A brief Sum of Certain Worm-wood Lectures.
Translated out of all Languages into Billings-Gate Dialogue. By Martin Parker.
Out Rogue spend thy Mony
O good wife
London, Printed for J. Whight, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger. 1582.
Certain Wormwood Lectures Translated out of several Languages into Billings-Gate DIALOGƲE.
1. Dialogue. Of a Woman finding her Husband in company with another Woman whom she likes not
HA, ha, have I found you together ifaith? here's a goodly sight I'le promise you, a Knave and a Quean together: Is't possible good-man Rascal that you could give me the slip so neatly, and sneak hither to your Trull? But I am glad that now at the last my good fortune hath brought us together, we'l have about on't before we part. Thou impudent Whore, how dar'st thou keep company with my Husband? What business have you together? none that's honest I doubt: Come out to me thou brazen fac'd Jade, or I'le send the Pot to thee with a vengeance; let me come to her you Rascal, or else give me the Pot: Won't you, you Rogue you, won't you? s'light I'le have my will if it costs my life. O thou villain, such bold-fac'd huswives (as this) makes me live such a life (at home) as I do: I'le be reveng'd on you both before George, or I'le want will or strength, before I'le let slip this opportunity, I'le want breath to keep me alive: Let me come to her, I say, thou slave, or I'le do that which I never thought of [Page]before; if thou wilt protect thy Minion from my Fury, thou shalt taste of it thy self. What, shall the proud Harlot (think'st thou) out-brave me to my face? You were best to let me have my Peny-worths on her, for by this light I'le give her a mark that thou may'st know her by another time, least perhaps thou may'st forget her: I saith Mistris Minks, it were a good deed to slit your nose, & spoyl that tempting face of yours. Why doest thou not let me come to her, thou white liver'd Knave? Don't prevent my spleen upon her, least thou urge it against thy self, Come away, I say, for i'le not leave her as I found her; no, i'le pull a Crow with her, if I be hang'd for't.
His excusive Answer.
Dialogue 2. This is between a jealous old Woman and her young Husband; and thus she begins.
I, I, follow thy idle course of life still, and see what will come on't in the end: Alas, alas, youngster, I can see day at a little hole, and as far into a Milstone as an other woman can; I observe how every day more and more you slight me, you regard not my company neither at home nor abroad, neither at bed, nor board: you are ashamed forsooth that I (because I am somewhat antient) should walk and be seen to go along with you in the streets: but i'le warrant you if Mrs. A. or Mrs. B. or Mrs. C. or any of those idle Gossips intreat your company, oh the request is no sooner made but 'tis granted; on goe; your Cloak, and out of doors you go with any of these so hastily and willingly, as if you were to receive a thousand pounds: but if I speak to you, nay desire you, and wooe you as it were for my life, to walk with me into the Town to visit my [Page]acquaintance, or in the fields, or to Islington, to be merry and recreate my self, oh, what business is pretended? What excuses are framed? What Letters we have to write, what men we have appointed to meet (about earnest occasions) just at the very time? And if I do chance to get you once in a month or six weeks to walk with me any where, don't I perceive how you march before me after four miles an hour? if I can limp after within sight of you, well and good, if not, I may lose my self for any care that you take, and why is all this Sir, think you? but because I poor old wretch, should not be taken notice of to be your wife; and I observe (thank you) what nods and winks you use to other women in the streets: As who should say, take warning, the old woman is behind, therefore pass by and take no acquaintance: and when we are in company to be merry; not a smile, nor a cheerful look shall we get from you, no, you are then in your melancholy dumps: behaving your self rather like an Hermit in his Cell, or a Monk in his Cloyster, then a merry man at the Tavern or Ale-house: But do you think Sir, that I cannot hear what a merry companion you are in my absence? Oh! then especialy if such a one, or such a one, or any other handsom woman be in your company, you'l sing, dance, tell merry tales, kiss, dally, complement, drink healths to that Mistris Fart, and this Mistris Fiss, and if the [Page]time and place be suitable; Well, well, I say no more for shame, and ifaith, ifaith i'le turn away that fine Mrs. Minks your Maid, for something that I have ta'n notice of within these few days: your Nose bled forsooth the other day, and you must needs through your foul Hankercher to her, but she (with a wanion to you both) must hold the Bason till you wash your hands, marry gip with a murrain, but for that matter let me alone, i'le remedy that, or else I'le want of my will i'le keep no such fine snouted minions as she is, i'le have a homely, huswively wench, that has more honesty than beauty, and a better heart than a face, i'le not be thus plagued long, out upon't that a woman that has out-lasted the date of four husbands, and now comes to be slighted by a boy of two and twenty; well, thy unkind dealing will be the death of me, before nature hath appointed, I took thee to be the staff of my age, but I doubt shortly thou wilt prove a rotten one with a pox: you marry an old Rich Widdow for a comfort: well I have done, 'tis but folly to speak any more now.
His Answer.
Dialogue 3. Between a proud Woman and her Husband about Apparrel. She thus begins
WHy thou Whorson Rascally fellow, didst thou marry me to make me a shame to my self and all my Kin? Other mens wives forsooth (of an inferiour rank to you) can go gallant and brave, and have what apparel they ask for, while I go like a very Drudg: Nay, almost as bad as a Dunghill-raker. I'le warrant you there's Mrs. G. at the Horns, Mrs. F. at the Goat, and Mrs. S. at the Ram, these can change [Page]Gowns as oft as the Earth does her Livery, that's twice in a year, Hats, Aprons, and new Dressings, are ordinarily altered with the Moon; and Saturday night sets not a period to the week more certainly than the Shoo-maker brings new shooes, but I poor silly wretch must go like Joan hold my staff, with a gown and a hat of the fashion in Eighty eight. A pair of hose & shooes at Easter, (I am sure I had none since) now 'tis Midsummer; I have never a pair of Gloves worth the drawing on my hands; thou never bestowest above eight-pence or ten-pence (at the most) of a pair for me. Now to be brief, mark what I say to thee, I have complained so long in vain, that I am weary of that way: But i'le try another ifaith, thou hadst been better to have been a little more free of thy purse, for I know what I know; well there's enough said for this time: go to, i'le want no apparel goodman Rascal, I wont ifaith, pick English out of that if thou canst: if thou wilt not bestow a new fashion'd hat upon me, i'le bestow an old fashion'd cap upon thee in troth, and that quickly too, there's more, crack me that Nut sirrah.
His Answer.
Dialogue 4. A pining covetous Woman to her Husband for Mony to maintain her self and Children.
I Have brought my self to a fine pass, have I not think you? What must I be kept at my allowance? Why thou hard-hearted wretch, dost think that I with my three Children and a Maid [Page]and thy self when thou pleasest, can be maintained with twelve shillings a week, as the time is now? What do'st thou think I can buy for this Mony, unless we can make shift with Rye Bread, Essex Cheese, and small bear: and if I buy any flesh, my Mony would not reach any higher then Sheeps-heads, Ox-cheeks, and Midriffs: if I attain to a Leg, or piece of Neck-beef, then I think we are daintily fed▪ oh, but do'st thou imagin, that I am so senseless to think, that (though now and then for fashion sake thou eat of that hard fare without finding fault) thou hast no better cheer abroad i'le warrant thee ifaith, thou shalt shift for one; and leave me to deal with the rest so well as I can: for before I will endure this course long, i'le leave thee and go far enough: Think with thy self how a woman is able to endure it, that thou shouldest sit in a Tavern, Ale-house, or Tobacco-shop, there quaffing, bouzing, and smoaking your Nose, many times from morning till night, not regarding your family; but ifaith, ifaith, hereafter I will follow you more narrowly than I have done, and find you if you be above ground, or in any blind Celler under ground, and make the place too hot to hold you and your Companions also for the time; and make the pots, cups, and glasses fly about, and break them all in pieces, pay for them who list, I care [Page]not, it shall not be your smooth words then shall qualifie the fury of my spleen, as sit down, sit down by me Sweet-heart, and be patient, il'e drink but the other Pot, and be gone; no sir, i'le have you away with me, no excuses shall serve turn, you have too often deceived me in that kind already. For, now I intend to take a new course with you, that the World may be better with us than it is, and we may live in better fashion and credit amongst our neighbours than we do, or else you shall see that i'le perform, what I have formerly spoken, and be no whit less than my word: but this course shan't continue long, i'le set something flying ifaith, 'le do something e'reit be long that shall vex every vein in thy heart, thou churlish Miser, don't think that I like a poor drudge will famish my self and my small Children, while thou spendest thy mony abroad, or savest it for some worser end. If thou wilt get brats (with a wanion to thee) allow means to keep them: (for according to the old Proverb) i'le not take all the care, and keep the Child too. Construe my words to what sense thou wilt, seeing thou put test me to't, i'le speak, and do too more then I speak: well, few words are best, but ifaith give me better maintenance, or else i'le go shift for my self, and leave thee and thy family to share it by the teeth; i'le to [Page]service ifaith, if I must needs be a drudge and a slave, it shan't be under one that took me to maintain me like a woman: twelve shillings a week among five or six on's: No more of that if you love me.
His Answer.
Dialogue 5. A Woman to her Husband finding him at the Tavern or Ale-house.
SO, so now 'tis as it should be, this is your good Husbandry, is it not? Now the work goes well forward, doth't not? This is the way to maintain your Wife and Children, wilt not? ifaith you drunken Rascal, I'm glad I have (at the last) found out your haunt, this way your Money goes; 'tis no marvel you are so [Page]sparing at home, there you grudge a penny to fetch milk for your Children; nay, you'l hardly allow Soap and Candle, but every thing is too much; this groat is grumbled at, that two pence is pin'd at. But here among your poor companions, twelve or eighteen pence is not thought much of; but ifaith i'le take an order with you, i'le ferret you out in all your hole, come, will you come away, Sir? I protest if you come not altogether the sooner, mark the end on't, if I come again and find you here, i'le break all the juggs, classes, pots, and pipes that I can find upon the Table, I will in troth; and now I think on't, i'le have you with me, or i'le ne're go away alive, you shall not put me off with your whimsies, you shall not, you drunken beast, you shall not, &c.
His Answer.
Dialogue 6. A Woman to her Husband, coming home drunk.
ARE you come, good-man Pot-shaker? 'tis very well done, how hard you labour'd to day, are not your arms weary with lifting the pot? I do not think but they be, out you filthy beast, art not ashamed to be abroad all day, and then come home at night so drunk that thou art scarce able to stand on thy legs? you have been in some good company, I believe, if the truth were known: I have been in all the houses through the whole Parish to seek you, and could hear no news of you; at the Fox you have not been this six dayes, at the Feathers, not since Fryday last, at the Frying-pan you were never seen since Shrove-tuesday; no, no, you have gotten some new haunt. Well, I shall smell out all your holes, come you drunken beast, get you to bed: I see no supper will down with you to night, indeed 'tis better well sav'd, than id [...] spent: Come away thou foul sot, thoul't nod so long till thoul't fall i'th fire anon: why dost not come, thou drunken Pispot? &c.