisht them to rub him with the sweate of a Mule, to asswage his amorous passion, or to fetch him some of the water in Boetia, to coole & extinguish the heat 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 stark foole, being by thy beauty bereft of wit, as if hée had drunk of the riuer Cea, & like bewitching Cīrces thou hast certaine­ly transformed him from a man to an Asse. There are stones in Pontus, quoth they, that the deeper they be laid in the wa­ter, the fiercer they burne: vnto the which fond Louers may fitly be compared, who the more they are denyed, the hotter is their desire: but séeing it is so, that he can find no fauour at your hand, wée 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. Mée thinkes, hee should forbeare to loue, or learne to speake, or else woo such as can answer him in his language: for I tell you, that Ione 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 sée if hée could finde any more friendship of his wife: therefore dissembling his sorrow and couering his griefe, with spéede hée tooke his iourney to Newberie, and pleasantly saluted Mistresse Ione: and hauing his purse full of crownes, hée was very liberall to the workefolkes, especially to Iones 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 [Page] 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, hée would giue him a shilling for his paines. The which his courtesie changed the Weauers minde, saying hee was a very honest Gentleman, and worthy to haue one farre better than his kinswoman.

This pleased master Bennedick well to heare him say so, notwithstanding 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 bréeding familiarity, master Bennedick began some­what boldly to iest with Gillian, saying that her fight and swéet countenance, had quite reclaymed his loue from Ione, and that she onely was the mistresse of his heart: and if shée would lend him her loue, he would giue her golde from A­rabia, orient pearles from India, and make her bracelets of most precious Diamonds. Thy garments shall be of the fi­nest silke that is made in Uenice, and thy purse shall still be stuft with Angels. Tell me thy minde my loue, and kill mée 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, orenticed with fayre wordes, as children are with Plums: it may be that you being merrily disposed, do speake this to try my constancy. Know then, that I estéeme more the honour of my good name, than the styding wealth of the world. Master Bennedick hearing her say so, desired her, that considering 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 swéet fauour of her face: which when shée had well thought vpon, shée began to harbour new thoughts, and to entertain contrary affections, saying, Shall I content [Page] myselfe to be wrapt in shéepes russet that may swim in silks, & sit all day carding for a great, that can haue crownes at my command? No, quoth shée, I will no more beare so base a minde, but take Fortunes fauours while they are to be had. The swéete Rose doth flourish but one moneth, nor Womens beauties but in yongue yeares. As the Winters frost con­sumes the Summer flowers, so doth olde age banish pleasant delight. O glorious gold, quoth shée, how swéet is thy smell? how pleasing is thy sight? Thou subduest Princes, and o­uerthrowest kingdomes, then how 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 yéelded, and appointed 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 shee had sold her selfe to folly, began thus to expostulate. Good Lord; quoth shée, 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 commandement 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 Stéed, being a beast, 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 shée 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 hornes in token of infamie? An Harlot is hated of all vertuous minded people, and shall I [Page] make my selfe a Whore? O my God forgiue my sin, quoth shée, and cleanse my heart from these wicked imaginations. 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 shewers of raine. Her husband sée­ing this, would néedes know the cause of her sorrow: but a great while shée 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 shée, and made such a trespasse by my tongue, as hath cut a déepe scarre in my conscience, and wounded my heart with griefe like a Sword: like Penelope se haue I béene wooed, but like Penelope I haue not answered. 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 néedes 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 besieged are not sackt, nor all women to bée mislikt that are loued. Why wife, I am perswaded thy faith is more firme, and thy constancie greater to withstand Lo­uers alarums, than that any other but my selfe should ob­saine the fortresse of thy heart. O swéet husband (quoth she) wée sée the strongest Lower, 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 déepe perswading wordes are shotte off with golden Bullets, and euery one as big as a Portigue? If it be so wife, I may thinke 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 playd naked together in a bed: but in faith thou queane, I will send shée to salute thy friends without a Nose: and as thou hast sold thy honesty, so will I sell thy company. Swéete Husband, though I haue promised, I have performed no­thing: [Page] euery bargain is not effected, and therefore as Iudas brought againe the thirty siluer plates, for the which he be­trayed his Master: so repenting my folly, Ile cast him a­gaine his golde, for which I should haue wronged my Hus­band. Tell me, quoth her husband, what he is. It is master Bennedicke▪ quoth shée, which for my loue hath left the loue of our kinswoman, and hath vowed himselfe for euer to liue my seruant. O dissembling Italian, quoth hée, I will be re­uenged on him for this wrong. I know that any fauour from Ione our kinswoman, will make him runne like vnto a man bitten with a mad dogge: therefore be ruled by mee, and thou shalt sée 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 Ione my kinswoman, and in the meane space make vp the bed in the Pariour very decently. So the goodman went forth, and got a sléepy 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 attendance, looking for no other company but the good wife: Notwithstanding at the last mistresse Ione came in with her kinsman, and sate downe to supper with him. Master Bennedicke musing at their sudden approach, yet neuerthelesse glad of mistresse Iones company, past the supper time with many pleasant conceits, Ione 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 péeuish Wench into any good liking of your loue: notwithstanding by my very great diligence and perswasions, I haue at length won her good will to come hither, little thinking to finde you here, or any such good chéere to entertaine her: all which I sée 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, shée [Page] hath promised me to lye this night in my house, for the great desire the 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 had me tell you, that you should come to 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 Ian, me wil not spoile her clothes for a towsand pound, ah me loue metres Ione more than my wife. Well, supper being done, they rose from the table. Master Bennedick imbracing mistresse Ione, thankt her for her great curtesie and compa­ny, and then the good man and he walkt into the Towne, and Ione 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 Iohn, master Bennedick you must not in any case haue a candle when you go into the chamber, for then my kinswoman will be angry, and darke places sits best Louers desires, O Mater Ian, quoth he, its no such mat­ter for light, mee shall finde Metres lone will enough in the darke. And entring in the parlour, groping about, hee felt a gowne and hat. O Metres Ione (quoth hee) heere is your gowne and hat, me shal no hurt for a tousand pound. Then knéeling downe by the bed side, instead of mistresse Ione, hee 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 fréedom: but now is the time come wherein I shall reape the fruits of a plentifull haruest. Now my deare, from thy swéet mouth let mee sucke the hony balme of thy breath, and with my hand stroke those Rosie checkes of thine, wherein I haue tooke such pleasure, [Page] 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 Alablaster armes to infold thy faithfull friend? Why should ill pleasing sléepe close vp the chrystall windowes of thy body so fast, and bereaue thee of thy fiue Lordly attendants, where with thou wast wont to salute thy friends? let it not offend thy gentle eares that I thus talke to thee. If thou hast vowed not to speake, I will not breake it: and if thou wilt command me to bee silent, I will bee 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. Why how now loue (quoth he) be you sick, be Got mistris Ione 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. God ound (quoth Benedick) here be the great diuel, cry hoh, hoh, hoh, bee Gossen I tink you play the knaue wid me, and me wil be reuenge be Got. 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, walke, Barkeshire maides will bee no Italians strumpets, nor she wiues of Newbery their hands. Barkeshire dog (quoth Bene­dick) owle face shack hang dou and dy veife, haue it not be for me loue to sweete Mettresse lone, I will no come in your houz: but farewell tell I cash you, be Goe bode, I make your hog nose bud: The good man and his neighbours laught aloud, away went master Benedick, and for very shame de­parted from Newbery before day.

CHAP. VIII.

GOod morrow good Gossip: now by my truly I am glad to sée you in health. I pray you how doth master Winch­combe? What neuer a great belly yet? now fie: by my fa your 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 béene long married. But truely gossip you are welcome: I pray you to sit downe, and we will haue a morsell of something by and by. Nay truely gossip, I cannot stay, quoth shée, in troth I must be gone: for I did but euen step in to sée how you did. You shall not chuse but stay a while, quoth mistresse Winchcomb: 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 chéere, with ale and wine plentie: 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 I say it before your face, though he had little with you, yet you were worthy to be as good a mans wife as his. Trust me, I would not change my Iohn for my lord Marquesse, quoth shee, a woman can be but well, for I liue 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▪ I 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. Lush woman, what talke you of that? thankes be to [Page] 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 question more? Yes, with all my heart, quoth shee. 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 mee, 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 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 Winchcomb, 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 blacke, that I shall carry but an ill fauoured countenance vnder a hood. Now, without doubt (quoth her Gossip) you are too blame to say so: beshrew my heart if I speake it to flatter, you are a very faire and well fauored 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-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 attire, they will afterward little respect it: for euery new thing at the first [Page] seemes rare, but being once a little vsed, it growes common. Surely Gossip you say true, (quoth shée) and I am but a foole to bée so bashfull: it is no shame to vse Gods gifts for our credits, and well might my husband thinke mée vnwor­thy to haue them, if I would not weare them: and though I say it, my hoode is a faire 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 therewithall shée stept into her chamber and fetcht them forth. When her Gossip saw them, shée said: Now beshrew my fingers but these are faire ones indeed. And when doe you meane to weare them Gossip? At Whitsontide (quoth shée) 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, 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 néeded 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 kéeping. 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 mée good Gossip, I 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 bée (quoth Mistris Winchcombe?) indeed I confesse I am but a gréeue huswife, and one that hath had but small triall in the World, therefore I should bee very glad to learne any thing that were for my husbands profit and my commoditie. Then listen to mee quoth shée: You féede your folkes with the best of the beefe, and the finest of the wheate, which in my opi­nion [Page] is a great ouerfight: 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 sée but browne bread on the boord: if it bée 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 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 neekes and points of béefe is their ordinarie sare: which because it is commonly leane, they seeth therewith now and then a péece 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 chéekes, the sheepes heads, and the gathers, which you giue away at your gate, might serue them wel­enough: which would bée a great sparing to your other meate, and by this meanes you would saue in the yeare much mo­ny, whereby you might the better maintains your hoode and silke gowne. Againe, you serue your folkes with such su­perfluities, that they spoile in a manner as much as they eate: beléeue mee were I their Dame, they should haue things more sparingly, and then they would thinke it more dainty. Trust mée 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 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 procéedes that (quoth her Gos­sip) but of too much plenty? but yfaith were they my seruants, I would make them glad of the worst crummes [Page] they cast away, and thereupon I drink to you, and I thank you for my good chéere with all my heart. Much good may it do you good gossip said mistresse Winchcombe: and I pray you when you come this way let vs sée 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 longth being come to the good mans care, hée was very much offended therewith, saying: I will not haue my people thus pincht of their victualls. Empty platters makes gréedy stomackes, and where scarcity is kept, hunger is nourished: and therefore wife as you loue mée, let mée haue no more of this doings. Husband (quoth she) I would they should haue enough: but it is sinne to suffer, and a shame to sée the spoile they make: I could bée very well content to giue them their bellies full, and that which is sufficient, but it grieues mée, to tell you true, to sée 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 mée no small discredit for looking no better to it. Trust mée no more, if I was not chekt in my owne house a­bout this matter, when my eares did burne to heare what was spoken. Who was it that chekt shée, I pray thee tell mee? was it not your old gossip, dame dainty, mistresse trip and goe? I beléeue it was. Why manif it were she, you know shée hath béene an old house-kéeper, and one that hath known the World, and that shée told mée was for good will. Wife (quoth hée) 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. Leaue her company? why husband, so long as shée is an honest woman, why should I leaue her company? Shée neuer gaue mee hurtfull counsell in all her life, but hath alwaies béen rea­dy to tell mée things for my profit, though you take it not so▪ Leaue her company? I am no gyrle I would you should well know, to bée taught what company I should kéepe: I kéepe none but honest company, I warrant you. Leaue her [Page] company ketha? Alas poore souls, this reward shée hath for her good will. I wis, I wis, shée is more your friend, than you are your owne. Well, let her bée what shée will, said her hus­band: but if shée come any more in my house, shée were as good no. And therefore take this for a warning I would aduise you: and so away he went.

CHAP. IX.

THeré was one Randoll Pert a Draper, dwelling in Watling-streete, that owed lacke of Newbery fiue hundred pounds at one time, who in the end fell greatly to decay, in so much that hée was cast in prison, and his wife with her poore children turned out of doores. All his cre­ditors except Winchcombe had a share of his goods, neuer releasing him out of prison, so long as hée had one peny to satisfie them. But when this tidings was brought to lacke of Newberies eare, his friends counselled him to lay his action against him. Nay (quoth he) if hée be not able to pay me when he is at liberty, hée will neuer be able to pay mée 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 néerer. Misery is troden down by ma­ny, and once brought low, 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, [Page] and to bée 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, proueked by the sharpe lée, and other drudgerées. At last, Master Winchcombe being (as you heard) chosen against the Parliament a Furgesse for the towne of New­berie, 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 Randoll Pert, 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 bréeches, with his hose out at the héeles, and a paire of old broken slip shooes on his féete, 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 hée heard one call for a Porter, made answer straight: héere master, what is it that you would haue car­ried? Mary (quoth hee) I would haue this Trunke borne to the spread Eagle at Iuiebridge. You shall Master (quoth hee:) but what will you giue mée for my paines? I will giue thée two pence. 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, hée cast downe the Trunke, and ran away as hard as euer hée could. Master Winchcombe wondrying what hée meant thereby, caused his man to runne after him, and to fetch him againe: but when hée saw one pursue him, hée ranne then the faster; and in running, here hée lost one of his slip shooes, and there an­other: euer looking behinde him, like a man pursued with a deadly weapon fearing euery twinkling of an eye to bée thrust thorow. At last his bréech, being tide but with one point, what with the haste hee made, and the weaknesse of the thong, fell about his héeles: which so shackled him, that downe hée fell in the stréete all along, sweating and [Page] blowing, being quite worne out of breath: and so by this meanes the Seruing-man ourtooke him, and taking him by the sléeue, 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, you haue broken his Trunke all to peeces, by let­ting it fall. O for Gods sake (quoth hée) 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: but when he heard the Porter say that he would arrest him, hée wondred greatly, and hauing quite forgot Perte fauour, being so greatly changed by imprisonment and po­uerty, hee said, Wherefore should I arrest thee? tell me good 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 cast 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 knowne, saying: Passion of my heart man, thou wilt neuer pay mee thus: neuer thinke being a Porter to pay fiue hundred pound debt. But this hath your prodigality brought you 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 cappe to thy head? O Pert, this is strange: but wilt thou be an honest man, & giue me a bill 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 I will not trouble thée. Now when they were come thither, with a great many following them at their [Page] héeles, master Winchcomb said: Hearest thou Scriuener? this fellow must giue mee a bill of his hand for fiue hundred pounds, I pray thée make it as it should bée. The Scriue­ner looking vpon the poore man, and séeing 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. Why Scriuener (quoth hée) doest thou thinke this is not a suffici­ent man of himselfe for fiue hundred pound? Truly Sir (said the Scriuener) if you thinke him so, you and I are of two mindes. Ile tell thée what (quoth Master Winchcomb) 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? 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 bee 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. Then hee asked Pert what hee 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, Marchant like, with a faire blacke cloake, and all other things fit to the 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 [Page] Winchcombe liued hée was chosen Sheriffe, at what time he payed fiue hundred pounds euery penny, and after dy­ed an Alderman of the Citie.

CHAP. X.

VPon a time it came to passe, when master Winch­combe was 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 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, hée suddainely discouered the full proportion of this foule beast, who demanded if their mistris were within. What mistris 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. So I will (quoth hée) so soone as she comes in. Then said the woman, What is she abroad? why then farewell good Tweedle: why what haste, what haste, mistris Franke, (quoth he) I pray you stay and drinke ere you goe. I hope a cuppe of new Sacke will doe 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 shée went into the wine-cellar with Tweedle, where first hee set before her a péece of powdred béefe as gréene as a léeke: And then going into the kitchen, hée brought her a péece of rosted béefe hote from the spit. Now certaine of the maidens of the house, and some of the yangue men, who had long before [Page] determined to bee reuenged of this pratling huswife: came into the Cellar one after another, one of them bringing a great péece of a gammon of Bacon in his hand: and euery one bad mistresse 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 wart as mellow as a Pippin at Michaelmas, and so light, that sitting in the Cel­lar, shée thought the world ran round. They séeing 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 shée, lisping in her spéech; her tongue waxing somewhat too big for her mouth) I loue your Mistresse well indéed, as if shée were mine owne daughter. Nay but heare you, quoth they, shée begins not to deale well with vs now. No my Lambs, quoth shée, why so? Because, quoth they, she séekes to barre vs of our allowance, telling our Master, that hée spends too much in house-kéeping. Nay then (quoth shée) your Mistresse is both an Asse, and a Foole: and though shée goe in her Hood, what care I? she is but a girle to mée: Twittle twattle, I know what I know: Go too, drinke to mée. Well Tweedle, I drinke to shée with all my heart: why thou horeson, when wilt thou bee married? O that I were 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 shée? 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 shée is rich and I am poore, but its no matter, I knew her a draggle tayle girle, marke yee? But now, quoth they, shée takes vp­on her lustily, and hath quite forgot what shée was. Tush, what will you haue of a greene thing, quoth shée? Heere I drinke to you, so long as she goes where she list a gossipping: and its [Page] no matter, little said is soone amended: But heare you my masters, though mistresse Winchcombe goe in her Hood, I am as good as shée, I care not who tell it her: I spend not my husbands money in Cheeries 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 name, plaine Nan: what, I was a woman when she was sir-reuerence a paltry girle, though now shée 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 beganne 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 asléepe, and in the meane space they deuised how to finish this péece of knauerie. 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 whosoeuer came next ouer, might finde her: notwithstanding, Tweedle stayed hard by to sée the end of this action. At last comes a notable Clowne from Gréeneham, 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, séeing it was a wo­man, cryed out, Alas▪ alas. How now, what is the matter, quoth Tweedle? O, quoth hee, here lies a dead woman. A dead woman, quoth Tweedle, that's 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 vndoubtedly: in troth it is great pitty shee 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. Then said the other, let me see the money and I will: For by the Masse, she earnd not halfe a great this great while. There it is, quoth Tweedle: then the [Page] fellow put her in his Basket, and so lifted her vpon his back. Now by the Masse shée 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 thée 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 shée where shée 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? I faith 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 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 hee againe, Who knowes this woman, who? Who co mee, who? (quoth shée) and looke how oft hée spoke the one, shée spoke the other: saying still, Who co me, who come, who? Whereat all the people in the stréete fell into such a laugh­ter▪ that the teares ranne downe againe. At last one made answere▪ saying: God fellow, shée dwels in the North brooke street, a little beyond Master Winchcombes. 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, shée gaue him a sound boxe on the eare, saying, What you Qneanes, doe you mocke mee? and so was carried in. But the next day, when her braine [Page] was quiet, and her head cléered 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 come, 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 folkes of their mistresse, made her on the other side to fall out with her, in such sort, that shee troubled them no more, eyther with her company or her counsell.

CHAP. XI.

AT the winning of Morlesse in France, the noble Earle of Surrey being at that time Lard high Admirall of England, made ma­ny Knights: among the rest was Sir George Rigley, brother to Sir Edward Rigley, and sundry other, whose valours 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 fell in likinḡ of one of his maidens, who was as faire as she was fond.

[Page]This lusty wench hee so allured with hope of marriage, that at length shee 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▪ shee laid her selfe so low, that the Knight suddenly fell ouer her, which fall became the rising of her bellry. 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 performe your promise, or to make mée a spectacle of in famy 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 if 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 compani­ens, and lay your litter where you list: for if you trouble mee any more, by heauen I swears, thou shalt dearely abids it: and so bending his browes like the angry god of war, he went his wayes, leauing the childe-bréeding wench to the hazzard of her fortune, eyther good or bad.

The poore mayden séeing her selfe for her kindnesse thus cast off, shedde many teares of sorrow for her sinne, inueigh­ing, with 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 [Page] for my good chéere. I pray you how doth your good wife, and all our friends in Barkshire? All well and merry, I thanks 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, 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, shée 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 mee, and gladly would I sée this yongue widow if I wist where. 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 Ioane would father a childe vpon him, and therefore answered, hee had no leisure to come from my Lord: But, quoth he, would I might sée 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 leape without the widowes loue. Notwithstanding, séeing 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 [Page] good Sir George. Thus parted master Winchcombe from the Knight: and being come home, in short time he get a faire 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 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 liue to pray for you. Come then minion (quoth her mistresse) and put you on this gowne and french hood: for séeing 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: and being well instructed by her master and dame what shee should doe, she tooke her iourney to the Citie in the Tearme time, and lodged at the Bell in the Strand: and mistresse Louelesse 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: notwithstanding, they were appointed, for the Gentlewomans credite, to say they were her owne men. This being done, master Winchcombe 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 kéeping of her selfe, made him the more earnest in his fuite.

At length hee watcht her so narrowly, that finding her going forth in an euening, hee fellowed her, shee hauing one man before, and another behinde: carrying a verie stately gate in the streere, it droue him into the greater li­king [Page] 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 shée (counterfeiting her naturall spéech) haue you any bu­sinesse with mée? 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 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 bée 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 dear at her lodging doore: whom at her comming shée 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 shée) 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 mée, how you came to know mée: for my owne part I cannot remember that euer I saw you before. 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 mée by him. Truly sir George said shée, 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 [Page] that time be expired: and then if I finde you bee not intangled to any other, and that by triall I find out the truth of your loue, for Master Winchcomb sake your welcome shall be as good as any other Gentlemans whatsoeuer.

Sir George hauing receiued this answer was wonde­rous wee, cursing the day that euer he meddled with Ioane, 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 hée haue Master Winchcombe his enemy, and therewithall the losse of this faire Gentlewoman. Wherefore to preuent this mischiefe, hée sent a Letter in all haste to Master Winch­combe, requesting him most earnestly to 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 Ioane whom hée had gotten with childe, hee fretted and fumed, stampt, and star'd like a diuell. Why (quoth M. Winch­combe) what néeds 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 to good to bee your whore, were you ten knights: and séeing 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 Ioane (quoth hee) there is a hundred pounds for thee: And let him not say thou camest to him a begger. Sir George séeing this, and withall casting in his minde what fréend Master Winchcombe might bee to him, ta­king his wife by the hand gaue her a louing kisse, and Ma­ster Winchcombe great thankes. Whereupon hee willed him for two yeeres space to take his dyet and his Ladies at his house: which the Knight accepting, rode straight with [Page] 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 Iacke had matcht sir George, laughing heartily thereat, gaue him a liuing for euer, the better to maintaine my Lady his Wife.