Cornu-copiæ, Pasquils night-cap: or, Antidot for the head-ache

Cornu-copiæ, Pasquils night-cap: or, Antidot for the head-ache

Table of contents

Title page

Proaemium.

Cornucopiae. OR, Paſquils Night-cap.

Cornucopiae. OR, Paſquils Night-cap.

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FY, what a vaine-conceited world is this?

Whoſe iudgment, error blindly leades aſtray,

Accounting that as right which is amiſſe,

Laughing at follie, as a ſport or plaie.

Great ſinnes are termed but a great mans pleaſure,

When leſſer faults are plagued out of meaſure:

New titles ſalue old ſores; and euerie ſinne

Some honeſt name is allwaies ſhrowded in.

A Broker now is thought an honeſt Trade,

Though ſome by ſelling of ſtolne goods doe liue,

Theeuing is now an occupation made,

Though men the name of Tailor doe it giue.

Bribes are accounted but a freindly fee,

Diſſembling taken for pure honeſtie:

Pride is reputed handſome in apparell,

And he moſt valiant, that ſeemes moſt to quarrell.

The goutie Machiuilian murderer,

Whoſe codpeece is neere 20. winters old,

Now ſcornes the title of an vſurer,

And muſt be faſhion'd in an other mold:

The greybeard muſt a Monie-man be cleped,

Becauſe great ſtore of monie he hath reaped:

Or Mony-maiſter he to name muſt haue;

Though he vnto his monie be a ſlaue,

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A Toſ-pot ſpend-thrift, and a ſwaggering Iacke,

Which haue no pleaſure but to drinke apace,

And take in liquor, till their bellies cracke,

Looking as red as ſcarlet in the face,

Muſt be good fellowes: and the fooliſh Boore

That ſpendes his monie to maintaine a whore,

Is term'd a youthfull and a gallant lad:

Though men of iudgement think the gallant mad.

The Prodigall that waſtes his fathers pence

In carding, dicing, riot, and exceſſe,

Muſt haue a title of an other ſence,

A liberall man, and void of niggardneſſe:

And he,

Gulam euacuat vt Arcam impleat.

whoſe ſhape doth like a Ghoſt appeare

For want of victuals, food, and bellie-cheare,

The ſtarued miſer, fearefull, pale and wan,

Is the good huſband, and the thriuing man▪

Luſt is eſteemed as a youthfull ſport,

Laſciuious geſture, as the Courtlie faſhion:

And wanton minions, with the wanton ſort

Thruſt modeſt matrons forth of reputation.

Sinne is no ſhame: O bluſh my muſe to tell!

More ſhame befalls the good for liuing well;

Wiues play the wantons, husbāds were the horne,

And patience, (though a vertue) weares the ſcorne.

A ſimple gull, clad in a ſilken caſe.

Brought out of Satans ward-robe for his backe,

Which learnes new faſhions, and forgets old grace,

Turning his pinnes, till all his ſtringes doe cracke:

Which for a ſpaniſh blocke his landes doth ſell,

or for to buy a ſtanding Pickadell,

Which ſtruttes, and ſtampes to moue his golden ſpurres,

That with their gingling he may feare the curres.

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If his ſweet worſhip with his horſe-taile locke,

(As he doth trauerſe neatly through the ſtreet)

Scrape fauour with ſome female-wedded ſmocke,

Which by her carriage ſeemes for paſtime meet

Straight he is bold to bourd her to the plaie,

And either ſhe muſt yeild, or ſaie him nay,

And howſoeuer matters after frame,

Her husbands forehead ſtill beares all the ſhame

For whether goſſips when they ſit and talke,

(As woemen enuie one an others bliſſe)

Seing the gallant ſometimes thither walke,

May by coniecture ſhrewdly ſpeake of this,

Or whether ſhe herſelfe may ſpread the ſailes

(As womens tongues be like to yong lambs tailes)

And tell her pleaſure to an other friend:

And thus the world haue knowledge in the end.

Or whether braue Iuuentus play the blab,

Which vauntes himſelfe a gentleman at leaſt;

And when he waxeth weary of his drab,

Meeting his mates at Tauerne, or at feaſt,

Reueale the fault: or howſoeuer it bee

That time bringes forth the fruites of lecherie,

I cannot iudge; yet thus much I can ſay

The Cuckold carries all the ſhame away

As for the woman; ſhe's a wanton laſſe,

A good kind wench; or of the dealing Trade:

The cuckold-maker (though as fond as Aſſe

As euer in this world, dame Nature made)

Is term'd a gallant gentleman, and braue,

Though he by right ſhould other title haue,

But for her husband, he which weares the horne,

He is plaine cuckold, and muſt beare the ſcorne

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Sometimes this prodigall the Chapman plaies,

And to the Miſtreſſe ſometimes ill alli'd:

When as, God knowes, theſe are but ſubtile waies,

Deuiſed, leaſt their knauery ſhould be ſpide,

Elſe with her husband and company doth keepe

To graft the horns vpon his head more deepe.

And thouſand other ſhifts do they deuiſe,

To horne the Cuckolds head, and hood his eies.

And yet not onely do they blind his ſight,

Which not ſo much as dreames of any wile,

But oft it happens by a cunning ſlight,

One crafty knaue another doth beguile:

And when the Hunter thinkes to ſtrike the Bucke,

His hopes are croſt by ſome diſaſter lucke,

" For true it is, when Fortune comes by chance,

" There fortune helpes the boldeſt to aduance.

But certs it is a ſtrange and vncouth thing,

To ſee a pilfring and a picke-purſe knaue:

Which well deſerues to ſtretch an hempen ſtring,

And climbe the gallowes for to ſeeke his graue:

Diue to the bottome of a true mans purſe,

Take out is coine, and not accounted worſe;

And he, to whom the loſſe did erſt befall,

Paſſe with a ſcoffe, to mend the match withall.

Theſe are the humours of theſe preſent daies,

Where luſt is taken for a lawfull thing,

The Dolphin on the water skippes and plaies,

When as Arion ſoundes the ſiluer ſtring:

A homely bit in ſecret ſome diſgeſt

Better then dainties, when their husbands feaſt;

Stolne bread is ſweete:

Panis furtiuus dulcit.

In April and the Spring

Needes muſt you giue the Cuckoe leaue to ſing.

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And (ſooth to ſay) needes muſt that pleaſant fowle

Straine forth the plaine-ſong of her pretty note,

When crooked age, halfe parting with his ſoule,

Will on a wanton Minion ſeeme to dote.

And hee which hath one foote within the graue,

Will needes beſtride a gennet yong and braue.

Well may the Cuckoe ſing at ſuch a wedding,

When age and youth together go a bedding.

Nath'leſſe I will not iuſtifie this part,

And bolſter vp vaine folly with my quill,

A frolicke forehead hath a wanton heart,

This wicked world in prone enough to ill:

But in my iudgement, if it might ſo paſſe;

An old man foole, that weds a youthfull Laſſe,

Deſerues a coxecombe, and to be withall,

The chiefe Commander in Sow-guelders Hall.

Well erſt Lycurgus in his prouidence,

Wiſely forbad all aged men to marry;

For (certs) he knew their inſufficience,

Muſt by al reaſon make their wiues miſcarry:

When once the ſtocke is dead, decai'd and rotten▪

Small is the fruite which from that tree is gotten.

Yong Plants affoord increaſe in ſeemely order,

Shrubbes ſerue for nothing but to fill the border.

Would it not make a Cynnicke laugh the while,

And Agelaſtus for to ſing and whiſtle,

The father of Croeſus.

(VVhich ne're in all his life was ſeene to ſmile,

But when an old Mare once did eate a thiſtle)

If they ſhould ſee a whithered rotten ſcold,

A toothleſſe beldame, ſickely, lame and old,

VVhen ſhee can neither go nor ſtand vpright,

Addreſſe herſelfe in armour to the fight.

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And is it not as fooliſh and as mad,

To ſee old Mumpſimus, that gouty Sire,

Pranke vp himſelfe like to a youthfull lad,

And looke as handſome as a Pippin Squire?

And when hee ſcarce hath breath to keepe in life,

Deſire to couple with a youthfull wife?

The foole deſerues to weare a moatley coate,

VVhen he ſhould thinke on death, begins to dote.

For little knowes the VVoodcocke, what pertaines,

Vnto the pleaſures of the marriage bed,

VVhen that an empty paunch for food complaines,

Nature requires (I wis) it ſhould bee fed,

A yong wilde colt, when graſſe begins to faile,

Leaps forth his bounds, ſprings ouer hedge & pale

And neuer reſts in quiet, till hee know

Or finde a field, where better graſſe doth grow.

No maruell then; if that a luſty Laſſe,

That lookes as freſh, as doth a flower in May,

VVhen ſhe is mated with a fooliſh Aſſe,

VVhich ſtormes like VVinter on his wedding Day,

Sometimes ſeeke change of paſture and Prouant,

Becauſe her commons be at home ſo ſcant,

For in a dri'd red herring, and poore Iohns,

Remaines more vertue then in old mens bones.

VVhat comfort can a newly married wife

Haue in the company of ſuch a drone,

VVhich (like a Cricket) doth conſume his life,

And lies in bed as cold as any ſtone,

Mouing no more, then doth a dead mans coarſe,

Coughing and ſpitting, like a rotten horſe,

Pain'd with the Palſie, vexed with the Gout?

Better a woman were to liue without.

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VVould it not grieue a dog to ſmell the meate,

And haue it hanging ſtill before his noſe,

Yet cannot get a morſell for to eate,

Though hunger force him barke, and tell his woes?

Leſſe were his torment neuer to eſpy it,

Then to behold the meate, and not come nie it,

Farre better were it ſtill a maid to tarry,

Then want ſuch things, for which a maid doth marry.

And fitter were it knocke her on the head,

And rid her forth the ſorrowes of this life,

Then by a lingring paine to liue as dead,

Void of the ſports belong vnto a wife:

And like to Tantalus ſtill thirſt for drinke,

VVhen as her lips do well nere touch the brinke.

This is the cauſe prouokes an honeſt maid

Become a Miſtreſſe in the dealing Trade.

For when ſhe wants that which her neighbors haue,

VVhich are not halfe ſo beautifull as ſhe,

So propper, fine, welfauoured, and braue,

Neither ſo fit for ſport and iollity;

Yet bleſſed by their fortune and good hap,

Sit playing with their children in their lap.

VVel may ſhe with much patience brook the matter,

But (ſure) her teeth perforce muſt runne of water.

And if ſhe fall in longing for the Thing,

VVhich is the inſtrument of earthly pleaſure,

And binds more firmely then the wedding ring,

Begetting little children out of meaſure;

Her health and life vpon her longing ſtands.

And what good can ſhee looke for at his hands,

VVhoſe feeble ioints are ſtiffe for want of marrow

And hath leſſe courage then an old cock ſparrow?

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Scarce is an old man fit to beare a launce,

Or play the ſouldier in a warlike feild;

For might he wantes his weapons to aduance,

And to reſiſt his foe with ſpeare and ſheild,

But leſſe of force he is a maid to wed,

And play the ſouldier in the marriagebed.

For he that lackes ſtrength to endure the fight,

Is no fit man to skirmiſh in the night

Wedding (ſome ſaie) it is a kind of warre,

Ouid.

Whoſe feild betweene a paire of ſhetes is pight,

(Though otherwiſe ſometimes befall a iarre,

When huſwiues fingers chance to be too light)

Then he which ſuch a matter goes about,

Muſt needes be ſtrong, couragious, and ſtout,

For ſharper conflictes marriage doth betide

Than euer ſouldier in the warres hath tride.

The moſt victorious man that euer liu'd,

(Strong Hercules that famous warriour,

Which twelue admired labours once atchiu'd,

And neuer fought but prou'd a conquerour)

Though he with ſtrength was ouercome of no mā,

Was not of force to wreſtle with a woman,

But tooke the foile, was gaue her leaue to win,

And for his penance was enioyn'd to ſpin,

Yea he,

Socrates.

which by the Oracle was ſaid

To be the wiſeſt perſon in his time,

After that he was married to a maid,

Which would not looſe the pleaſures of her prime,

For all his knowledge was eſteem'd a ſot,

Facilè diuinabam poſt tantum tonitru ſecquuturam pluuiam.

And beaſtly crowned with a chamber-pot

Strength is but weake, & wiſedome ſeemes a foole,

When Cupid leades them into Venus ſchoole

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If then the greateſt courage be to ſlender,

And learned heads as ſtrtiſh as a blocke,

When once they combat with the female gender,

And enter diſputation with the ſmocke:

How can an aged, ſilly, fooliſh Aſſe,

Thinke to encounter with a youthfull Laſſe,

Neither of might the battell to endure,

Nor well approued of his furniture?

Yet if (forſooth) there be no remedy,

But that the doting Gray-beard muſt be wed:

Let ancient Neſtor for to pleaſe his eye,

Make choice of old Ninoſa for his bed.

For ſtill by nature they do beſt agree,

Which are alike in age and quality:

And ſooner will the North-pole meet the South,

Then frozen Age be pleaſant vnto Youth.

One asked of Diogenes in ieſt,

What time of life a man were beſt to marry?

Well he replide: For youth I think it beſt,

Iuueni nondùm Seni nunquàm.

Becauſe it is too ſoone, that he may tarry,

And for an old man, ſince it is too late,

Let him content himſelfe with ſingle ſtate.

A little wind blowes bloſſomes from the tree;

And rotten apples eate vnpleaſantly.

Scarce I ſuppoſe, that any yong Maid would

Conſume her Summer by cold Winters fire;

Though by conſtraint, or for the Miſers gold,

Some haue aduentured on an aged Site:

But either ſhe before hath had a fall,

And weds old Cruſt that he may father all:

Or elſe to haue more ſcope and liberty,

Vnder a colour for adultery.

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But whatſoeuer the pretence do proue,

That yong and old do iointly come together,

VVell may the woman make a ſhew of loue,

And ſmooth her brow in token of faire weather,

And at the firſt ſeeme louing on her part,

Yet ſure I am ſhee loues him not in heart.

For if that fortune bleſſe her with good hap,

Doubtleſſe his head ſhall weare a horne-wrought cap.

And (certs) a Cuckold is a dignity,

To good by much for ſuch a doting Swaine,

And to the worſhip of that Company,

It is a great diſcredit and a ſtaine,

To haue that gouty Peaſant reare his Creſt,

And thinke himſelfe a Cuckold with the beſt:

In my conceit, his wife is much too blame,

To grace him with the credit of that name.

But here (me thinkes) I heare an apiſh knaue,

Obiection.

Demanding in his proud and ſcoffing faſhion:

Are forked heads of late become ſo braue,

And hornes aſpired to ſuch reputation,

That this word (Cuckold) which was erſt a name

Alwaies attended with reproach and ſhame,

Should on a ſuddaine in our times ſtep forth,

And proue a name of credit and great worth?

VVhat glory can hee challenge, or renowne,

VVhoſe wife is truly noted for a whore?

Keeping anothers children as his owne,

And beares the badge of infamy before?

VVhat credit to a Cuckold can befall,

VVhoſe wife, as comon as VVeſtminſter Hall,

Beſtowes on others what is his by right,

And of the Forked Order dubs him Knight?

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Peace prating Cynicke,

Confutation.

leaſt thou proue doſt.

A ſnarling curre will barke at euery ſeaſon.

The groſſer foole, the ſooner ſhoots his bolt,

Although his wordes be void of wit and reaſon.

Little thou know'ſt (poore foole) thy great amiſſe,

In ſcandalizing ſuch a name as this;

VVhich in they raſhneſſe thus doſt iniury,

Thy ſelfe, thy friends, and famous Cuckoldry.

But whatſoe're thou art, that ſeem'ſt to ſcorne,

Carping the wel-fare of anothers ſtate,

And thus derid'ſt the credit of the horne:

(To great a glory for a ſcoffing mate)

Seeke not too much a Cuckold to defame,

For feare thy ſelfe be ſubiect to that name,

True is the ſaying, though it ſeeme a ieſt,

The Bird is filthy that defiles her neſt.

And how canſt thou repute thy ſelfe as free,

And quite exempted from the Cuckoes ſong,

Since thouſands (farre ſuperiour vnto thee)

Grudge not her ditty ſhould to them belong?

For any a man of woman borne,

Is ſubiect by deſtiny to weare the horne:

And though as yet no hornes attend vpon thee,

Fortune hereafter may beſtow them on thee.

Actu vel potentia.

If thou be linked in the Gordian knot,

And bound in fetters of the marriage ſtate:

Grieue not the hornes ſhould fall vnto thy lot,

Or that the Cuckoe ſings before thy gate:

For if thou marry, ſtill make ſure of this;

To beare with patience, what thy fortune is,

Neither repine a Cuckold for to bee,

But bleſſe thy fate, and thanke thy deſtiny.

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And neuer loue thy wiſe a whit the worſe,

For which (I wis) thou art beholding to her:

Nor ſeeme for this to frown, brawle, ſweare, & curſſe.

Becauſe ſhe hath a little bene a doer;

But rather praiſe her for her kind deuotion,

Since ſhee hath lift thee vp to ſuch promotion:

Be not diſmaid, though ſaucy knaues do ieſt,

Thou art exalted to beare ſuch a creſt.

And let baſe ſleering ſcoundrels talke their fill,

Knight of the Forked Order and not inferior to ſome new Knights.

And idle muddy braines out-braue their better,

The world doth want no fooles nor euer will:

Dolts ſcoffe at learning, which ſcarce know a letter.

And lame blind Batard euer is as bold,

As brauer horſes which for more are ſold:

None is more preſt to blot a Cuckolds name,

Then he which is both void of wit and ſhame.

Now if theſe ſpurre-blind Peaſants could but ſee

How much themſelues they blemiſh and diſgrace:

And how they ſhame their friends and progeny,

Caue ne patrem ſerias.

Their kindred, their acquaintance, and their race,

They would not ſpeake ſo raſhly as they vſe,

Nor ſeeme ſo much kind Cuckolds to abuſe:

The greater is their folly to depraue,

That title which perchance themſelues may haue.

Better it were for old men ſay the beſt,

Or elſe ſay nothing, and to hold their tongue,

Then at a Cuckold either ſcoffe or ieſt,

VVhich might as well to them before belong:

And let the married without feare and ſhame,

Seeke to vphold and patronize that name,

Clearer he is not which the ſame denies;

For (cert's) blind men do ſwallow many flies.

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And as for yong men, which doe cheifly ſcorne

The ancient badge of famous Cuckoldrie:

It is their dutie to applaud the horne,

And to defend it by their chieualrie,

And at all times a Cuckolds part to take,

Both for their credits and their kindreds ſake,

Though now their head-peece be not fully caſt,

Each dog muſt haue his day: No time is paſt.

Neither can they exempt themſelues as free,

Bachelers may be Cuckolds; when one is faire promiſed and an other ſpeedes.

Allthough in marriage they haue had no doing

At Cuckolds-hauen manie landed bee

Euen in the verie time they go a woing:

And ſome haue ſuch good fortune in their play

They proue right Cuckolds on their wedding day,

For certaine I haue heard of ſuch a lurch

The verie howre before they went to Church.

What perſon is he of ſo ſpeciall gift,

That can affirme he doth a Virgin Marrie?

Manie a wench hath had a ſecret life

Which of a Virgin ſtill the name doth carrie,

In euerie corner maides there are great ſtore;

Yet diuers of them haue been tried before:

A Iade in ſmith-field ſooner may you find,

That buy a courſer, ſound of limbe and winde.

Wiſe is that child (the common Prouerb ſaith

Though ſcarce I doe beleeue it as my Creed)

Which ſo much knowledge of his father hath,

He can auouch, that this is hee indeed.

For though the mother doe proteſt and ſweare

Her huſband did beget what ſhe doth beare,

Yet now-adaies men are ſo much beguild,

They oft proue fathers to an others child.

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This hath the vſuall practiſe of this time

Made moſt apparant, and as cleare as day,

For when yong gentlemen be in their prime,

And giue themſelues to wantonnes and play:

If that they chance a country-maid to pricke,

And with a Timpanie the wench grow ſicke,

Then ſtraight his ſeruingman or hackney-foole

Muſt be a couer to his maiſters ſtoole.

And not alone are ſeruing men ſo mad,

To father what an other hath begot,

But better perſons now and then are glad

To taſte what others put into the pot,

For ſcarce a wife of any gallant carriage

Doth now perfourme what ſhe hath vow'd in marriage,

And ſo great vertue hath attracting gold,

Manie cannot be honeſt, though they would.

If ſome ſeeme chaſt, it doth of this proceed,

They haue the wit to doe, and not be ſpied,

And know by deepe diſſembling and good heed,

With ſober lookes their wanton luſtes to hide.

Some woemen muſt be wo'ed, they are ſo chaſt,

And ſome there are which tempt poore men as faſt

That to conclude, as Arioſto taught,

Manie of them belewd, vnchaſt, and naught.

Phar'o,

Herodotus.

the King of Aegypt, being blind

For ten yeares ſpace,

Obſerue this yee watercaſters and reſerue the water of chaſtitie to cure your owne blindneſſe.

made triall of this matter,

When by the Oracle he was aſſing'd

To waſh his eies in ſuch a womans water,

Which kept her faith inuiolate and right,

And neuer had to doe with any wight

But onely with her husband: Then ſhould hee

Againe recouer ſight, and clearly ſee

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Manie a womans water Phar'o tri'd:

And manie a chambor-pot to him was brought,

Vrinalls were not then in vſe

Yet ſtill his ſight was vnto his deni'd

Becauſe the female vrine helped nought:

Nor could his wife releaſe the wofull King

By the diſtilling vertue of her ſpring,

Long lay King Phar'o in great grief and paine,

Deſpairing euer to haue fight againe.

And, but that one at laſt of honeſt life,

Which after manie thouſands thither came,

And was approu'd a true and faithfull wife,

A modeſt matron, and a vertuous dame,

Reſtor'd his ſight by vertue of the fountaine,

Which bubbled purely from her bearing mountaine;

He yet had liu'd in darkeneſſe, and been blinde

For ſuch Phiſitions ſtill are hard to find.

Here may the reader 3. thinges chiefly gather,

1 What ſtore of hornes were extant by this matter;

2 How hardly then a child could know his father,

3 And what the vertue was of woemens water.

The firſt many might challenge as their right;

The laſt had power to giue the blind their ſight;

And how could children know their fathers well,

When as their mothers truly could not tell.

Much could I wiſh that Phar'o were to trie

The vertue of this medicine once againe,

That we might ſee what faith and loialtie

In married wines doth at this day remaine

Sure manie of them, which haue done amiſſe,

Would ſay they had the ſtone, & could not piſſe:

And manie which we iudge could not be blamed,

Then to make water would be much aſhamed.

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Then ſhould you ſee ſome woemen, which make ſhowe

Of pure behauiour, and great honeſtie,

VVhich will not touch a man, for ought we know,

Nor once bee ſeene in prophane companie:

VVhich walke in little ruffes, and ſet their face

So ſimpringly, as if they ſtill ſaid grace:

Then ſhould you ſee them by their vrinall

To bee found meerely hypocriticall.

Then ſhould you ſee, how daintie and preciſe

Manie fine minions would be at this martter

Affirming that it could not helpe his eies,

To haue them waſhed in a womans water;

But that it was the ſuperſtitious tricke

Of ſome prophane, vngodlie Catholique,

Becauſe within the Primitiue of yore,

They neuer read of ſuch a thing before.

Then ſhould you ſee ſome men, which doe deride

And ſcoffe at others wearing of the horne,

VVhen their owne wiues did come for to bee tride,

How they ſhould be requited with like ſcorne,

Then manie woemen, which ſeeme coie and nice,

VVould be diſſemblers found by this deuice:

So that if Phar'o now releaſt would bee,

It would be long, ere he ſhould clearly ſee.

Nath'les I will not bee too cynicall,

To condemne euerie woman for this fault,

Nor for a certaine number blemiſh all.

Each beggar is not lame, though [...] hault.

Nor euerie woman of ſo ſmall compunction,

To violate her faith and holie function

For many woemen (doubtleſſe) may be found

VVhich keep their plighted promiſe whole & ſoūd

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And God forbid, that wee ſhould all condemne,

Though all do taſte the tree of good and ill:

For in ſo great a number, ſome of them

Muſt needes bee honeſt (though againſt their will)

Some are for feare as modeſt as they may,

And worldly ſhame which holds them from their play:

And ſome reſerue their loyalty vntainted,

Becauſe with Gallants they are not acquainted.

And ſome for want of more conuenient place,

And time, which for ſuch pleaſures are elected,

Preſerue themſelues from blemiſh and diſgrace;

Chiefely, becauſe they would not be ſuſpected:

And ſome for other idle vnknowne cauſe,

Obſerue a while their vowes and marriage lawes:

But very few of them, which to the laſt

For loue of honeſty continues chaſt.

Sometimes the golden prey doth make the theife,

And women yeeld for further maintenance:

Sometimes ſhort commons makes them ſeek releife:

And ſtubborne vſage and ſterne countenance,

Perforce conſtraine a woman now and than

To ſeeke for comfort of a kinder man;

And ſometime want of heartes, when handes are married,

Is one great cauſe, that many haue miſcarried.

For 'tis not now as erſt in elder daies,

When marriage was contracted by affection,

For kindred now ſo much the matter ſwaies,

The parties haue ſmall choice in loues election;

But many times, ere one behold the other

An vnaduiſed match the friends do ſmother:

And howſoeuer they two can agree,

Their frends haue woo'd, & they muſt married be.

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When they are wed, behold the ill ſucceſſe.

They liue like dogs and cats, in brawles and ſtrife,

Before they lou'd not: Now they fancy leſſe,

Shee hates her husband: hee abhorres his wife:

The diuels dance to ſee the iuſt confuſion,

Of enforſt marriage. And to make concluſion,

Hee growes a careleſſe vnthrift, bare and poore,

Shee turnes a ſhameleſſe and deteſted Whoore▪

Thus many either for this laſt reſpect,

Or for the cauſes which I late recited,

May iuſtly for their knauery be ſuſpect,

And by the lawes of honeſty endited:

Where though that none doe giue in euidence,

Nor ſit as Iudge; but their owne conſciene:

Certaine it is, the moſt would guilty ſtand,

To be condemn'd to dye, or burnt i'th hand.

For either luſt, reuenge, or want of loue,

And vnkind husband, or deſire of gaine,

The tender hearts of woemen doth ſo moue,

(As old and new examples ſhew moſt plaine)

That few of them, if they haue fit occaſion,

Are able to withſtand a weake inuaſion:

For they are fraile, vnconſtant, apt to range,

Faire-fac'd, falſe-hearted, and by nature ſtrange.

Chaſt wiues are as the grapes, which we may ſee

To hang vpon the Vine; (the vintage paſt)

Or as the Apples, which are on a tree,

When bluſtering Autumne hath her pride defac't,

For ſuch a dearth of honeſty is tride,

Since Patient Greſill, and True Conſtance di'd,

That if a wife be honeſt; if once croſt,

It is almoſt as ſtrange, as the great froſt,

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Here could I cote a rabble of thoſe wiues,

That you would wonder but to heare them nam'd,

Which whilome led ſuch lewd diſhoneſt liues,

That to remember them I am aſham'd,

But that the multitude and mighty number,

Were good for nothing, but your eares to cūber:

Nor need we any proofes from graue be brought,

We haue too many liuing which are nought.

Nor will I here their other vices ſcanne,

Which more then to a million do amount:

Hee that would know them, may in Mantuan

See a great number more then I can count:

As enuy, ſcolding, ſwearing, lying, pride,

Diſſembling, and a thouſand faults beſide,

Which I forbeare: becauſe beyond my tex

I would be loth thoſe louing wormes to vex.

For they are creatures, which God made, to nurſe

And comfort man; t'increaſe and multiply:

But firſt, for comfort they procur'd his curſſe,

And brought a woe to mans poſterity:

Yet for th'increaſe which was of them required,

They often bring forth more then are deſired:

Filling their huſbands barnes with others corne,

As if to bargaine they were onely borne.

For inſtance of this truth, I can proclaime

Diuers examples which are worth the hearing:

To ſhew; that wiues, before they'l looſe their game,

Will ſtill be taking vp, and fall to bearing:

But that I feare I ſhould to much offend them,

And yet, although I know it will not mend them,

One I'le produce; becauſe I do not loue

T'affirme for truth, more then I well can proue.

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Within the ſpatious bounds of fertile Kent,

(The Country, which for Long-tailes is commended)

VVhere the increaſe of Rabbets paies the rent,

And ſixe daies labour is in one day ſpended:

VVhether the Cittzens (when daies are faire)

Saile downe for pleaſures, and to take the aire:

T'eate plums and cheries: and about the Spring,

To heare the Nightingale and Cuckoe ſing,

There is a Towne; I liſt not tell the name

(Nor is the naming worth a Graueſ-end Toſt)

Men of all Countries trauaile through the ſame,

And (if they money want) may kiſſe the poſt,

Engliſh, Italians, Turks, Moores, Spaniards, Germans,

Danes, Scots, French, Iriſh, Muſcouits, and Normans,

And new Virgineans, and of euery ſort,

Some white, ſome blacke, ſome long-men, & ſome ſhort.

Som honeſt men, ſome fools, ſome knaues, ſome wiſe

Paſſe through this Towne, of all degrees at large,

Some thieues, ſome Tailors, which do ſtill deuiſe

New fooliſh faſhions to put men to charge.

Some Cittizens, ſome Cuckolds there ariues,

Some queans, ſome Maids, ſom bawds, & ſome good wiues▪

And through this Towne they trauel to the ferry,

To be conuai'd by Tilt-boate, or by VVherry.

It is the place as now I call to mind,

VVhere Marriners and their eſpouſed Mates,

Frollicke at farewell, while they ſtay for wind,

VVhich ſhould tranſport them ouer to the Straites,

It is the place whereas they kiſſe and part

VVith weeping eies, and with a heauy heart,

Forward he goes his voyage to entend,

Backe ſhee returnes to meete a ſecret freind.

[Page]

Within that Towne there whilom was an Inne,

Where man and horſe at liuerie might ſtand,

There dwelt an Hoſteſſe with a double chin,

A buxone wench, as any in the land:

She now was old and tough, yet in her youth

She was a morſell for a Parſons tooth;

Tender and faire, and plump; and with the reſt

Courteous, and kind of welcome euery gueſt.

And therewithall well could ſhe talke and chat,

And tell of faries, and doe other thinges

Her friend to pleaſure. But what matter's that;

Her husbād knew not, where the ſhooe him wringes,

For though ſhe was a wanton, ſhe was wiſe,

And knew what times were fit to fall and riſe;

And in her head this Prouerb ſtill did carrie

Although thou be not chaſte, yet be thou charie.

And (ſure) Icon her thanke and mickle praiſe

(Conſidering many of them doe ſtep a wrie)

That ſhe could line her ſhoes with vnder-laies

So cunningly, that few the fault did ſpie:

For ſince at Lodam they all loue to play,

And will play falſe, yet her commend I may,

That ſo can ſhift great Loaders from her hand,

No lookers on, nor gameſters vnderſtand.

What with our eies wee ſee not in this caſe

We greeue not with our heart, (as people ſay)

Nor doth the Foreſter, which keepes a chaſe

(Vnles he ſee men beare his game away

Or by the bloud find where the Deare did fall)

Suppoſe he wanteth anie game at all:

For how can Warreners their conyes miſſe

Vnles they come, iuſt when the hunting is?

[Page]

But though that marriage makes moſt husbands blinde,

Or ells of one eye all of them depriues,

That what their left hand doth they cannot find,

Nor ſee the ſecret dealings of their wiues;

Yet had my ſubtile Hoſt ſome ſmall ſuſpition

My Hoſteſſe was too pliant of condition;

But they that Iunes and Ordinaries keepe

Muſt often ſee and winke, and wake and ſleep [...]

For, trauailers when they are in their Inne

Loue to be merrie, and to make good cheare:

How ere they ſwagger, it muſt be no ſinne,

The forehead of my Hoſt muſt ſtill be cleare,

And though they chance my Hoſteſſe for to [...]

My Hoſt muſt ſay, ther's nothing done amiſſe:

For they will pay like Kinges, for all they take

And I haue dowe (Gods plentie) for my cake.

For what care I? or wherein am I worſe

Though others tine their candles at my light?

Or though an other man doth vſe my purſe?

If ſtill my candle burne both faire and bright,

And that my purſe returne home without tearing,

With ſtore of monie, nothing worſe for wearing.

For this poſition I will euer hold

'Tis better wedde a Baggage, then a Scold,

Thus was mine Hoſt content to let his wife

Keepe companie, and wellcome euerie gueſt,

No fooliſh iealouſie did ſtir vp ſtrife,

Nor fond ſuſpition did their ſtate moleſt:

For ſhe was merrie, and did loue to play,

And with her mirth mine Hoſt could well away:

For though his wife did hault: hee knew as much,

That all his neighbours wiues did need a crutch.

[Page]

But to go forward. Now they both were old,

And paſt the pleaſures of their youthfull nature

One child they had, more deare to them then gold,

A prettie maid, iuſt of her mothers ſtature:

Like her in face, in perſon, and in fauour,

Like her in qualities, and in behauiour;

In all thinges like her mother, but in one,

Her name was Kate; her mothers name was Ione.

Her father lou'd her well, becauſe he ſee

His wiues true image in his daughters face,

A forward Impe ſhe was, and like to bee

A proper woman, (if ſhe want not grace)

For to ſpeake truth, and without partialitie,

She was endu'd with manie a prettie qualitie,

For ſhe could ſing moſt ſweetly, dāce moſt finely

And on her virginalls ſhee plaied diuinely.

At vpper end of table, by her mother,

Dinner and ſupper, louely Kate did ſit,

Whereby diſcourſing ſtill with one or other

She grew to haue a prettie ready wit,

And could both ieſt, & taunt, to make a laughter,

That all men ſaid ſhee was her mothers daughter,

And ſo ſhe was; for you ſhall euer finde,

" That crowes breed crowes. And cat will after kind.▪

But time paſt on, and Kate was paſt a child,

And in the teenes about a yeare or two;

When nature, which can neuer be exil'd,

Made her conceiue, what ſhe was borne to doe.

For now vaine luſtes, and idle prouocations,

Stir'd vp her mind with looſe imaginations,

And this conceit ſtill in her fancie ran,

The chiefeſt pleaſure was to know a man.

[Page]

And now ſhee thought (good Lord) what happie liues

Haue woemen allwaies after they are wed?

How pleaſantly and merrie liue thoſe wiues,

Which haue a man to comfort them a bed?

What fools are maids, to hold that thing ſo deare,

Which lets their ſports, & grieus thē for to beare?

This I reſolue, though yet I doe not marrie:

My maiden-head I will not longer carrie.

Thus courteous Kate decreed: and euen the beſt

(Oft times) about her yeares are ſo inclin'd:

For their virginitie doth ſo moleſt,

And is ſo great a burthen to their minde

That ſcarſe a maid (ſo ſoone as ſhe hath skill)

But keepes her maiden-head againſt her will.

And verie many of them I haue ſeene

For grief thereof grow ſicklie, and looke greene.

But Kate had vow'd that ſickneſſe to preuent,

And not to lead old grinning Apes in hell,

And therefore ſhe betimes to Phiſicke went

The cauſes of that maladie to quell.

And taſting of ſome drugges within a corner,

Which firſt were miniſtred by th' captain Horner,

She lik'd ſo well th' Apoticaries ſtuff,

That ſhe did thinke, ſhe nere ſhould haue enough.

This Captaine Horner ſometimes loued Kate,

And ſhe likewiſe good will to him did carrie:

But priuate quarrells ſtirring vp debate

Mine Hoſteſſe was vnwilling ſhe ſhould marrie:

And therefore he, for feare they ſhould him mock,

Gaue Kate her farewell with a priuate knocke:

Of which kind blow ſhe tooke ſo good a liking,

That al were welcome, which would ſal to ſtriking.

[Page]

Behold a womans vnreſtrained thirſt,

Her greedy appetite, and great deſire:

After that ſhe hath broke the hedge at firſt,

And taſted of the fruite which all require:

Her minde is ſo vnbounded without meaſure,

That ſhe in neuer ſatisfied with pleaſure,

But ſtill (like to the graue) for more doth cry,

Or (like the horſe-leach) which is euer dry.

In ſuch a gaping caſe was wanton Kate,

After that ſhe had taſted of the potions,

VVhich Doctor Captaine Horner gaue her late,

To bridle and repreſſe her youthfull motions:

For though ſhe did deſire to drinke before,

Yet now her thirſt increaſed ten times more.

For after we haue found the ſweete of ſinne,

VVee worſe refraine, then when we did beginne.

Thus Kate gaue bridle to her liberty,

And (when occaſion ſerued) made not dainty,

For ſhee had put her ſelfe in ieopardy

To try the battell at the leaſt with twenty:

And ſhe was growne ſo skilfull in her play,

That very few went conquerors away:

But they that with ſo many haue about,

Shall ſometimes haue the worſt I make no doubt.

'Tis bad in ſickeneſſe to haue diuers Doctors:

Their ſundry medicines will but make thee worſe:

In law'tis fooliſh to fee many Proctors,

For ſome will harme thy cauſe and hurt thy purſe:

So 'tis no wiſedome in a wanton maide,

To vſe her pleaſures, as a common trade,

And make her paſtimes like her occupation,

VVhich were inuented for her recreation.

[Page]

So long the pitcher home doth water fetch,

That by ſome knocke it broken doth returne:

So long the flye doth at the candle cletch,

That in concluſion ſhee her wings doth burne:

So long a wench may Phyſicke vſe to take

To cure the griping of her belly-ake,

That ſhe may ſurfet in ſuch dangerous caſe,

As ſhe will be the worſe a twelue-months ſpace.

Thus it befell to Kate, that was ſo frolicke:

Her bucket now was broken at the well,

Shee now complain'd that ſhee had got the collicke,

And maruailed much to ſee her belly ſwell:

Her mother gaue her drinkes, and with a charme

Did clap the pot-lid to her belly warme,

To kill the wormes. But all her meanes are vaine,

They are no wormes that put her to ſuch paine.

Sometimes about the ſtomacke griefe ſhe feeles,

And ſometimes of her backe ſhee doth complaine,

Sometimes a quicke thing in her with two heeles,

She thinkes doth ſtirre, which maks her feare againe

She is with child: but yet ſhe doth not know,

For it may be her guts, that tumble ſo:

Or it may be with fatneſſe and with winde,

That ſhe growes big before, and broad behind.

But now ſhe did beginne to long for Cherries,

For Codlings, Peſcodes, and for Apple-pies:

And now ſhe faine would eate ſome Gooſeberries,

And euery thing which came before her eyes;

Or others told her of, or ſhe could name,

She ſtill deſired for to taſte the ſame:

So that the Mother ſeeing this effect,

Somewhat began her daughter to ſuſpect.

[Page]

And one day taking Katherine aſide,

Into the Parlour or ſome priuate place,

She gan to tell her that ſhe had eſpide

Both by the change of coulour in her face,

And by her longing for ſo many things,

And by the griping, which her ſtomacke wrings,

That ſomewhat in her body was amiſſe;

And therefore, Kate, come tell me what it is.

Tell me (quoth ſhe) and do not hide thy fault,

And if thou haſt offended, let me know it,

'Tis hard before a Cripple for to halt:

For I perceiue, although thou wilt not ſhew it▪

That thou haſt bene too buſy with a man,

And art with child; deny it if thou can:

Tell me, for though we cannot helpe the ſame,

Yet by preuention we may hide thy ſhame.

Kate, which knew well her Mother was too wiſe,

To be diſſembled with in ſuch a caſe,

Thought it was bootleſſe for to blind her eies,

VVhich could diſcerne her folly by her face,

And therefore on her knees ſhe fell before her,

And for remiſſion did with teares implore her,

And ſince deniall could no comfort bring,

She plainely told her Mother euery thing.

And firſt ſhe told her: how that Captaine Horner

Before he trauail'd to the New-found Land,

By chance did meete her in a ſecret corner,

And preſt her for a ſouldier of his band:

And how that diuers other men of Armes,

Beſieg'd her afterwards with freſh alarm's;

But who had blowne her vp; and made her ſwell,

Mother (quoth ſhe) in truth I cannot tell.

[Page]

Now Benedicite, her Mother ſaid,

And haſt thou bene already ſuch a Twigger,

I durſt haue ſworne thou hadſt bene yet a Maid,

And would'ſt haue bene ſo till thou hadſt bin bigger.

Art thou begot with child, and can'ſt not gather,

Out of ſo many, one, to be the father?

Nor any but the Captaine can'ſt thou name,

Which long ſince went to ſea? Now fy for ſhame.

With that ſhe ſhooke her head and bent her brows,

As if ſhe had bene angry; when behold;

Mine Hoſt comes in, to whom mine Hoſteſſe ſhewes

Their daughters ſad miſchance, (as hath bene told)

Which when hee heard; ſetting his cap aſide.

He was ſo angry that he could not chide:

At laſt he ſaid: And hath ſhe plaid the whoore?

Fy on her, Baggage, turne her out of dore.

Mine Hoſteſſe, ſeeing him to grow ſo hot,

Stept out, and ſpake to him with ſpeeches milde,

Deſiring him, although there were a blot,

He would remember that ſhe was their child:

And not to caſt her off, for one fault paſt;

For neither is ſhe firſt nor will be laſt,

Of good mens children (ſure I thinke as ſhee)

That in their youth offend in this degree.

But husband (quoth ſhe) 'tis no time to brawle:

Wee all haue faults, and need for to amend:

The deed is done, and wordes cannot recall

That which is paſt, nor bring it to an end:

Many that now ſeemes honeſt in their liues,

Haue done as much, before that they were wiues.

'Tis true (quoth he) But this is too too vilde,

She knowes not who is father to her childe,

[Page]

If ſhe could name the Sire, I did not care;

For by their marriage ſhe might hide her ſhame.

Allthough he were a begger, poore and bare,

Or if he were a cripple, blind and lame,

Or whoſoeuer, if ſhe knew the father,

And could produce him, I could beare the rather:

But neither knowing him, nor his abiding,

This is a wonder worthie of deriding.

Lord (quoth mine Hoſteſſe) what a coile you keepe!

Was neuer other woman ſo beguild?

Some I haue heard haue been conceiu'd a ſleepe,

And neuer knew the Father of their child.

And ſome haue ſuch good lucke their faults to ſmother,

That they will lie with one, then wed an other.

And wonder not, becauſe ſhe hath miſcarried,

For ſhe's as good a maid, as moſt are married.

We all haue faultes: and 'tis a womans nature

To loue a man: She hath but done her kind,

For when that I was yong, about her ſtature,

I was vnto the ſport as well inclin'd

As others were: for wee haue all been ſinners,

And ſometimes loue it better then our dinners,

But God forgiue vs all. Both we and you,

When we are yong, will doe as others doe.

Well (quoth mine Hoſt) I tell thee once againe:

Theſe thinges are not the point, whereon I ſtand;

Let me but know the man, which took the paine

To ſowe his ſeed in her vnfallowed land,

And I am pleaſ'd; and will doe all I can

To haue her quickly married to that man.

Within her furrowes haue there plow'd ſo manie,

That for to reape the crop ſhe knowes not anie?

[Page]

And what of that? mine Hoſteſſe then repli'd:

Can it be holpen now with wordes or winde?

Fitter it were for vs to ſeeke to hide

Her ſhame, before the world the ſame doe finde,

Then like a paire of fooles to prate and chat

Vnto no purpoſe, of I know not what:

One man ſhe knowes; but he is ſuch a knaue,

With my conſent ſhe neuer ſhall him haue.

And who is he (repli'd mine Hoſt at laſt,)

For whom your liking doth no better ſtand?

'Tis Captaine Horner, which ſome 6. months paſt

(Quoth ſhe) went this way to the Newfound land.

But he's ſo great an vnthrift, that he would

Conſume this houſe, if it were full of gold:

And he's a Papiſt, and I wiſh her quicke

Laid vnder ground, then wed a Catholique.

Surely (quoth hee) 'tis ſtrange to ſee your minde,

That hee (whom in times paſt you did commend

To be an honeſt thriftie man, and kinde,

And who hath euer been our ſpeciall friend)

Should now ſo far be caſt out of your fauour:

That, though it fitteſt be that he ſhould haue her,

(All thinges conſider'd) yet you are ſo turned,

Before ſhe be his wife, you'd wiſh her burned.

But howſoeuer of the man you deeme,

Or what conceit is come into your minde,

I cannot tell; yet he to mee doth ſeeme,

(For I will ſpeake no worſe then I doe finde)

To be a ciuile gentleman of carriage,

And like to doe as well as ſhe in marriage:

And (be report) he hath a heauie purſe,

I pray to God, our daughter doe no worſe.

[Page]

But 'tis no matter; once he would haue had her,

And then ſhe muſt not looke on Captaine Horner:

Now ſhe is puft, and blowne vp in the bladder,

And now there is not doubt, but he doth ſcorne her

And yet your anger is ſo furious ſtill,

He ſhall not marrie her with your good will,

I thinke a woman in a ſpright infernall;

If once ſhe hate, her malice is eternall.

It had been better that a chimny-ſweeper

Had married her, if they two had affected,

Though we had after been compel'd to keepe her,

Then with this ſhamefull deed to be detected.

For by that meanes; though he were ne're ſo baſe,

She might haue lookt her neighbours in the face,

And now wee both may keepe her for our ſtore,

And ſhe ſhall euer bee eſteem'd a whore.

Yet in my iudgement, the beſt remedie

That I can finde to couer her offence,

Is, that is haſt wee ſend her priuily

Vnto our friends or kindred, far from hence,

Where for a ſeaſon ſhe ſhall make abode,

Vntill that ſhe bee eaſed of her lode;

And after that the child is put to nurſe,

She may returne, a maide no iot the worſe.

There like a wife ſhall ſhe herſelfe attire,

And ſo ſhall blinde the Countrie with a wile:

Here we will ſay, if any doe enquire,

She's gone to ſoiourne with our freindes a while:

And when the child is begger, and can runne,

We will maintaine it as our cozens ſonne:

And 'tis no newes: for I haue knowne a dozen

Which kept their baſtards, & did call them cozen.

[Page]

But if the matter chance to be deſcri'd,

And that it be diuulged in the Towne,

Some honeſt place we will for her prouide

At London, where ſhe ſhall remaine vnknowne;

And there (as Country-men doe vſe to ieſt)

Shee'l be a Maid, as good as is the beſt;

For 'tis a vſuall practice and a wittie

To ſend vp broken veſſels to the Cittie.

Old hats, old clokes, and other ſuch old ware,

Bought at the ſecond hand, and almoſt worne,

The Cittizens dreſſe vp, and tricke them faire

And ſell them vnto Country-men in ſcorne:

Againe, the Country-men in lew of this

Send vp their wenches, that haue done amiſſe,

Crackt maides, groſſe widdowes, and ſuch broken Truls

Are good enough to marrie Cittie-Guls.

For I haue knowne ſome wenches, that haue borne

Tow or 3. baſtards (at the leaſt) a peece,

So that they were derided, had in ſcorne,

And hooted at, as if they had been Geeſe;

And after all theſe mockes, and much a doe

Haue gone to London but a yeare or two,

And there within ſhort time haue prou'd good Maides,

And been well married vnto men of Trades.

Therefore this courſe is good, if you thinke fit,

For firſt abroade ſhe ſhall be ſafe deliuered,

So that our neighbours ſhall not know of it,

And if her follie be at home diſcouered,

Then vnto London may ſhe quickly wend

To take ſuch fortune there, as God well ſend;

Yet if that I might rule the roſt, much rather

I wiſh, that Horner might the baſtard father.

[Page]

That Horner might! replied mine Hoſteſſe then,

I wonder why ſo much you talke of him:

In faith I could not loue him of all men,

He lookes ſo blacke, ſo rigorous and grim:

Beſides, he hath no Trade to liue vpon,

Nor lands to keepe him, when the wars are done.

And there's an other thing, which I like worſe,

All his wiues ſpending muſt come from his purſe.

Oh, it will grieue a woman to the heart,

For euery farthing that ſhe doth beſtow,

To make account, how ſhe did it impart,

So that her husband muſt of all things know:

For we haue many ſecret meanes to ſpend,

Which are not fit our husbands ſhould intend:

For if that of them all they notice had,

The moſt of them (I feare) would run ſtarke mad.

It is your Citizen, which keeps his wife,

Gorgeous and gallant, with all prodigality:

Shee liues at pleaſure; leads a merry life;

Sits in her ſhop with all formality:

He hath a myſtery which ſeldome failes;

And ſhe a great allowance by her vailes;

Her cob-web lawne, the altering of her wings,

Come from her vailes, with many other things.

And truely it is wonderfull to heare

How ſome of them will brag of their great vailes:

Boaſting they gather 40 poundes by yeare,

From the pill'd ſcrapings of a few ſheepes tailes:

And ſome from ſhreds, and hornes, and ſuch like ſtuffe:

Are able euery weeke to buy a ruffe:

That (ſure) I thinke them in their hattes as good,

As Gentle-women in their veluet-hood.

[Page]

Indeed the Gentle-woemen looke more high,

And of the Cittizens will take the wall;

Yet haue they but their penſion quarterly,

To keepe themſelues, and find their houſe withall:

If they want trifles, or would be more braue,

Out of houſe-keeping they muſt pinch and ſaue:

They haue their coaches, and great Vardingals;

But Tradeſmens wiues have often better vailes.

And certainely, if I may haue my will,

A Cittizen ſhall marry her, or none,

And therefore if you have no better skill,

Or care not whom ſhe haue: Let me alone;

I'le ſee, if I a husband can prouide

The child to father, and her ſhame to hide:

And though I know not whoſe it is by right,

It ſhould be father'd, ere it come to light.

Nor will I ſtand ingag'd to any friend,

To be a Maſque to couer our diſgrace:

Nor vnto London after ſhall ſhe wend,

To make her honeſter by ſhifting place:

For theſe are fooliſh ſhifts, & common meanes,

Practiſed by none, but ordinary Queanes,

And though a while theſe trickes their faults may hide,

Yet at the length their ſhame will be deſcri'd.

No, this deuiſe too much in vſe is growne,

And will not hold out water to the laſt:

For 'tis no queſtion, but it will be knowne,

Then all our fat into the fire is caſt,

And ſhe vndone: For no man, but a Daſtard,

Will loue a woman, which hath borne a Baſtard;

Nor ſhall you finde a man, will wed a Whoore,

If he can learne that ſhe was ſo before.

[Page]

And therefore, husband, take a fooles aduice,

And if you loue our credit, and her good,

Prouide a husband for her in a trice,

Before that her offence be vnderſtood:

You know ſhe is our onely child and heire;

And (though I ſay't) welfauored and faire;

And there are many yong men that do watch,

And would be glad to light on ſuch a match.

Firſt there is Maiſter Peter at the Bell,

A Linnin-draper and a wealthy man:

Then Maiſter Thomas, that doth ſtockings ſell:

And George the Grocer, at the Frying-pan:

And Maiſter Tymothie the Wollen-draper,

And Maiſter Salomon, the Leather-ſcraper:

And Maiſter Franke the Gold-ſmith at the Roſe:

And Maiſter Phillip with the fiery Noſe.

And Maiſter Miles the Mercer at the Harrow:

And Maiſter Nick the Silke-man at the Plow:

And Maiſter Giles the Salter at the Sparrow:

And Maiſter Dicke the Vintner at the Cow:

And Harry Haberdaſher at the Horne:

And Oliuer the Dier, at the Thorne:

And Bernard Barbor-ſurgeon, at the Fiddle:

And Moſes Merchantailor at the Needle.

And Maiſter Hercules the Iron-monger,

(Some ſay that he is worth 2000. pound)

And Maiſter Iames,

Of old Iron.

that ſels freſh Cod and Congerl.

And Maiſter Roger Scriuener at the Hand:

And Maiſter Anthony th'Apothecary:

All which would willingly our daughter marry;

With diuers others that I know beſide,

Which would be glad to haue her for their Bride.

[Page]

All theſe are Cittizens, and well to liue:

The worſt of them is worth 300 pound;

And with our daughter we as much will giue;

Then feare not, but a husband may be found:

For (ſure) among ſo many we ſhall finde,

(Doubtleſſe) ſome one or other for our mind,

And yet to chooſe one man before the reſt,

Hercules.

The Iron-monger I do fancy beſt.

For he is wealthy (and I craue no more)

And with our daughters loue is ſtrong infected;

He hath made diuers motions heretofore,

Though hitherto he hath not bene reſpected:

Still he purſues his ſuite, and is her louer.

And he will fitly ſerue her fault to couer:

Therfore the next time that he doth come hither,

Let's knit the knot, and tye them faſt together.

I ſee (replyed mine Hoſt) it is no lie:

The yong Cocke after th'old Cocke learnes to crow:

Well may our daughter tread her ſhoes awry,

If like vnto her Mother ſhe doth grow.

Yet ſince I heare that ſhe hath done no more,

Then (almoſt) all the kind hath done before,

I am content to do what ſhall be fit:

Broche you the meate, and I will turne the ſpit,

Thus was the plot ſet downe and all agreed,

That Maiſter Hercules ſhould be deceiu'd,

And that it ſhould be brought to paſſe with ſpeed,

Before it could be knowne ſhee was conceiu'd.

Behold yee Citizens what is concluded,

Whereby your ſimpleneſſe might be deluded!

Hereafter more aduiſedly beware,

To ſet vp ſhop with ſuck like broken ware.

[Page]

Now maiſter Hercules, that little knew

What ſubtile ſtratagems were lately plotted:

Whither it was, that Cuckolds lucke him drew:

(Which none can ſhun) or loue had him beſotted,

I cannot at this preſent well diſcuſſe,

But in concluſion it did happen thus;

After 2. daies to Billinſgate he went,

And ouer-ſea ſet forward into Kent.

The Tide that morning fell at fower a clocke,

Two howers at leaſt, before the day did ſpring

Manie good morrowes had the chearefull Cocke

Chanted to Cuckolds, clapping with his wing:

Good morrow maiſter Hercules he cried:

Be ſtirring early, or you looſe your Tide:

Take Tide in time. The Tide for none will ſtay.

Good morrow Cuckolds: Neighbors al good day.

Thus ſang the Cock▪ But he more vigilant

Then is the Cocke, was watchfull like a Cat;

Which hauing found the hole, and vſuall hant

Of ſome delicious Mouſe, or nimble Rat,

Still pries and peepes, and neuer can be quiet,

Liſtning and watching when ſhe may eſpy it;

And though ſhe winke, no reſt her eies can finde

The Mouſe doth runne ſo much within her minde.

Euen ſo lay maiſter Hercules that night,

Telling the clocke, and could not ſleepe a winke

The loue of Kate did haunt him like a ſpright,

And ſtill vpon his iourney he doth thinke.

No ſooner had the clocke reſounded three,

But from his bed he ſtarted ſuddenly;

And in his braue new ſuite leapt out of dores,

And ran to Billinſgate, and there tooke Ores.

[Page]

Blacke gloomie cloudes did ouerſpread the skie,

And foggie vapours did obſcure the aire,

So that the Watermen could not deſcrie

(Almoſt) which way they ſhould conduct their fare,

For ſuch thicke miſtes vpon the water fell

It was as darke as if it had been hell

But hee, to whom faire Katerin did giue light,

Would haue aduentured in a darker night.

For as that famous Hercules of old,

For his friends ſake to Pluto's kingdome went:

Euen ſo this other Hercules the bold

For his faire Kate did ferrie into Kent,

And without Moone or Star his way to guide,

Couragiouſly ſaild forward in great pride,

Dreading no dangers of the darkeſome night,

No Oules, Hobgoblins, Ghoſts, nor water-ſpright

For loue did make him bold and valiant,

Feareleſſe of Neptune, and his Trident Mace:

No cloudes, nor miſtie darkeneſſe could him dant,

Nor ſtormes, nor tempeſtes, make him turne his face.

But though it was ſo darke, they could not ſee

Before their bote, aboue two yardes or three,

Yet forward with great courage did he flote,

And ſung this dittie, ſitting in the bote

Fortune my foe, why doeſt thou frowne this night?

Yee lowring heauens, why doe yee looke ſo darke?

Though neither Moone nor Stars doe giue vs light;

Yet little Cupid doth conduct our barke.

And he will bring mee where my true-loue is,

That face to face we may confer and kiſſe:

For as the Moone amongſt the Stars doth ſhine,

So 'mongſt all Maides doth beauteous Katherine.

[Page]

Thou little God, that with thy golden arrowe

Didſt wound my heart, and mad'ſt my bellie rumble,

Giue me the courage of a yong Cocke-ſparrowe,

That pretious Kate with valour I may tumble.

Oh that my wordes may be ſo eloquent,

That I may tickle her with complement!

Oh peirce her (pretie Cupid) with thy ſting,

That I may pricke her with another thinge.

My louelie Kate, which ſleepeſt at thy eaſe,

And doeſt not dreame▪ that I to thee come ſliding,

Would I were partner with the skipping fleas

Which in thy bed with thee haue their abiding:

I would not bite thee in that grieuous ſort,

But hip and skip, and kiſſe, to make thee ſport.

For as the pricklings of the roſe bring pleaſure;

So ſhould my ticklinges be eſteem'd a treaſure.

Yee bold Corriualls, which doe loue my Kate,

Leaue of your wooing, and giue mee the way,

My valiant heart in loue admits no mate,

Before I looſe her, I will kill and ſlay.

For as the mightie Hercules ran mad,

And for a woman loſt the wits he had:

So If I haue her not, I greatly feare,

I ſhall run mad, or elſe goe verie neere.

Thus did he ſing: and further would haue chanted,

But that a ſuddain feare his note did ſtay,

Stopping his voice, and ſo his ſpirits daunted,

That hee (poore man) could neither ſing nor ſay.

For iuſt againſt the leaueleſſe forked tree,

Which euerie paſſenger deſires to ſee,

Whereon the Armes of Cuckoldrie appeares,

There was he ducked ouer head and eares.

[Page]

The reaſon was; becauſe an other barke

Comming from Court at Greenewich with a fare,

And not deſcrying th' other in the darke,

Met them ſo ſtrongly ere they were aware,

That maiſter Hercules without a word

Was caſt to fiſh for Salmons over bord;

And both his Mariners cloſe at his heeles

Did followe him for Lampries, and for Ecles.

The other bote far better fortune had,

And with a little ſtaggering kept her head,

But maiſter Hercules, whoſe lucke was bad,

Sunke to the bottom, like a lumpe of lead;

Yet there perceiuing, ere he further went,

It would not be the readie way to Kent,

With hands and feet he daſhed and he waued,

And like a ruſhing Porpoiſe him behaued.

Vpward he heau'd his bodie from the ground,

And plung'd as proudly as a water-dog:

Loth was he at that preſent to be drownd,

Though he could ſwimme no more then can a log.

For life is ſweet, and he would gladly ſaue it,

Nor would it looſe, ſo long as he can haue it:

And therefore 'tis no meruaile if he ſtriue

With all his might to keepe himſelfe aliue.

He ſtrikes the water, and would gladly ſwimme;

But there was one thing did his ſwimming let:

His head was heauie, and did trouble him,

And out of water that he could not get.

And therefore now he greatly gan to feare,

That without doubt he ſhould be drowned there,

And (ſure) except ſome lucky chance betide,

And other father Katherine muſt prouide

[Page]

For Maiſter Hercules was now growne faint,

And now his breath no longer could containe,

And now in heart he ſigh'd, and made complaint,

That he ſhould neuer ſee his loue againe:

Yet here behold! when he was moſt in doubt,

Deſpairing euer that he ſhould get out,

Then was his ſuccour neareſt to his hand,

To ſaue his life and bring him to the Land.

O valiant Hercules, thou Champion bold,

Couragious ſuiter vnto louely Kate,

Feare not (braue man) but quickly take faſt hold;

Good fortune at thy elbow doth awaite:

Put vp thy hand and apprehend that Oare,

Which for thy ſuccour houers thee before;

Dread not that death can deſteny withſtand,

At Cuckolds-Hauen thou ſhalt quickly land.

A happy Oare did happen then to ſwimme,

Vnto the place where Hercules did diue,

Which was a meanes moſt fortunate to him

His preſeruation thereby to contriue:

For as he plunged in that pitteous plight,

His handes by chance vpon the Oare did light:

Which he held faſt and lifting vp his head,

Helpe friendes (he cride) or elſe I am but dead.

The other Boate, which was not farre away,

Hearing him call, drew to him by the ſound,

And finding him at laſt in that array,

Much like a Rant that had bene almoſt drown'd,

They lift him vp, and on his feete him reared,

Which lookt as though he had ben lately feared,

Or rather like the picture of a Ghoſt,

Pale, ſpeachleſſe, ſtaring, ſtanding like a poſt.

[Page]

His limbes for cold did quake; his teeth did clatter

And from the dropping Ciſternes of his breech

Downe both his trembling legs ran forth the water,

And he for feare was almoſt void of ſpeech:

But comming to himſelfe and there eſpying,

That his apparell ſtood in need of drying,

And that his ioints were ſtiffe, and wanted fire,

To be conuaide to ſhore he did deſire.

Angry he was in minde ſo to be wet,

And therefore thought at firſt with them to brawle;

He ſaw thoſe were the men that had them met,

And in the water ouerthrowne them all:

But when he did conſider in the end,

That quarrels would not this miſchance amend,

He wiſely them intreated in good ſort,

That to ſome Hauen they would him tranſport.

Not farre from thence there was a landing place,

A Port of great report throughout our Nation,

Cuckolds-Hauen.

Which latter times haue branded with diſgrace,

With termes of ſlander, ſhame and deteſtation;

Though heretofore it was a place of reſt,

VVhere married men were fortunate and bleſt,

And where the Horne-aboundant did beſtow,

Riches and honour both to high and low.

There whilome did a famous Temple ſtand,

To Lady Fortune ſometimes dedicate,

Where all the horned perſons of the Land,

Did once a yeare conuene to celebrate;

But chiefly Cittizens; vpon whoſe Crowne,

Fortune her bleſſings moſt did tumble downe:

And in whoſe eares (as all the world doth know)

The Horne of great Aboundance ſtill doth blow.

[Page]

Within this Church an image was erected,

Which did the Lady Fortune repreſent,

Crowned with mighty Hornes, to be reſpected,

For worth, for beauty, and for ornament:

All guilded and beſet with pretious ſtones,

Which far were fetch beyond the burning Zones:

So bright with theſe fair ſton's the horns did flame,

That none but married men could ſee the ſame.

Within her lap whole bundles their did lie,

Of earthly bleſſings, and terreſtriall ioyes;

VVealth, honour, pride, acquaintance, vanity,

VViues, weddings, night-caps, and a thouſand toies;

All which in ſuch aboundance ſhe did caſt,

(But chiefly on the Citizens) ſo faſt,

That with the weight, ſo ponderous and ſo great,

Many of them about the browes did ſweate.

VVith one of her faire hands ſhe marriage made,

And coupled two together, man and wife;

VVith th'other hand a paire of hornes ſhe laid

Vpon the husbands head for all his life:

Then all the bleſſings, which her placket filled,

She ſeem'd to ſhake, and on his head diſtilled,

The reaſon was (obſerue it now and then)

That Cuckolds often are the wealthieſt men.

A horned Altar ſtood before her face,

Old dotards here which mary youthfull wiues;

And all old woemen, void of wit and grace,

Depriu'd of ſhame, and weary of their liues:

VVhich wed yong boies, had wont to ſacrifice,

For fortunes fauour at their enterpriſe:

On whom by right ſhe alwaies did beſtow,

Helmets of hornes, to beare off euery blow.

[Page]

And at this Shrine did offer of each ſort:

All thoſe, which hauing ſpent abroade their ſtocke,

At home haue nothing to renew the ſport,

But by their wiues lie ſenceleſſe, like a blocke,

They and their wiues did here both offrings make,

And each receiued hornes for th'others ſake;

For try who will: The prouerbe ſtill doth threate,

Who ſtrikes with ſword, the ſcabbard ſhall him beat.

And here did offer many a ſapleſſe Sot,

VVhoſe frigid nature, wanting moiſture due,

Made his wiues tillage proue a barren plot,

Till fortunes hand with hornes did him endue:

But after that his offering here was made,

The fruitleſſe ſoile, which was for barren laid,

VVithout his husbandry or helping hand,

Oft prou'd more fertile, then he would demand.

This place was famous, and of great report,

Vntill Wat Tyler (as ſome bookes haue ſaid)

VVith all the rabble of the Kentiſh ſort,

Hauocke and ſpoile through all the country made.

Then was this ſtately Temple ouerthrowne;

The Image and the Altar caſt quite downe;

All things defac't, and topſie-turuy turned,

Fortune diſgrac't, and all her horns were burned.

Thus Fortunes Temple fell: for what can ſtand,

Againſt ſo wilfull, and ſo wild a crue?

VVhere loue, nor faith, nor fortune can command,

Nor care, nor feare of dangers that enſue:

But Fortune, angry this great ſpoile to ſee,

And ſore incenſed with this iniury

VVith ſuch reuenge the raſcall Rebels followes,

That moſt of thē ſhe made to climb the gallowes.

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The reſt, which by remiſſion of the King

Eſcap'd the halter and the fatall Tree,

She likewiſe plagued with another thing

(Foule ſhame to them and their poſteritie)

For from their backe-partes neere about their rump

Did ſpring a lothſome & deformed lumpe,

Couer'd with haire; which growing pēdent down,

Shew'd like the taile of Munckie or Babowne.

Thus was that raſh and rebell crew of Kent

Plagued with tailes of wondrous admiration,

And ſo continued downe-ward by deſcent

From man to man, by many a generation,

And though they curtail'd them, or did them pare,

It could not helpe: They grew againe as faire.

And hereupon a longtime to their ſhame

They and their race of long-tailes had the name:

Long time thoſe long-tailes did remaine in Kent,

Aſhamed of themſelues; and monſters deemed,

And no deuiſe could finde for to preuent,

And rid their tailes that ſo deformed ſeemed.

But ſtill the more they laboured to auoid them,

The longer ſtill they grew, and more annoid them:

Vntill a man of Art by skill did find

The meanes to cure their maladie behind.

Who ſitting one day in his priuate cell,

Caſting an eye vpon his Kentish taile,

With incantations of a Magick-ſpell,

Able to make great Rhadamanthus quaile,

He coniur'd vp a ſpirit; and charge'd him tell

The firſt occaſion, how this ſhame befell,

And by what meanes they might the ſame eſcape,

And bring their buttockes to their ancient̄ ſhape.

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The fiend repli'd I can thee plainly tell

This ſhame attendes you for your ſires offence:

For when in former times they did rebell,

They Fortunes Image vſ'd with violence,

Defac'd her famous Temple, and in ſcorne

Conſum'd with fier her guilded Crowne of Horne;

Whereat diſpleaſ'd for them and for their ſeed

Fortune this puniſhment of Tailes decreed.

If therefore from the ignominious ſtaine

Of long-tail'd Kentishmen you would be free:

Endeuour fortunes fauour to regaine,

That ſhe may cure your great deformitie;

And for her Image, which was erſt deiected,

Let ſome faire Monument be there erected,

That your ſubmiſſion may with her preuaile

To the conſumption of each Kentish taile.

Hereat the ſpirit vaniſht out of ſight,

And left the Inchanter muſing: which with ſpeed

Aſſembled all the long-tailes, that there might

By wiſedome and aduiſement be decreed,

What Image, portrature, or Monument

Were for this purpoſe moſt conuenient

To pacifie the Goddeſſe, and redreſſe

Their beaſtlie back-partes, and vncomelineſſe.

At Canterburie met this congregation

From euerie Towne and village within Kent:

Where after much ingenious conſultation

It was at laſt concluded by conſent,

That on the fertile bankes of that faire floud

Where fortunes famous Image whilom ſtood,

An horned Piller there they would exalt

T' appeaſe the Goddeſſe for their fathers falt.

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And, that it might be done with more reſpect,

And fortunes greater honour; they decree,

That at the time, when this ſhould take effect,

Great ſtore of Kentishmen in their degree,

Knightes, gentlemen and yeomen, of the beſt,

Of common people, ſhould be readie dreſt,

In all their braue accoutrements, to grace

The forked Piller to the foreſaid place.

The 18. of October was proclaim'd

Saint Lukes day.

To be the day of this great celebration.

Againſt which time, each longtaile before nam'd,

Made much prouiſion and great preparation,

And vnto Canterburie tooke their way,

There to be readie at th'appointed day,

To giue attendance in moſt ſumptuous manner

On fortunes Piller with nil pompe and honour.

Now was the inſtant come to play this prize,

The day of good Saint Luke; which was of old

The time, when men were wont to ſacrifice

At fortunes Temple, (as before was told)

Choſen the rather, that their Preſent might

Better reſpected be in Fortunes ſight:

And that ſhe might behold with what deſire

They were conform'd to pacifie her ire.

And now the long-tailes in their beſt array,

Preuenting the Sun-riſing by their haſt,

Aſſembled were, before the dawning day▪

Had nights blacke curtaines from the skie diſploſt.

The thundring drums did rattle through the towne,

To ſummon euery gentleman and Clowne:

All which no ſooner heard that lowd Alar'me,

But like to Bees together they did ſwarme.

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When loe! a glorious Poſt you might behold,

Fairer then any ſtake in Grayes-Inne feild,

Or the large paſtures of Saint Georges hold,

Or Finſburie, or Iſlington can yeild,

Which in a cart (as theeues to hanging ride)

Are thither brought by Archers in great pride,

Guarded with gunners, bilmen, and a rout

Of Bowmen bold, which at a cat doe ſhoot.

Forgiue mee, Fortune, that I doe compare

Thoſe painted poſtes with thy renowned Piller;

Thoſe gaudie ſtakes, which for no purpoſe are,

But rouing markes for Longbows and for Tiller:

For euen ſo much for beautie, worth and gloſſe▪

As Croſſe in Cheape excels old Charing-Croſſe;

So much and ten times more this peereleſſe ſtake

Exceeds thoſe Poſtes, which Archers vſe to make.

For not with in a Carmans durtie Cart

(As if it weare to Tiburne) was it laid;

Nor plaiſterd ouer with the Painters Art,

Which with a ſhower of raine is ſeene to fade:

Nor on the top a Cat-Amount was framed,

Or ſom wilde beaſt, which nere before was tamed,

Made at the charges of ſome Archers ſtout,

To haue his name canonized in the clout.

Vpon a chariot was this Piller mounted,

(A chariot framed of the pureſt Horne,)

Whoſe workmanſhip here cannot be recounted,

It was ſo curious, fine, on foure wheles borne:

Two Gotes firſt drew this chariot, then 2. Rams,

Two Vincornes then followed, tame as Lambes.

Laſtly 2. ſober Oxen with ſlowe pace

Held vp the chariots head with horned face.

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The piller was of wood, all guilded faire,

Beſet (like pretious ſtones) with ſtuddes of horne:

Vpon the top did ſtand a goodly paire,

Fairer then any Cukold erſt hath worne:

From whence two liuely trees did ſeeme to grow

Bearing all ſorts of fruit: to make vs know,

That howſoeuer fooles their fortune ſcorne,

Profit and pleaſure both ſpring from the Horne.

Now drums and trumpets fill the aire with thunder;

When firſt the chariot gan to moue her wheeles:

Now Canons and Caleeuers ſeem'd to thunder,

Then ſhoutes and clamour followed at the heeles:

The Clergy firſt before the Coach did ſing;

The Waites did play & all the bels did ring,

Bag-pips plai'd horn-pips, ſom did dance the Morris,

Some wind their horns, & ſom with cornets floriſh

Before the Chariot all the married went,

According to their place and due degree:

Behind it all the Batchelours of Kent;

Marched in order very gallantly:

Beſide all theſe ſo great a troupe, and throng,

Did fill the paſſage as they went along,

That many were ſore thruſt and wanted breath,

And ſome were crowded hard, but not to death.

For as you ſee vpon that ſolemne day,

When as the Pageants through Chepe-ſide are carried,

What multitudes of people thither ſway,

Thruſting ſo hard, that many haue miſcaried.

If then you marke when as the fire-workes flye,

And Elephants and Vnicornes paſſe by,

How mighty and tumultuous is that preſſe,

Such were thoſe throngings, and no iot the leſſe.

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But notwithſtanding all this grieuous thruſt,

Forward they march in decent ranke and faſhion:

Some, leaſt their tailes ſhould daggle in the duſt,

Had men to beare them vp with oſtentation;

But they which wanted men their tailes to guide,

Faſt round about their middles had them ti'de.

Or elſe about their neckes. For (without faile)

The leaſt was longer then an Oxes taile.

Many of them (the better to expreſſe,

Their willing mindes Dame Fortune to appeaſe,

That ſhe might ſooner cut their long-tailes leſſe,

And curtaile their great rumps to giue them eaſe)

In comely ſort their foreheads did adorne,

With goodly coronets of hardy-horne:

As Siluan Satyrs in old time were ſeene,

VVhen as they danced Horn-pipes on the green:

It were too long to ſet downe euery thing,

VVhich chanced in that progreſſe as they went,

How all the bels in Feuerſham did ring,

In Sitting-borne, and other townes of Kent:

VVhat intertainement and preceſſion was

Ordain'd, whē they through Rocheſter ſhold paſſe.

And how each Officer in his beſt gowne,

Stood ready to conduct them through the Town.

Nor is it for our purpoſe to decide,

The hearty welcome giuen at Graueſ-end;

How many Cittizens came downe that tide

VVith their ſweet wiues, the ſhew there to attend:

And how at Dartford the tall Sea-marke rod

His ſtately top and wethercocke did nod;

To bid her welcome; ſince our end is moſt,

At Cuckolds Hauen to erect the Poſt.

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VVhere being new arriu'd: A mighty crue

Of wealthy Cittizens did them confront,

Come from the Citty, that faire poſt to veiwe,

And all the goodly hornes which were vpon't.

VVhich howſoeuer they deſirous be,

Abroad to range ſtrange faſhions for to ſee;

Yet ſure for this to range they haue ſmall neede,

They may abide at home, and better ſpeed.

There had the Cittizens large tables ſet,

Loaden with ſtore of victuals and good cheare,

To gratulate the Long-tailes, which they met,

And ſhew the loue which to the Horne they beare:

VVhereafter they had fed in bounteous manner,

And drunk a thouſand healths to Fortuns honor,

Towards the Thames they drew the horned Poſt,

And there did plant it ſtrongly on the Coaſt.

Iuſt in the place where Fortunes Temple ſtood,

There ſtands the forked Piller, ſtout and tall,

VVhoſe leaueleſſe boughes are neuer ſeene to bud,

Though much ſtone-fruit do from the branches fall.

VVeſtward it threatens, and with armes all bare,

Giues warning to the Citty to beware:

Like to a flaming Beacon, which ſtill ſhewes,

The neere approaching of ſome dangerous foes.

Thus was this famous Monument extoll'd,

And on the fruitfull bankes of Thames erected:

VVhich when the Goddeſſe Fortune did behold,

Perceiuing how deuout they her reſpected:

Her anger vaniſht, and with gracious eye,

She tooke compaſſion on their malady,

And all their rumpes, ſo infamous before,

Vnto their priſtine beauty did reſtore.

[Page]

Thus came their Buttockes to their ancient hue,

Their tailes fell off, and on the ground did lie,

When loe! a wondrous matter did enſue,

A miracle, moſt ſtrange to euery eie:

For on a ſuddaine all their tailes vp ſtood,

Tooke roote within the ground, and 'gan to bud;

And into willow trees, which there are ſeene,

Were thē trāsform'd, moſt fragrāt, ſweet, & green.

VVhich when the Kentiſh-men at firſt beheld,

Feeling their hanches lighter then they were,

VVith ſhootes and ioyfull cries ſo long they yel'd,

That many vnto Douer did them heare.

And London-bridge with Caeſars Tower did ſhake.

By reaſon of the noiſe which they did make.

But Charing-croſſe fell downe (as Stow doth ſay)

And broke his necke, as may bee ſeene this day.

But that this ſtrange and great deliuerance,

From ſuch huge long-tailes, as they had of late,

Might ſtill be had in freſh remembrance:

That day to Fortune they did dedicate:

Enacting; that for euer once a yeare,

On S. Lukes day they ſhould aſſemble there,

To feaſt and frollicke on theſe pleaſant bankes,

And giue to Fortune her deſerued thankes.

Long time this ſolemne cuſtome was obſeru'd,

And Kentiſh-men with others met to feaſt,

But latter times are from old faſhions ſweru'd,

And growne repugnant to this good beheaſt:

For now vngratefull men theſe meetings ſcorne,

And thankeleſſe proue to Fortune and the horne:

For onely now is kept a poore Gooſe Faire,

VVhere none but meaner people do repaire.

[Page]

But whilſt it was obſerued; did befall

A certaine matter worthy obſeruation,

For ſome wilde Colts (which Cittizens we call)

And when they are abroad it is their faſhion,

Being all fluſtred, in their merry mood

Pull'd down the Poſt, & threw the horns i'th flood

But marke a wondrous thing! The horns next Tide

To land aboue the Bridge were all deſcride.

The Kentiſh-men at their next Congregation

Seeing the Poſt to be purloin'd away,

T'erect another made a conſultation,

As like vnto the former as they may:

Which was no ſooner vp: but ſome againe,

Which had ſmal cauſe for want of horns to plain,

Stole them away: And thus from time to time,

They were abuſed with the fore-ſaid crime.

Which thing when that theſe curtail'd men eſpide:

With certaine London Butchers they agreed,

That they ſufficient hornes ſhould ſtill prouide,

For to repaire the Poſt when it ſhould need:

And for reward the neighbouring fields ſhould be

Theirs and their heires to hold eternally:

Prouided ſtill, that hornes did neuer want,

For then they made a forſeit of their grant.

Thus is the Poſt repair'd, and Fortunes Port,

Since Citizens firſt tooke their Hornes away,

(Whether it be in earneſt or in ſport)

Is nicke nam'd Cuckolds-Hauen to this day:

And at this place as you ſhall vnderſtand,

Was Maiſter Hercules conuai'd to Land:

An ominous preſage (without all doubt)

Of future lucke, and what he went about.

[Page]

The watermen, which tumbled in with him,

Were in the meane time gotten to the ſhore:

For they by happie fortune both could ſwim,

Being inſtructed in that Art before.

Their bote and euerie thing the others ſought,

And vnto land with Hercules them brought

Onely his hat was miſt, which was ſmall harme

His Horn-wroght-cap wold keep his nodle warm.

They were no ſooner on the bankes arriu'd,

But preſently new troubles did begin.

The ſtubborne watermen of wit depriu'd

Fell at debate about their falling in,

And firſt with bitter termes of foule diſgrace

Each one reuil'd an other to his face:

And afterward, to recompence their mockes.

They fell frō words to blowes & boiſtrous knocks.

Which when ſtout-hearted Hercules beheld,

(Being vnwilling to be beaten drie)

He tooke his heeles, and ran into the feild

To ſhun the dangers of this mutiny;

Where by the glimmering of a candle bright,

Vpon a little cottage he did light:

Whither he went, and entrance did deſire

To drie his dropping garmentes by the fire.

Which when the maiſter of the houſe did heare,

And looking forth did ſee that miſer wight,

Which (like a drowned mouſe) ſtood dropping there

He was much moued at that pittious plight;

And firſt into his cottage him admitted,

And after bid him wellcome, as befitted,

And made a fire, enough to roſt a bull,

And gaue him Ale and Toſt his bellie full.

[Page]

The watermen, which lately were at iar,

(Seing the lookers on to giue them way,

And not once offer for to end their warre)

Did wiſely of themſelucs conclude the fray,

And after that they found their buffets ſmarred

From blowes they fell to wordes, and ſo departed,

Curſing each other with reproches vile,

After they were aſunder halfe a mile.

And now our mariners no ſooner were

Freed from thoſe dangers: and all tumultes paſt;

But that incontinent a ſudden feare

A freſh inuaded them, and much agaſt.

For Hercules they miſt, and ſought about,

Yet by their ſeeking could not finde him out,

Then did they call alowd, but all in vaine,

Which makes them ſeare, he is fall'n in againe.

Neere to the ſhore they ſearched with their bote,

But no whereby their groping could him finde:

His hat they found which fairely there did flote,

With treble Sypers, and with veluet lin'd.

But miſſing him, they rowd againe to land,

More happie tidinges there to vnderſtand

Whither arriu'd, The dawncing day did ſhewe

The little cottage ſituate belowe.

Vnto that little houſe forthwith they ran,

And for halfe-drowned Hercules enquire;

When they beheld that lamentable man

In drouping manner drying his attire.

Sadly he lookt, and ſorrily did ſit,

As if he ſcarce recouered had his wit,

But when he ſaw the watermen arriu'd,

His fainting ſpirits ſomewhat were reviu'd.

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Glad were they to behold each other there,

And 'gan diſcourſe of their fore-paſſed dangers:

But maiſter Hercules, now void of feare,

Did chafe, and fret, and threat, & curſe the ſtrangers,

And, like a Lyon raging for his prey,

Did ſweare reuenge, if they came in his way.

For to a yong man fals no greater loſſe,

Then in his wooing time to haue a Croſſe.

The watermen, his wrath to pacifie,

Gaue him faire wordes, and 'gan for to relate

How valiantly they made their foes to flie,

And how they ſoundly knockt them on the pate.

But ſince (quoth they) all dangers now are paſt,

And we are ſafely here arriu'd at laſt,

Let's drinke downe ſorrow, & the day here ſpend,

And at next Ebbe wee'l ferrie to Graneſend.

With this was maſter Hercules content,

And there that day to tarrie he decreed,

(For when we cannot chooſe, we muſt conſent)

His clothes were wet, and he could not proceed.

For both his health, the time, & his good fortune

To wooe in drie apparrell did importune:

And homeward to returne he was vnwilling,

There to be mockt. Twere better ſpend a ſhilling.

There all that day, and allmoſt all the the night,

(Too tedious vnto Hercules) they ſtay'd:

W'here how they ſpent the time, recount I might,

But that to trouble you I am afray'd.

Therefore of purpoſe (as I thinke moſt fit)

Thoſe circumſtances I will here omit;

Becauſe (for breuitie) I moſt intend

To haue them quickly landed at Graueſend.

[Page]

And now conceiue them in their boate againe,

Their garments dry, and they faire ſhipt for Kent:

And now ſo ſwift they furrow downe the maine,

As if an arrow from a long-bow went:

And now imagine they haue fail'd ſo faſt,

That at Graueſ-end they are arriu'd at laſt.

And now becauſe wee'l not be long a doing,

Imagine Hercules is cloſe a woing.

Kate had her leſſon: and at firſt was coy,

Yet was ſhe coyly kind, and kindly nice:

Now lift him vp with hope her to enioy,

Now caſt him downe with doubts which did ariſe:

Shee ſaid, his faith and long perſeueration,

Had almoſt forc't her to commiſeration,

And that ſhe lou'd: but where our ſelues we are not

We often wiſh, when do the thing we dare not.

I do confeſſe I beare you ſome affection,

Although the ſame I yet durſt neuer ſhew:

For where the Parents will haue all election;

The children muſt be bended to their bow,

And therefore ſince their will muſt be my law,

Let me entreat your meaning to with-draw:

How happy are thoſe maids, whofe fearleſſe voice

May of their husbands make their own free choice▪

Both hope and feare in Hercules his face,

Were ſeene to combat: when he thus repli'd,

Let me enioy thy fauour and thy grace,

And I reſpect not all thy friends beſide:

For though they be vnwilling, and withſtand

To giue their full conſent to my demand,

Yet if to be my wife thou wilt agree,

Without their liking I will marry thee.

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Pitty it were, your feruent loue (ſaid Kate)

Should want his merite and his due deſart,

And I could wiſh, if it were not too late,

To giue redreſſe to your deſtreſſed heart;

But that my Parents haue decreed it meeter,

To haue me married vnto Maiſter Peter:

The wealthy Linnin-Draper at the Bell,

Though I proteſt I loue you twice as well.

To Maiſter Peter? (quoth he) whar am I,

That Shepeheards-holland ſhould bee thought my better

It is my parents will (did Kate reply)

And they intend me to that log to fetter,

But bleſt were I, before our hands do meete,

If I were ſhrouded in my winding ſheete,

For ſure I am, although I do him marry,

True loue vnto him I ſhall neuer carry.

Hereat ſhe ſtaid and wept. He wip'd her eies,

And wept to ſee her weepe; and thus repli'd:

My deereſt loue, before the Sun doth riſe

Earely to morrow do thy ſelfe prouide,

And ſecretly to London with me wend,

Where of theſe matters I will make an end,

For I will wed thee firſt, and which is ſweeter,

I'le bed thee after in deſpight of Peter.

And let thy froward Parents fret their fill,

VVhich ſeeke to marry thee againſt thy minde:

If thou wilt grant me promiſe of good will,

And take the courſe which I haue now aſſign'd,

Though all thy friends diſpleaſure ſeeme to take,

And both thy parents do thee quite forſake:

Their frownes or fauours I do little ſtand on,

For I till death will neuer thee abandon.

[Page]

Kate, which knew well, when as the Sun did ſhine

It was the fitteſt ſeaſon to make hay,

Did now thinke meete her Fortreſſe to reſigne:

Conſidering dangers iſſue from delay:

And therefore ſetting circumſtance aſide,

Becauſe his loue ſo faithfull ſhe had tride,

Shee was content next morning before day,

Sans fathers leaue to ſteale with him away.

Thus was this match confirm'd with many a kiſſe,

And they on all things fully were concluded:

VVhen loe! mine Hoſteſſe (ſeeming Kate to miſſe)

Into the roome forth-with her ſelfe intruded:

And call'd her forth, for much it ſeem'd to mooue her

To ſee her talking ſecret with her Louer,

And therefore chiding Kate(as much offended:)

Away they went, and ſo the woing ended.

And now mine Hoſt, mine Hoſteſſe, & her daughter,

About theſe matters did in counſell ſit,

VVhich when mine Hoſt did heare (ſurpris'd with laughter)

He much did praiſe their quicke and ready wit;

VVhich had ſo ſoone, and in ſuch ſubtile wiſe,

Contriu'd ſo fine and ſtrange an enterpriſe:

And by a ſtratageme ſo rare and witty,

Had caught a ſimple Cuckoe of the Citty.

But (briefly) there, without more conſultation,

It was enacted, by a full conſent

Before the cocke did chant his ſalutation,

Or lampes left burning in the firmament:

That Kate next morning ſhould herſelfe prouide

To meete her louer at the waters ſide:

Sad meeting vnto him, which muſt by lot

Father a child, the which he neuer got.

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Time, which doth ſwiftly turne all things about,

Brought on the time for meeting deſtinate,

VVhen Hercules came ſoftly ſtealing out,

And at his heeles went creeping louely Kate,

Not daring almoſt breath (as he ſuppoſed)

For feare that her eſcape ſhould be diſcloſed:

How happy art thou Hercules to ſinde,

A wench ſo truly conſtant, and ſo kind?

A boate was ready into which they enter▪

Faire ſhipt for London, without winde or tide:

And like to Iupiter with his aduenter,

(When as Europa on his backe did ride)

So vp the Thames in triumph did he ferry,

Proud of his purchaſe, frollicke, blith, and merry:

And landing at the Tower, with liberall purſe

Married they were for better, and for worſe.

Thus is the Woodcocke fall'n into the gin,

And in Lobs-pound intangled by a wile:

Behold the fortune of a Cittizen,

That makes no conſcience others to beguile!

In woing time here likewiſe vnderſtand,

At Cuckolds-Hauen to be caſt on land,

How ominous it is, and hard to flie.

The horned chance of forked deſtinie.

But this is for thy comfort (man of Trade)

Thou neither art the firſt, nor ſhalt be laſt,

Which haſt a voyage in this manner made,

And bene on quicke-ſands by miſ-fortune caſt:

For 'tis vncertaine to the moſt that wed,

Whether they haue a womans Maiden-head:

And 'tis as hard a matter to be knowne,

VVhether they keep more children thē their own.

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Therefore ye rurall and champ eſtriall men,

Which liue in villages and Countrie Townes,

Doe not deride and mocke the Cittizen,

As if there were no Cuckolds among Clownes;

As though your maids were Malkins; & your wiues

Would carue no Codfiſh, wanting of your kniues,

For 'tis reported (greater is the pittie)

The Countrie partly imitates the Cittie.

I doe confeſſe, the Cittie may of due

Plead of the Hornes the more abundant ſhare,

Chiefly by reaſon of the gallant crue,

Which there reſide, and of their daintie fare,

Beſides, Plaies, Pageants, and the tilting day,

May giue occaſion for to run aſtray.

Againe, their beauties, and their braue attire

Are greater motiues to prouoke deſire.

Nath'les I would not haue a ruſticke Swaine

Condemne all Cittizens to be cornuted,

As the Countrie were deuoid of ſtaine,

And that the Cittie were alone polluted;

For many Cittizens did neuer ſet

Their wiues in ſhoppes more Cuſtomers to get:

Though diuers wealthie farmers haue ben knowne

To keepe their Landlordes children as their owne.

The thriftie Cittizen with liues by Trade

Hath in a roome or two his wife confin'd,

So that the want of place hath often made

Some woemen honeſt, much againſt their minde.

She neuer walkes abrade, but either hee

Or his apprentice watch her narrowly;

So that by any meanes I cannot ſee

How euerie Tradeſman ſhould a Cuckold bee.

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Whereas the Countrie forreſts, woods, and feilds,

Groues, thickets, haiecockes, graſſe, and ſtanding corne,

To ſuch intentes more fit occaſion yeildes

And greater libertie to graft the Horne.

And therefore howſoere the Cittie-Dame

For pride and beautie may deſerue the name,

Yet Countrie Marian with her liuelie browne

Is oft as willing to be tumbled downe.

Therefore allthough much crazed broken wares

Are vented vnto Cittizens by chance;

Yet ſure the Countrie people haue their ſhares,

And hand in hand with Cittizens may dance:

And this to be no fiction nor a lie

Their Teachers in white ſhetes can teſtifie:

So that I muſt conclude. Both Towne and Cittie

Haue ſtore of Cuckolds, worthie, rich and wittie.

But now doth Hercules enioie his Bride,

And to his houſe with glorie doth her bring

God giue you ioy, his freindes & neighbours cride,

And ſend you comfort of your wedding ring.

Thus for a weeke in pleaſures and delights

They feaſt on daies, and frollicke in the nights,

When loe! a ſudden ſtorme did ouerſpread

The mirth and reuells of their marriage bed.

The Iouiall time of paſtime and content,

Which married perſons do in kiſſing ſpend,

Was ſcarce begun, when all their merriment

By meanes of forked fortune mad an end.

And now their Hony-Moone, that late was cleare,

Did pale, obſcure, and tenebrous appeare;

And thruſting forth her hornes, did plaine bewray,

That ſome are Cuckolds on their wedding day.

[Page]

The reaſon of this ſudden diſcontent,

Which nipt ſo ſoone their pleaſures in the ſpring,

Was by occaſion of an accident,

A luckleſſe chance, and vnexpected thing,

That vnto maiſter Hercules befell,

Which made him thinke his head began to ſwell:

A ſudden Croſſe, which did ſo much him paine,

That now he wiſht to be vnwed againe.

They were not long conioyn'd in wedlocks band,

But that from them a Meſſinger was ſent

Vnto mine Hoſt, to let him vnderſtand

The wedding newes, and how all matters went:

Which when he heard; with wordes he Kate reuil'd,

Calling her graceleſſe, diſobedient child;

And ſince ſhe married, (all her friends vnwilling)

He ſwore frō thē ſhe neuer ſhould haue ſhilling.

This was fome cauſe, why Hercules might grieue,

And of his haſtie marriage ſoone repent;

(The want of portion, with ſhould him relieue,

The lacke of Parents fauour and conſent)

The want of wealth for which ſome onely marrie

Might giue him cauſe with Katherine to varie:

But want of theſe, nor all theſe did moleſt him:

It was too much of one thing which oppreſt him.

Too much and more then he was glad ro finde,

Too much and more then he ſo ſoone expected,

Did ſo with iealous thoughts diſturbe his minde,

That now his Bride by him was much ſuſpected.

For as one night he chanced to put ouer

His twining arme about his naked Louer,

'As married men are wont to doe in bed)

With ſudden feare he was aſtoniſhed.

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For as he there her bodie did embrace,

Touching each tender and delicious limme,

Her breaſts, her necke, her chin, her noſe, her face,

So round, ſtreight, prettie, beautifull, and trimme:

And finding thoſe ſo pleaſant to his touch,

Downward he felt if lower partes were ſuch,

But on her bellie when his hand was laid,

A quicke conceit his further ſearching ſtaid.

A quicke conceit, or thing conceiued quicke,

Vnder his hand he deemed for to feele,

And now he thought that it did ſtir and kicke,

As if it were a creature with a heele.

But in the end he certainly concluded,

That in this haſtie march he was deluded,

And that this ſtirring motion needes muſt be

A liuing child, and two-legd Timpanie.

And doe I liue? (thought he) or am I dead?

Or doe I ſleepe? or doe I dreame awake?

Or doe I feele? or are my ſenſes fled?

Or doth this ſtir? or doe I but miſtake?

No ſure, I liue, and waking haue perceiu'd,

That I doe feele, my wife is quicke conceiu'd;

That I doe truly feele, and plainly finde

Theſe ſtirring motions cannot come from winde.

And am I gul'd? and made a laughing ſtocke,

To haue my children gotten to my hand?

And had you none (ſweete wife) but me to mocke?

Or do you thinke I cannot vnderſtand?

Muſt I be baud vnto your baſe deſire,

And cloak your whordome like an Apple-ſquire?

No, Kate you ſhall perceiue that I haue eies,

And can deſcerne your wiles and pollicies.

[Page]

Herewith his ſleeping wife he did awake,

And grauely to examine her begun

What thing is this which doth this ſtirring make,

And vp and downe thy bellie ſeemes to run?

Art thou with child? & couldſt thou find no other

To be thy ſtake, and make a yonger brother?

Or do'ſt thou thinke I am ſo ſoone beguild,

That I will patronize an others child?

Kate, with had long before theſe things debated,

Now of an anſwere was not to prouide,

Nor at his ſpeaches did ſhe ſeeme amated,

Neither to be conceiued ſhe denide.

For I confeſſe (quoth ſhe) I feele ſome thing

Within my bellie for to leape and ſpring,

Which if it be an infant, as I gather,

Here I will take mine othe, you are the father.

Shameleſſe and wicked woman, void of grace,

Do'ſt thou not bluſh (ſaid he) theſe wordes to giue?

Can it be true, that in ſo little ſpace

A child ſhould be begotten, moue, and liue?

Cert's if you proue ſo ſoone, and child ſo quickly,

We ſhall haue ſtore of children it is likely;

But 'tis ſo plaine, that I will pawne my life,

You were with child, before you were my wife.

And therefore early doe your ſelfe prouide,

And backe againe vnto your friends repaire:

For I will be no Gold-ſmith, for to hide,

And guild the outſide of your copper ware,

Nor will I be a marchant of retaile,

To ſet your broken marchandiſe to ſale

No, miſtris Kate; your counning is too ſhallowe,

I am not yet ſo blind ſuch flies to ſwallowe.

[Page]

Kate was not daunted at his boſterous threats,

Nor of his mighty menaces a fraid:

Neither for pardon at his hands entreats;

But boldly vnto Hercules ſhe ſaid:

Haue I (ſaid ſhe) vnfortunate, vnbleſt,

Againſt my Parents liking and beheſt,

Onely for loue (vnwiſely) choſen thee,

Reiecting many better of degree?

And are you now ſo iealous without ground?

Or elſe growne weary of your wedding ſtate?

Do you not know, when marriage once hath bound,

That afterwards repentance is too late?

Haue I caſt off my friends at your petition?

And would you now diuorce me for ſuſpition?

Making your ſelfe a by-word vnto men,

And laughing ſtocke to euery Cittizen.

VVell Mynion (anſwered he) I tell you plaine,

Ile not be bob'd with ſuch a ſlight excuſe:

You know, without a cauſe I do not plaine,

Nor will I pocket vp this vilde abuſe.

For though till death the lawes of wedlocke bind,

Yet in this caſe I am not of your minde.

For if conditions be diſſolu'd by you,

The forfeit of the bond, I'le ſtand vnto.

If I (ſaid ſhe) haue broke my plighted vow,

Or ſince the marriage gone one ſtep awry,

Then vſe the rigour which Law doth allow,

And of the forfeite take the penalty:

But from my promiſe ſince I haue not ſweru'd,

But haue my faith inuiolate obſeru'd▪

I craue no fauour: Therefore do your worſt,

It is your child, and you ſhall ſee it nurſt.

[Page]

And though my wrathfull Parents for your ſake,

Out of their loue and fauour haue me throwne,

Yet both of them I will acquainted make,

And preſently ſend for them to the Towne:

And though my fooliſh choice much hath them grieued

VVhereby I might deſpaire to be relieued;

Yet ſince my honeſt name is at the ſtake,

I hope that now they will not me forſake.

Thus for that night the conference had end,

And careleſſe Kate fell quickly faſt a ſleepe:

But Maiſter Hercules the night did ſpend,

In troublous thoughts, which did him waking keep:

Sometimes he thought to put her quite away;

Sometimes ſuppos'd it fitter ſhe ſhould ſtay;

Sometimes to make it knowne he deemed beſt;

Sometimes much better that it were ſuppreſt.

For if he caſt her off, or make it knowne,

Though to her ſhare great ſcandall might betide,

Yet he perceiu'd the ſcorne would be his owne,

And that the world his folly would deride:

Or if he kept her, and the fault conceale,

(To ſhun reproaches in the common-weale)

Yet inwardly ſome griefe would ſtill be cleauing,

Becauſe that he muſt take anothers leauing,

And thus perplexed in his doubtfull mind,

Conſulting with himſelfe he lay all night,

Vntill the Roſie morning had aſſign'd,

The clouds of darkeneſſe to auoid the light:

VVhen from his bed ariſing preſently,

He went vnto a neighbour dwelling by,

His truſty friend, a Midwife by vocation,

Of great experience, and good eſtimation.

[Page]

Full twentie yeres ſhe had a widdowe been

Like to a Turtle mourning for her make,

Yet fat and plump ſhe was for to be ſeen,

As if but little care ſhe vſ'd to take:

Manie a match and married copulation

Had been affected by her inſtigation.

True talkatiue ſhe was, like all the reſt,

And could tell bawdie tales, and breake a ieſt.

Some little skill ſhe had in Surgerie,

And could redreſſe, and cure diſeaſes hidden,

Which doe proceed from luſt and ſurquedrie,

By taſting of thoſe fruites with are forbidden,

By which occaſion ſhe was well acquainted

With diuers Cittizens that had been tainted,

And for this ſecret cauſe, or for ſome others

Was Hercules well knowne to this old mother.

Vnto this ghoſtlie Counſailor he came,

And all his grieuance let her vnderſtand:

Deſiring her, that to preuent the ſhame,

Which did attend his credit hard at hand,

She would aduiſe him in her pollicie,

What he ſhould doe in this perplexitie:

And ſo the ſtory of his woe he told

From point to point, as I did erſt vnfold.

Which when old mother Maribones did heare,

Like to a ſage and ſober Ape ſhe ſmiled,

And thus repli'd I wis, my neighbours deare

It is hard meaſure to be thus beguiled,

And (lure) it cannot chuſe but vex your minde

Such quicke conception in your wife to find:

Nor truly (neighbour) can I much you blame,

If you be mou'd and angrie for the ſame.

[Page]

But let me tell you; 'Tis no time to grieue,

Or raiſe tumultuous brawles about this thing

Iarring debate cannot your wrong relieue,

Nor anie helpe vnto your head-ache bring.

Rather with patience, and with quiet carriage,

Support the Croſſes of your haſtie marriage.

For ſince the Prieſt the wedding knot hath tide,

For better and for worſe ſhe is your Bride.

Keepe her you muſt with quietnes or ſtrife,

And therefore make your choice of which you will

If ſhe be true or falſe, ſhe is your wife,

So is ſhe likewiſe, be ſhe good or ill.

If ſhe be fat and rich, or leane and poore;

If Saint or Deuill, honeſt or a whore;

After the weddings ſportfull celebration

It is too late to make a recantation.

To put her quite away for this her claime

In law and conſcience you can haue no reaſon:

For ſince the fault was done before your time,

Cauſe of diuorce doth now come out of ſeaſon,

Since therefore by no meanes you can forſake her,

But that with all her faults you needes muſt take her,

'Tis rather for your credit to conceale it,

Then to your ſhame and infamie reueale it.

And yet I would not haue you ſo content,

Wholly to cloke and ſwallow this abuſe;

Make ſhew of anger, wrath and diſcontent,

Neither allow of anie blind excuſe:

Threaten diuorce, and if that beare no ſway,

Priuately ſend her to her friends away.

And bodly let them know, that backe againe

You neuer meane your wife to entertaine.

[Page]

Which when her Parents ſee, that ſtill make ſhowe

Of great diſpleaſure at their daughters choice,

And neither will with portion her endowe

Nor with kind looke, nor confortable voice.

When they behold their daughter in that caſe,

Turnd out of dores vnto her foule diſgrace,

Though heretofore they haue been proud & ſtout,

Then ſhall you ſee them glad to ſeeke you out.

Then ſhall you ſee them humbly to you ſue,

With faire entreaties, and much obſecration,

That her offence you would with pittie vewe,

And on their yeares take ſome commiſeration,

And not to make them, and their onelie daughter,

The ſcornefull ſubiect of reproch and laughter.

Then will they promiſe much and giue you more,

If you will keepe her ſtill and ſalue this ſore.

And now, allthough at firſt you were vnwilling

Euer againe to take their daughter Kate;

Yet when you ſee your cheſtes and chambers filling,

With ſtore of monie, houſhold-ſtuffe and plate.

Then may you ſeeme by little to relent,

And (in your loue) her follie to lament,

And that you pleaſe (vpon her good behauiour)

At their requeſtes to take her into fauour

Thus ſhall you purchaſe both her Parents loue,

Obtaine great riches, and conceale your ſhame:

And this your kindneſſe will your wife ſo moue,

(If ſhe haue anie grace to weigh the ſame)

That ſhe will proue ſo honeſt, kind, and chaſt,

And ſhe will ſatisfie for all is paſt.

And all your friends which ſee her vertuous life,

Will bleſſe your fortune in ſo good a wife.

[Page]

And though ſhe be big-bellied with a child,

That you are certaine cannot be your owne:

Let it not grieue you to be thus beguild,

(Conſidering that the matter is not knowne)

Neither refuſe to patronize the ſame,

And Chriſten it according to your name,

For manie wealthie Cittizens haue done it,

And either did not know, or could not ſhun it.

For better is your caſe then manie others,

Whoſe iealous mindes are ſtill oppreſt with feare,

Euer ſuſpecting when their wiues growe mothers,

They are not fathers to the babes they beare,

And ſtill ambiguous, that their wiues diſſemble,

If their yong infantes doe them not reſemble

Whereas you need not feare to be beguild,

For you are certaine it is not your child.

And though it be not yours, nor you can tell

What Cuckoe laid this egge within your neſt,

Imagine it is yours, and all is well.

For in imagination all doth reſt.

Manie a man is by his wife beguild,

And yet imagines he begot the child.

For whither children be your owne or no,

Imagination onely makes them ſo.

Your wife hath done amiſſe, and ſo haue manie

(For who offendes not, either ſoone or latter)

The moſt haue wanton motions: Neither can I

Excuſe my ſelfe, vnleſſe my ſelfe I flatter,

But when that I was yong, I was enclin'd,

As other merrie wenches are by kind,

For this is all the difference can be ſpide

She is leaſt faultie, that can faules beſt hide.

[Page]

Then ſince ſhe is but like your neighbours wiues;

(Onely her lucke is worſe to haue it knowne)

Since you are tied together for your liues,

And cannot be diuorſt, as I haue ſhowne,

And ſince you cannot her diſgrace report,

But it will breed your ſcorne: let me exhort,

That you conceale her fault; and let her friends

With bags of monie make you ſome amendes.

Thus did that polliticke old woman prate,

And Hercules went home well ſatisfied,

Meane while you muſt conceiue, that craftie Kate

Was neither idle, nor ill occupied.

For ſhee (poſt haſt) a meſſinger had ſent

To let her Parents knowe how all thinges went,

And to deſire them (ſince ſhe ſtood in need)

They would repaire to London with all ſpeed.

And for to keepe without her husbandes reach,

Lockt in a chamber all that day ſhe ſate,

Becauſe ſhe had no minde to heare him preach,

Nor of thoſe matters to expoſtulate.

But when her Parents were come to the Towne,

Out of her chamber ſhe came ſadly downe,

Her head cloſe bound, her countenance deiected,

And on her knees their bleſſing ſhe expected.

But they, (as though ſhe had not been their child

Or they diſdeigned to know her) look'd aſide.

With bitter wordes they ſharpely her reuil'd,

And outwardly made ſhew to brawle and chide.

But Kate with teares of ſorrow and contrition

Vpon her knees for pardon made petition;

Deſiring them, (ſince her offence was paſt)

They would forgiue her, and forget at laſt.

[Page]

Married I am (quoth ſhee) and, would to God,

That I could truly ſay I were not married:

But till repentance whip vs with her rod,

With headſtrong youthfull wills we are ſo carried

We cannot turne: vntill too late we finde

Our ſelues nto your ſelues are moſt vnkinde:

And yet how bleſt and happie were my ſtate

Now to repent, if it were not to late.

But I am tied to ſuch a crabbed Clowne,

That all this Cittie ſcarce hath ſuch a fellow;

For he doth nothing elſe but lowre and frowne,

And hath his hoſe allreadie died in yellow:

Becauſe I breed, he twits me with a crime,

And ſaith I am with child before my time:

And though I left you all (by his perſwaſion)

He meanes to caſt me off by this occaſion.

Herewith a dropping ſhowre of trickling teares,

(As moſt of them haue weeping at command)

Did ſtop her ſpeach. And Hercules appeares,

Which in the next roome all this while did ſtand;

With whom mine Hoſteſſe in great rage & choler

(Seeming much mou'd to ſee her daughters dolour

In haſtie manner did begin to chide,

That ſo vnkindly he had vſ'd his Bride.

And hath our daughter againſt our intent

Made choice (ſaid ſhee) of ſuch a froward mate?

Hath ſhe without our liking and conſent

(Preferring your good will before our hate)

Left all her friends, and gone with you away,

And in this ſort doe you her loue repay?

Now (doubtleſſe) ſhe hath made a goodlie match

Fiſhing ſo faire, at length a Frog to catch.

[Page]

What ſhe hath caught in fiſhing (he replied)

May by her bellie quickly be perceiued,

But for my part, it cannot be denied,

But with a Frog, or worſe, I am deceiued,

Yet howſoere a Frog fall to my ſhare,

Becauſe in fiſhing I did not beware,

Since that the Frog too ſoone doth multiplie,

Ile neither keepe the Frog, nor yet her frie.

The ſimple truth is this I doe not meane

To ſtile an others baſtard by my name.

He which did till the furrowes, let him gleane,

And reape the crop, that growes vpon the ſame:

Your daughter is with child: and I doe finde

That by no meanes it can be of my kinde.

Therefore I am reſolu'd, (let come what may)

Within my houſe ſhe ſhall no longer ſtay.

Sir (ſaid mine Hoſteſſe) if that ſhe were cleare,

I would thinke ſcorne to pin her on your ſleeue,

But ſince ſhe is with child (as you doe feare)

And ye are married (though without our leaue)

Whether that you be willing, or elſe loth

You ſhall maintaine and patronize them both:

For I am ſure you wed not to the halfe,

Yours is the Cow, and you ſhall keepe the calfe,

She is with child, you ſay, and what of that?

'Tis none of yours, you thinke: how can you proue it?

I ſay, if that ſhe be with child, it 's flat,

That you muſt father, keepe, protect, and loue it.

But 'tis not yet a month, ſince you were married,

And therefore you ſuppoſe ſhe hath miſcaried:

But giue me leaue to ſay, you are deceiu'd

For diuers in leſſe time haue been conceiu'd.

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You are too yong as yet, and much to ſeeke,

What to theſe woemens matters doth belong

You thinke, vnleſſe ſhe goe full fortie weeke,

That ſhe hath plaied you falſe and done you wrong;

Alas (goodmen) how cunning you will be

In your wiues childing and deliuerie?

Before you ſcarce know how to get a child,

You will keepe reconing leſt you be beguil'd.

To ſee the child begotten is your part:

It is your wiues to bring them forth in ſeaſon,

It ſhewes a iealous and ſuſpitious heart,

How long or ſhort they reckon, for to reaſon▪

Neuer was man with child. And therefore no man

Can tell thoſe thinges ſo truly as a woman:

And therefore to your proofe I make deniall,

Since by report you ſpeake, and not by triall.

Some foole, or groſſe Phyſition brought to light

This fond opinion firſt of fourtie weekes:

But I will ſhew by arguments aright,

That this opinion is not worth two leekes:

For though in ancient times it might be true,

Yet in the yeares and ages that enſue

It ſtill ſhould hold, is no found inference,

As I will ſhew by good experience.

In former Ages, when the world began,

And that dame Nature was in her full ſtrength,

The time of life appointed vnto man,

Nine hundred and odde yeares was then in length,

Then wiues had time to breed (as writers tell)

And tooke more leiſure for to doe thinges well,

Their children were far greater, large, & ſtronger,

Which was the cauſe that they accounted longer.

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For then a child but newly come to light,

Lying in cloutes vpon his Nurſes knee,

Was euerie way as great in outward ſight,

As now at 20. yeares a man can bee:

And therefore ſuch great children muſt by reaſon

Vnto their birth require a longer ſeaſon

Then doe out little, ſilly, Pigmie brats,

Which, in reſpect of them, are but like Rats.

An other inſtance likewiſe doth me moue,

Which much auaileth for this truths diſcerning,

When our forefathers firſt began to loue,

And generations art was but in learning,

Men were not halfe ſo skillfull in the Trade,

As now by long experience they are made:

And therefore ſhorter time will ſerue (I hold)

To bring forth children now, then did of old.

Againe, dame Nature is more fertile growne,

Then erſt ſhe wonted for to be of yore,

Twice in a yeare you ſee ſome meadowes mowne,

And trees to bring forth fruit, (not ſeene before)

Twice in a yeare ſome Ewes doe multiplie,

And more then twice ſome creatures fructifie,

And diuers wiues, whoſe faith wants no excuſe,

Three or 4. children at one birth produce.

In ancient time full 40. weekes did need,

Becauſe their babes were of a larger ſize:

But now, dame Nature making better ſpeed,

A great deale ſhorter time doth well ſuffize.

For manie woemen, after they are wed,

In leſſe them 20. weekes are brought a bed;

And ſome in ten, and ſome in more, ſome leſſe,

According to their kind, and fruitfullneſſe.

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And which his yet more ſtrange then all the reſt,

But not ſo ſtrange as true; I knowe a wife,

That was eſteem'd as honeſt as the beſt,

And true vnto her husband all her life,

Which, ere a moneth was fully paſt and done

After the wedding, had a goodlie ſonne:

And yet I know her husband will be ſworne,

The child was his, allthough ſo quickly borne.

And therefore, if you meane to liue in quiet,

It is your beſt to make no further trouble

The child is yours: It bootes not to denie it,

And you the father, though ſhe carrie double,

Well (anſwered Hercules) I doe not meane

To keepe a baſtard, and anothers Queane:

Good wordes (ſaid ſhe) & then the harme is ſmall;

You muſt and ſhall, and ther's an end of all.

VVhen as mine Hoſt did heare them grow ſo hot,

VVhich all this while ſtood ſilent without ſpeach,

VVith milder wordes, (as they had laid the plot)

That they would heare him ſpeake, he did beſeech:

I cannot tell (quoth he) to what intent

You hold this ſtrong and needleſſe argument:

For manie idle wordes may breed confuſion,

But neuer bring theſe matters to concluſion.

The caſe is thus. Our daughter you haue married

VVithout our leaue, our liking and conſent;

And therefore, if ſhe chance to haue miſcarried,

It is your iuſt deſerued puniſhment.

If we had been the makers of this match,

You might haue ſaid we did you conicatch:

But ſince it was your worke, againſt our minde,

You muſt be pleaſ'd to take ſuch as you finde.

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I ſpeake not this, becauſe that I doe thinke

My daughter hath plaid falſe, and done you wrong,

But for to let you know, that you muſt drinke

As you haue bru'd, bee it ſmall or ſtrong:

Beſides, the fault (if that ſhe haue offended)

Againſt your perſon cannot be intended:

Becauſe the damage, treſpas, and tranſgreſſion

Was done, before that you were in poſſeſſion.

Likewiſe the Lawes of Holie Church doe binde,

And faſt combine you during all your life,

So that no fault, which at the firſt you finde,

Is cauſe ſufficient to diuorce your wife,

For by the Prieſt you vnder-went this curſe,

To haue and hold for better and for worſe

Then ſure by law you neuer can forſake her,

With all her faults (perforce) you needs muſt take her.

And neuer grudge to take her for your Mate,

For ſhe deſerues your loue: I can you tell,

She might haue had your betters in eſtate,

And left them all, becauſe ſhe lou'd you well:

And for her honeſtie I now dare ſweare,

She is as honeſt, as her mother here:

It is but ſome conceit which feare hath bred,

That thus with iealouſie doth fill your head.

Here: Take her, loue her, and God giue you ioy:

And you ſhall haue 300. pound in hand;

And, after we are dead, you ſhall enioy,

Our houſe, our goods, our monie, and our land:

And if you thinke that Kate hath you beguild,

And therefore doe repine to keepe the child,

Send it to vs; And we will entertaine it,

And at our proper charges will maintaine it.

[Page]

When theſe good motions Hercules did heare,

Allthough at firſt he ſeemed diſcontent

Yet at the laſt all thinges concluded were,

And he well pleaſ'd with their arbitrement:

And thus you ſee how Kate herſelfe behaued,

Whereby her name and credit might be ſaued:

How Hercules is wiu'd, and well befriended,

And all parts pleaſ'd: and thus my Tale his ended.

But from this ſtorie, which I late haue told,

Some few ſhort obſeruations let vs gather

Firſt, how the Cittizen for loue of gold,

An others child was willing for to father:

Whereby we may diſcerne the ſeruile minde

Of many Cittizens in this ſame kinde,

That for deſire of profit will not ſhrinke

At ſuch ſmall faultes, and greater for to winke.

Yea, ſome of them are ſo in loue with monie,

Or elſe ſo couetous to haue Hornes budding,

That to allure great Beares vnto their honie,

And hungrie dogs vnto a dirtie pudding;

They will not ſticke to make their wiues a Stale

To drawe on Cuſtomers for better ſale;

And vnto ſome it is the ſureſt prop,

To haue a handſome woman keepe their ſhop.

And this is one great reaſon, I ſuppoſe,

That in great Townes ſo many Cuckolds ſwarme

For when a Woman, beautious as a Roſe,

Sits in her ſhop, the paſſengers to charme,

Like to a Ship in tempeſts doth ſhe flir

In danger euer minute to be ſplit,

And though ſhe doth eſcape both rockes & ſand,

Yet is not ſafe, vntill ſhe come to land.

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For after all theſe ſtormy guſtes are paſt,

And windes are huſht, and ſeas are calme and ſtill,

On ſubtile Syrens ſhe may fall at laſt,

VVhoſe ſmiles are wiles; whoſe kindeſt lookes do kil

Beſides, on cruell Pirats ſhe may light,

And be encountred in the darke of night:

And though a while ſhe fight, yet ten to one

Some cānon ſhootes her through, & then ſhee's gone

Euen ſo a Cittizen, that ſets his wife

A publique lodeſtone to attract mens eies,

Doth vnto danger leaue her honeſt life,

Amongſt both Syrens, ſtormes, and Pyracies

And therefore, if that ſome be Cuckolds named,

Onely themſelues I thinke are to be blamed:

For notwithſtanding all their ſhops pretence,

They are the Bawdes vnto their wiues offence.

Yea ſome of them, (as though this were too little)

To hood the forked corners of their head)

Allthough they know their wiues are fraile & brittle,

And apt into temptations to be led,

Yet vnto Tauernes, ſpectacles and Plaies;

And to the Court vpon the ſolemne daies,

They will conuoy them verie faire and quaint,

As though a woman were an earthly Saint.

And yet miſtake not, for I will not ſay,

But manie of them are both chaſt and pure:

Yet thoſe are meanes to make them run a ſtray,

For golden booties ſoone doe theeues allure:

And yet they need no winde to blow the fire:

Cornus. A cornel Tree or a Tree whereof Butchers make prickes.

For they are hot euen of their owne deſire,

And ſome of them (though kept with key & lock)

VVill graft a horne-thorne tree vpon your ſtocke.

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A well-conceited fiction I haue read,

Among the Stories which old Poets framed,

Of one that had within his carefull head

An hundred eyes: and he was Argus named.

And yet for all his eyes which neuer cloſed,

But euermore to watching were diſpoſed,

One ſilly woman he could hardly keepe,

For whiles he ſlept but once, ſhe playd bo-peepe.

Oh what deceitfull trickes haue women kinde.

When they intend their luſt to ſatisfie?

How boundleſſe and vnſatiate is their minde,

When they are bent to lawleſſe luxurie?

How brittle, fickle, wauering, falſe and fraile,

Like to a wether-cocke, ſtill turning taile?

So that to write their faults, who doth intend,

May well begin, but nere ſhall make an end.

But why ſhould I complaine of letchery?

Obiection.

Or preſſe bad wiues with ſuch an exclamation?

Since they vphold the ſtate of Cuckoldrie,

And are the pillars of that ordination.

If that the fruit be good, no cauſe I ſee,

Why we ſhould fault, or diſcommend the tree:

Or by our malice ſeeke the mans diſgrace,

Which by his cunning graft it in that place.

The end is all (the prouerbe old doth ſay)

And doth approue, or diſallow each thing:

Nor do the cauſes wander much aſtray,

Which to a good concluſion matters bring.

If that a woman ſomewhat tread awry,

And follow ſports of luſt and venery,

Why ſhould we blame her, ſince ſhe doth pretend

Her husbands good, and credit in the end.

[Page]

What reaſon haue I then (may ſome ſuppoſe)

To raile at woemen in this bitter manner?

If wiues were true, and free from ſecret blowes,

How ſhould their husbāds purchaſe ſuch an honor?

If that a Cuckold be ſo braue a name,

They rather merit praiſe, then any blame.

And thus will Momus ſnarling brood complaine,

What late I prais'd, I now diſpraiſe againe.

Well could I wiſh the world were at that ſtay,

And euery woman of ſo honeſt carriage,

That hornes, which now beare ſuch a mighty ſway,

Might be exil'd the bonds of lawfull marriage.

But ſince this fortune hath befalne ſo many,

I ſay not that I cannot exempt any.

Better it were the title ſhould be graced,

Then honeſt Cuckolds vtterly defaced.

And though when fruit is good, we cannot blame

Or fault the perſon which did graft the tree,

Yet in the ground which other men do claime,

We cannot plant, nor graft, nor ſowe as free.

Each hath his parcell; that which is incloſed,

Muſt at the owners pleaſure be diſpoſed.

If ground be ſcarce, the common fields be cheape,

Yet let men ſowe whereas they meane to reape.

The end is all; and ſo may Cuckolds ſing,

For many men are Cuckolds in the end,

Yet little good proceedeth from that thing

To her, which doth her husband thus offend.

For where ſhe was eſteemed chaſte before,

Now ſhe is taken for a paltry whore:

Nor was her end to win him reputation,

But for to quench the flames of fornication.

[Page]

If that a tyrant merits any praiſe,

Which doth adiudge a Martyr to be ſlaine,

Then doth a wanton wife, which ſpends her dayes

In making hornes to breed her husbands bane

Deſerue great thankes: For both alike wee ſee,

To be the cauſes of their deſtinie.

But though bad manners better orders breed,

Still they are nought, & ſhame ſhal be their meed.

None I ſuppoſe is of ſo vild a life,

But will affirme it by his owne confeſſion:

To haue cloſe dealing with anothers wife,

It is a ſhameleſſe and a great tranſgreſſion;

Yet though from thence ariſe a Cuckolds name,

No blemiſh can redound vnto the ſame.

For oft we ſee, euen from a dung-hill growes,

Sweet flowers, which neither ſent nor odour loſe.

Many a man of credit,

As Iakes-farmers, Scauingers, and Curriers.

and good place,

Hath earnd great riches by a ſtinking Trade:

And neither doth his liuing him deface,

Nor of a baſer reckoning is he made.

Why then ſhould men thus ſcorne a Cuckolds life,

For that his name comes by a ſtinking wife?

Who doth diſlike good meat, is void of wit,

Although a greazie Scullion turne the ſpit.

Many a wicked father hath beene knowne,

To haue a ſonne of good and honeſt life:

And many a famous Cuckold of renowne,

Hath erſt beene married to a wanton wife.

And yet the womans lewdneſſe is no ſhame

Vnto the credit of a Cuckolds name.

For (certs) a Cuckold in his generation

Is held a name of worth and eſtimation.

[Page]

And of all men that liue vpon the ground,

None can more fitly be a Martyr named:

For with ſuch ſcoffes and mockes his dayes abound,

As would in truth make any man aſhamed,

But that with patience he is poſſeſt,

Which makes him happie and his ſtate more bleſt:

For Patience ſuch a noble vertue is,

As will in fine promote him vnto bliſſe.

This is the cauſe ſo many learned Clarkes,

So many antient Authors, and graue men,

Did in their ſeueral volumes and their workes;

Much in the praiſe of worthy Cuckolds pen.

For where this patience is ſo much commended,

A Cockolds honor needs muſt be intended.

And well we may expound them in that ſenſe,

Since that a Cuckold is all Patience.

And rather truly might thoſe learned wits,

Applaud a Cuckold vnder that pretence:

Becauſe this vertue, which that ſtate befits,

Might beare among them ſome preheminence.

And ſince it might ſeeme fooliſh to dilate,

The pollicy of old Writers in prayſing Cuckolds.

In open words the glory of their ſtate;

Better they thought to ſet before her eyes▪

The patient Cuckolds praiſes in this wiſe.

Tully the Orator ſo much admir'd,

The Paragon of ſweet-tun'd Eloquence,

In ſuch a robe of glory hath attir'd

A Cuckolds vertue and his patience:

That he not onely hath preferd him cleere

Before all men that are,

Haec qui facial, non ego ſummia viris eum comparo, verùm etiàm ſimillimum Dijs iudico.

or euer were;

But alſo hath (without reſpect of ods)

Reputed him as equall to the gods.

[Page]

Iliſt not here alledge what all haue ſaid,

In commendation of the patient crue,

The vſuall examples, which are made,

Do proue my ſayings and aſſertions true.

That ſure I wonder, and I much admire them,

(Vnleſſe the hornes with patience do inſpire them)

How they ſo meekly ſuffer and abide,

The wrongs and iniuries which them betide.

But (doubtleſſe) they are men of gallant parts,

Poſſe & Nolle Nobile.

And ſcorne to take reuenge for euery toy:

It fits not valorous and noble harts

To picke a quarrell with each ſcuruy boy:

They liue contented ſtill what ere befall,

And for their croſſes neither fight nor brall,

What Fortune ſends, they willingly receiue,

As you by this example may perceiue.

An honeſt good plaine-dealing man of life,

Which got his liuing daily by his labour,

Finding a knaue in ſporting with his wife,

And playing frolickly vpon his Tabor,

Did not,

A wiſe and honeſt Cuckold.

as ſome would vſe to ſweare & ſwagger,

And at the firſt ſight ſtab him with his dagger;

But in good words he wiſht they would amend,

And let him go, becauſe he was his friend.

Here is a glaſſe for all men to behold

How great the patience of a Cuckold is,

Worthy in leaues of braſſe to be inrold,

That after-ages might remember this.

Neuer was perſon of ſo mild a hart,

That if he found his wife at ſuch a part,

Would with ſuch quiet brooke ſo great a ſcorne,

Except he had an intereſt in the horne.

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I know ſome hot-ſpurd-youths,

Note this my yong gallants.

which are not wed,

Will ſweare this Cuckold was a very lout:

For if that they had found the knaue a bed,

Zound's, by the eares they would haue puld him out.

They would haue beate the villaine like a ſtocke,

That neuer after he ſhould loue the ſmocke:

And in ſuch manner they would vſe the Boore,

Scarce he ſhould go aliue out of their doore.

Thus will my youthfull ſtriplings,

Omnes facilè cum valemus, Recta conſilia aegrotis demus.

in their vaine,

Brag of their valor, ere they go to field.

But vanting Souldiers oftentimes are ſlaine,

Or in the battle forced for to yeeld.

An emptie veſſell giues a mighty ſound,

When leaſt or nothing can therein be found.

Many can tell the way to tame a ſhrow,

But they which haue the woman do not know.

Oft haue I heard a gallant ſay as much,

And ſtamp, & ſweare, that he would flea him quicke:

Yet hath his fortune afterwards beene ſuch,

Though he haue come euen in the very nicke,

And taken one in bourding with his wife,

He durſt not draw his dagger for his life,

But was content to faine himſelfe aſleepe,

Meane while his head was armed like a ſheepe.

What are they better if they take the knaue,

And beat him ſoundly, or bereaue his life?

Can they auoyd the title they muſt haue?

Or purchaſe any credit to their wife?

'Tis but a meanes to breed their further ſcorne,

Becauſe ſo grieuouſly they take the horne.

Better it is to ſee, and not eſpy it,

Then by their folly more for to deſery it.

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But if the Cuckold-maker be ſo bold,

To turne againe, and brauely play the man,

And knocke the Cuckold while his cudgell hold,

In what a taking is the Cuckold than?

Surely by this needs muſt he gaine profoundly,

That both is Cuckolded and beaten ſoundly,

Much wiſer might he ſeeme to hold his peace,

Then with ſhrewd knocks his ſorrows to increaſe.

If my aduice may ſerue in any ſted,

Rather I giue thee counſaile not to ſee,

When thou beholdſt a knaue within thy bed,

Then for to make a brawle, or mutinie:

For he that takes the horne in ſuch a grudge,

A very ſimple fellow men him iudge.

When he that is not halfe ſo foole-preciſe,

Is oft eſteemed to be very wiſe.

And well may he be taken for a Clowne,

VVhich, when hee cannot remedy the thing,

Doth in his fury trouble all the Towne,

And makes the Country of his folly ring.

But though the vulgar ſort a Cuckold deeme him,

He is a Cuckold, not worthy to bee a Cuckold.

Yet worthy of that name I not eſteeme him.

For to the horne this vertue doth belong,

That patient heads muſt vndergoe each wrong.

And now vpon a ſudden to my ſight

Preſents himſelfe a greater foole then this;

VVhich is not onely pleas'd to bring to light,

And make a wonder of his wiues amiſſe.

But for to proue himſelfe a very Daw,

Needes muſt hee bee diuorced by the Law.

A Cuckold with a witnes, and a Cuckold by authority.

The firſt; By witneſſe is a Cuckold cleped,

This; By authority the hornes hath reaped.

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Graue-headed fathers of the horned crue,

And all yee patient friends of Cuckoldſhire,

Let me intreat a little boone of you:

(Tis for your good and credit I require)

Baniſh theſe peaſants, theſe two lowring Ianglers,

Expell them from your company for wranglers:

Raze out their names and titles from your booke,

Which their good fortune with ſuch fury brooke.

Neuer let them be ranged in your band,

Which grieue to haue their Head-peece made of horne,

It cannot with your reputation ſtand,

Your colours by faint cowards ſhould be borne.

Plucke off their horns, & on their coxcombs place

A paire of Aſſes eares to their diſgrace.

VVell doth their folly this old ſaying fit,

A male-contented Cuckold hath no wit.

For let me but expoſtulate this caſe;

Although to you I know it is but vaine,

VVhich are of wiſdome, and with time and place

Can order all your actions to your gaine.

VVhat better is the wood-cocke, made a wonder,

VVhen with a knaue he ſees his wife lye vnder?

Or what amendment doth he reape from hence,

To put her quite away for this offence?

I muſt confeſſe (perforce) this is the way

To let the world haue notice of his name:

Yet him I hold a foole which doth diſplay

Thoſe things which may redound vnto his ſhame.

And greater is his madneſſe I ſuppoſe,

VVhich whē he hath good fortune, ſcarcely knows

But moſt his folly, if I dare ſo ſay,

Which bolts the doore when Steed is ſtolne away.

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Better it is in quiet take the cup,

(Since what is wouen cannot be vn-ſpun)

And patiently to drinke thy ſorrowes vp,

Than call in queſtion what thy wife hath done.

If of the hornes perchance thou art aſhamed,

Tenne times as much by this thou art defamed:

And where to few before the fault was knowne,

Now all about the countrey it is blowne.

Thou may'ſt remoue th'occaſion of this matter,

And by a lawfull courſe diuorce thy wife:

Yet with the vulgar ſort, which cannot flatter,

Thou ſhalt be thought a Cuckold all thy life.

And though with equitie you be vntied,

The moſt will cenſure hardly on thy ſide:

For whether part ſoeuer be in fault,

Still is the husband deemed for to halt.

But to conclude, when all is come about,

And that from thee thy wife is quite diuorced,

What haſt thou earned but a mocke or flout?

For ſtill to weare the hornes thou muſt be forced.

Yet here proceedes great cauſe to make thee ſorie,

The name of Cuckold giues to thee no glorie:

And though the title make another bleſt,

Shame and diſgrace it paints vpon thy creſt.

The pureſt Wheat, caſt in a cankred ground,

Dies ere it ſprout, and neuer veelds increaſe:

Good holeſome meat, when bodie is vnſound,

Doth cloy the ſtomacke, and the man diſeaſe:

So, if the Hornes be grafted in his head,

Which is with furie and impatience led,

Nothing but ſcoffes and mocks they do importune,

Though otherwiſe the Scutchions of good fortune.

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This is the ſcope and meaning of the place,

That ancient Poets of Actaeon faine,

Which took the hornes with griefe and ſuch diſgrace,

That of his dogged paſſions he was ſlaine.

For this the ſtorie plainely ſhewes in part,

His dogs did teare him in the ſhape of Hart:

And this to all mad Cuckolds be the end,

All wiues which haue doting husbands ſay Amen.

Which grudge at that they neuer can amend.

Here can I not with ſilence ouer paſſe,

Without great preiudice vnto the Horne,

To tell how patient once a Painter was,

(As kind a Cuckold as was euer borne)

And ſince it is a matter of ſome worth,

Meet to be drawne in golden colours forth,

After my ſimple skill it ſhall be painted,

Though with the Pencill I am not acquainted.

This cunning Painter was but newly wed,

Liuing in pleaſure with his wanton wife;

When Fortune ayming for to horne his head,

(As Fortune ſtill diſturbes the quiet life)

Gaue him occaſions by an enuious chance,

That he by ſea muſt trauaile into France,

The night before his iourney he did take,

Thus to his wife in bed the Painter ſpake.

Sweet wife (quoth he) thou know'ſt I loue thee deerly,

And much I grieue to leaue thee thus alone,

I ſeare my abſence it will touch thee neerely,

And my departure cauſe thee ſigh and mone:

But be content (my deere) I will not ſtay

Aboue a moneth at moſt from thee away,

'Tis but a little while (my pretie Sweet)

Shortly I hope againe we two ſhall meet.

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Yet in remembrance, till I come againe,

And that in heart with thee at home I am,

Let me entreat thee (if it be no paine)

That on thy belly I may paint a Lambe:

Not that thy truth or honeſtie I feare,

For thou art too too honeſt I dare ſweare;

But that it be a ſigne before thy eyes,

Both when thou go'ſt to bed, and doſt ariſe.

And that when ſtill thou look'ſt vpon this geere,

And on the little Lambe doſt caſt a glance,

Thou maiſt remember who did paint him there,

And ſend a ſigh vnto the coaſt of France,

And thinke thy husband will no longer ſtay,

Then his affaires be paſt, if winds obey;

And with theſe words he kiſt her, and ſo ſtaid,

When ſhe againe this readie anſwere made.

Husband (quoth ſhe) and then the woman wept,

And ſigh'd and ſob'd, as though ſhe had been ſickly:

Deere husband, your great kindneſſe I accept,

And ſore lament, we thus muſt part ſo quickly.

Yet neuer thinke that I ſhould you forget,

Thogh your affaires a tweluemonth ſhould you Iet:

But if to paint a Lambe will breed your eaſe,

Paint on my belly euen while you pleaſe.

The good plaine-dealing man was glad of this,

He tooke his Pencill, and to worke he went,

And on her belly did he paint (ywis)

A pretie little Lambe incontinent.

But ſince the winde for no mans cauſe doth ſtay,

He is imbarkt for France, and gone away:

Pitie it were to tell the griefe and mone

His wife made for him, being left alone.

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Behold how croſſe ſometimes our fortune playes,

The Painter his affaires did hap ſo ill,

That now are almoſt paſt thrice thirtie dayes,

And yet he is conſtrain'd to tarrie ſtill:

So that before his buſineſſe was ended,

Three quarters of a yeare were quite expended:

And ſince in France ſo long the Painter tarries,

Marke how his wife her ſelfe in England carries.

A moneth ſhe tooke his abſence paſſing ſad;

But when he came not at th' appointed day,

She entertaines another luſtie lad,

For to maintaine the ſport, and hold her play:

Which in all points did pleaſe her luſt ſo right,

That he was welcome to her euerie night;

Nor much ſhe cared, but in outward ſhow,

Whether the Painter came againe or no.

The luſtie youth, which was with her acquainted,

And kept poſſeſſion of her husbands place,

By chance eſpied vpon her bellie painted

The little Lambe, whereat he laught apace:

But ſure he thought it wanted ſome perfection,

Becauſe of hornes there was a plaine defection;

And therefore when the woman was aſleepe,

He painted two great hornes vpon the ſheepe.

Now is the Painters buſineſſe quite paſt,

And he from France by ſea is ſafely come;

His wife about his necke her armes d [...]th caſt,

And kiſſe him oft, and bid him welcome home:

Ah my ſweet husband (then ſhe kindly wept)

What ſad misfortune hath ſo long thee kept?

A good kind wife.

Againe ſhe kiſt him, and againe ſhe cried,

If longer you had ſtay'd, I ſhould haue died.

[Page]

Her louing husband taking all for truth,

(Seeing his wife to weepe for very ioy)

Kiſt her moſt kindly, like a wanton youth,

And ſeem'de as blithe and luſtie as a boy:

He tooke her ſtreight, and ſet her on his knee;

Ah my ſweet wife, how does my Loue? (quoth he)

How fares my Turtle? I haue done thee wrong,

In ſtaying from thy companie ſo long.

But ſuch (ſweet-heart) was my diſaſter chance,

And ſuch occaſions did my comming let,

That I no ſooner could returne from France,

(No harme, thought ſhe, if you had tarried yet)

But ſince (quoth he) at laſt I am come backe,

Drinke welcome to me in a pint of Sacke:

She dranke to him, he pledg'd her; to be ſhort,

They ſupt, and went to bed in honeſt ſort.

And now the Painter 'gan for to remember,

That on the night, before he went from home,

A little Lambe he painted on the limber

Vp-bearing out-ſide of her tender wombe:

Therefore, that he aſſuredly might know

Whether his wife had faithfull been or no,

To view the Lambe he'gan her kindly pray,

Which he did paint before he went away.

Husband (quoth ſhe) that you may plainely ſee

I haue preſeru'd my faith as vndefil'd,

Behold the Lambe, and after iudge of me,

If in your abſence I haue you beguil'd.

Therewith ſhe ſhew'd her bellie, whereon faire

The painted Lambe appear'd with hornes a paire:

Whereat he ſtarted as he were afraid,

Yet his owne picture was there truly made.

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The woman maruelled for to behold

The Lambe deſcrib'd with ſuch a goodly head:

The man was angrie, yet his peace did hold,

And ſtood amaz'd, as though he had beene dead:

But ſhe (as women are by nature ſlie,

Apt to excuſe their folly with a lie)

After that ſhe ſome little pauſe had made,

Demurely to her husband thus ſhe ſaid.

Well may you wonder how this comes to paſſe,

Et quanquàm videas oculis praeſentibus, audet excuſare [...]eſas.

And thinke (ſweet husband) I haue beene vnkinde,

Yet if you ponder how it changed was,

And how the Lambe transformed thus we finde,

I doe not doubt but you will iudge me true

In deed, in word, in thought, in all to you,

For by the Sunne that ſhines before my face,

I know not when the hornes came in this place.

And yet the night before you did depart,

And left me like a widow here at home,

A little Lambe, according to your art,

You painted (you remember) on my wombe:

If at that preſent time it was a Lambe,

Although no greater but to ſucke his damme,

Note her argument.

Yet ſince a twelue month you haue tarried hence,

Now it muſt be a ſheepe by conſequence.

When as her husband heard this ſine excuſe,

So wittie, pleaſant, and ſo readie told,

Though he was much aggrieued at th'abuſe,

And well perceiu'd the ſheepe was of his fold,

(Knowing the hornes which fell vnto his ſhare

Were marriage-fortune and good neighbors fare)

He tooke with patience what did him moleſt,

And ſmiling kindly, put it vp in ieſt.

[Page]

Loe here (kind Cuckolds) preſent to your view

A worthie mirror of true patience,

A rare example, meet for all the crue,

With whom the hornes ſhall haue preheminence.

This is the way to win your reputation,

And make your wiues to leaue their fornication:

Theſe are the meanes a womans feet to ſtay,

Which is diſpos'd to range, or goe aſtray.

Bootleſſe it is to breake a womans will,

Or ſeeke to curbe her pleaſures by thy rage;

For if ſhe once be giuen vnto ill,

Brawles, ſtrife, nor anger can her luſt aſſ [...]age.

If Riuers haue their courſe, they gently fall,

Stop but their paſſage, then they throw downe all:

So if a woman be reſtrain'd by force,

Iram atque animos a crimine ſumunt.

She growes more headſtrong, and by nature worſe.

Take for example what one Cuckold did;

Which when he heard his wife was prone to ſinne,

Shut not the dores vnkindly, but ſtreight bid

More ſhould be made to let her louers in,

That euery perſon, when the dores were many,

Might come and goe away, vnſeene of any:

But when his wiſe did ſee his diſpoſition,

She left her wanton life and lewd condition.

Many, before they marrie, ſeeme to boaſt

How they will dominire when they are wed,

For they will tie their wiues vnto a poſt,

Before ſhe graft the horne vpon their head:

And they with watch and ward will ſo preuent her,

That no corriuall ſhall haue time to enter,

And maugre fortune, and in ſp;ght of chance,

After the Horne-pipe they will neuer dance.

[Page]

But let them know, no policies preuaile,

No art, no craft, no force, their fate to ſhun;

Strong brazen walls; Argus his eyes doe faile

To keepe a woman, when ſhe liſt miſdone:

And if ſhe once doe by his lookes eſpie

No faith her husband doth in her relie,

Or elſe is iealous, and doth her miſtruſt,

Much more ſhe is incenſed vnto luſt.

In vaine thou ſtand'ſt within a womans way,

When ſhe is once paſt honeſtie and grace:

For though thou watch and ward her night and day,

And haue her preſent ſtill before thy face,

By ſome deuice or other which may fall,

Occaſion ſhe will find to pay for all:

And (or fit place ſhe to her pleaſures lacke)

She will not ſticke to horne thee at thy backe.

Preuent an euill (doth the Prouerbe ſay)

But when an euill comes by deſtinie,

And cannot be auoided any way,

What profit falls by peruerſe iealouſie?

Nothing but this; that ſtanding ſtill on thornes,

Suſpition bids thee to beware the hornes:

And (ſure) a horned head leſſe griefe doth finde,

Then doth a iealous and a horned minde.

I cannot well commend that ſimple Swaine,

Which for his hatred to the Cuckoes ſong,

(Becauſe the Cuckoe in a merrie vaine

Sometimes did ſing his Apple trees among)

Cut downe the trees, that ſhe might ſit no more

So neere his houſe, as ſhe had done before.

But whether neere or farre the Cuckoe flie,

No Cuckold can auoid his deſtinie.

[Page]

I meruaile much, and cannot know the reaſon,

Why euery fooliſh Peaſant and rude knaue,

When as they heare the Cuckoe in the ſeaſon,

Which in theſe quarters doth her preſence craue,

Send out her notes ſo pleaſant and ſo ſhrill,

That all true Cuckolds they with gladneſſe fill,

Why they ſhould mocke, deride, abuſe, & flout her,

And to the death with ſtones & cudgels clout her.

In my conceit, of all the fowles that flie,

Moſt pleaſant are her notes, ſurpaſſing all,

Chaunting ſo ſweet the fame of Cuckoldrie,

That vnto men they ſeeme Angelicall,

And ſo replete with ſugred melodie,

As driues kind Cuckolds to an extaſie:

Ah, ſweetly, ſweetly, doth the Cuckoe ſing

The Cuckolds prayſes in the pleaſant Spring.

Familiar is her ſong, ſmooth, eaſie, plaine,

Not harſh, nor hardly wreſted from her throat:

No bird there is knowne ſooner by her ſtraine,

In ſuch regard is growne the Cuckoes note:

Yet is her voice ſo pleaſant to the eare,

It glads the meaneſt creature it doth heare;

For neuer I beheld ſo ſoure a face,

But for to heare her ſong did laugh apace.

Fond wantonizing Ouid giue vs place,

Compariſons in all things are not meet;

'Tis not your Nightingale that can diſgrace

The Cuckoes tunes, ſo muſicall, ſo ſweet.

Her warbling notes ſcarce equall halfe the skill

That is compact within a Cuckoes bill.

Packe hence (poore Woodcock) teach your bird to ſing,

The louely Cuckoe is of Birds the King.

[Page]

Greatly I maruaile thou would'ſt be ſo blind,

Being a man of wiſdome, to prefer

That piping bird,

A faeminins genere.

ſprung from a pewling kind,

Before the Cuckolds merrie Trumpeter;

Since ſhe complaines of murder, rape, and wrong.

The Cuckolds glorie is the Cuckoes ſong:

And when ſhe chantes it in her pleaſant mood,

Nulla poteſt Cuculo aequinalere meo.

Shee makes the ſweeteſt noiſe in all the Wood.

And yet (in truth) I cannot much thee blame,

If ignorance did lead thee thus awrie:

Thou wouldſt haue writ diuinely in her fame,

If thou hadſt knowne a Cuckolds dignitie:

And highly hadſt thou grac'd thy wanton vaine

In prayſing her, that ſings thy praiſe againe.

This, this had beene a ſubiect for thy pen,

To all thrice welcome that are married men.

But ſince I thinke thou bore no good affection

To honeſt Cuckolds, nor the Cuckoes ſong.

Thy bookes of Loue doe make a plaine detection▪

Thy mind was much inclined vnto wrong,

And thou a lewd profeſſed Cuckold-maker,

And therefore would'ſt not be with her partaker.

For ſtill Experience euidently ſhewes,

That Cuckold-makers are the Cuckoes ſoes.

Famous Sir Geffrie Chaucer, you were wiſe,

And worthily eſteemed an Engliſh Poet,

And like a Scholler you could poetiſe:

Yet once you plaid the foole▪ I let you know it.

For in that great aſſemblie which you make,

Wherein together birds did counſaile take,

You greatly wronged this birds magnificence

In giuing her ſo ſmall preheminence

[Page]

Reaſon it was, ſhe ſhould before the reſt

Haue taken place, and order, in her ſtation;

Both for her voice, which is in great requeſt,

And alſo for the Cuckolds reputation.

But you no Cuckold were it may be deemed,

Or Cuckolds then were not ſo much eſteemed:

Or (ſure) Sir Geffrie, you were beetle-blind

In tearming baſely ſuch a bird vnkind.

But as for Skelton with his Lawrel Crowne,

Whoſe ruffling times are emptie quite of marrow:

Or fond Catullus, which ſet groſſely downe

The commendation of a ſillie Sparrow:

Becauſe their lines are void of eſtimation,

I paſſe them ouer without confutation.

Much would the Cuckoe think herſelfe impared,

If ſhee with Philip Sparrow were compared.

Let chirping Philip learne to catch a flie.

And picke vp crums from off his Miſtris finger:

And let the Nightingales ſweet harmonie

Winne her the name and title of a ſinger:

Theſe are not all the praiſes we can bring

To praiſe the Cuckoe which attends the ſpring.

For well I may alleage in her defence

She is a bird of wonderous patience.

Too much it were to reckon all the wrong,

And euery iniurie doth her betide:

No ſooner ſhe begins her louely ſong,

Which Knaues and Minions cannot well abide,

But one or other Woodcocke that doth heare her,

With threats and curſings is at hand to teate her,

That ſure I thinke ſhe could not liue a day,

If ſhe did want the wit to flie away.

[Page]

One foole derides and mockes her to her face,

(As if her words did not concerne his honour)

Another, being angrie, chafes apace,

And with a murren bids a ſhame light on her:

Thē comes a third will neither curſe nor mock her,

But ſeekes with ſtones and cudgels for to knock her.

Thus liues the Cuckoe, which offendeth no man,

Scorn'd, perſecuted, both of man and woman.

Meane while the harmeleſſe creature (pretie Fowle)

Flies vp and downe content from tree to tree;

Gently with patience ſhe abides controll,

For neuer was ſhe angrie I could ſee:

But ſtill with meekeneſſe and great modeſtie

Well ſhe diſgeſts their inciuilitie;

And not a word ſhe giues them vndiſcreetly,

But onely Cuckoe, which ſhe ſings moſt ſweetly.

As in her language if you marke her well,

Thus to the buſie fooles the bird did ſpeake:

Cuckolds (quoth ſhe) whoſe conſcience is your hell,

And thinke on me your malice for to wreake;

You that doe take the Horne in ſuch diſgrace,

Grieuing to haue it grafted on your face,

Content your ſelues, your fortunes are not daintie,

The Cuckoe ſaith, That Cuckolds there are plentie.

Then frolicke, Sirs, this fragrant time of yeare,

Pale iealouſie was neuer void of woe,

Sorrow is more encreaſt by needleſſe feare,

Heart fretting care to health was euer foe:

Your States, the Cuckoe tels you, are no worſe

Than many thouſands, which nor brawle nor curſe:

Many do beare great bookes, know ſcarce a letter,

Many are learned which are nere the better.

[Page]

Many are Cuckolds,

Three degrees of Cuckolds. One & none. One and one. None, and one.

which ſuppoſe they are not,

Some are No Cuckolds, which thinke they are none:

Wiſe be the Cuckolds which both be and care not;

Fond is the man which is not, will be one:

But one or not one, ſtill I am your friend,

You either are, or may be in the end.

I ſing your prayſes to expell your ſorrow,

And thus the Cuckoe bids you all Good morrow.

Ah ſweet and pleaſant bird, how I admire

The vnregarded vertue of thy kind!

How neere thy meet behauior doth aſpire

Vnto the patience of the Cuckolds mind!

Certes it is a glorious thing to ſee

The Cuckoe thus with Cuckolds to agree,

And well deſerues ſome worthie Poets pen,

That birds can learne the qualities of men.

Anger the Rauen, he will flye about,

As though his meaning were to ſeize vpon thee;

The Gooſe will gaggle, and the Cocke crie out,

And euery other bird call ſhame vpon thee:

Annoy the Larke, and he will hang the wing,

Trouble the Nightingale, ſhe leaues to ſing;

Onely the Cuckoe,

Inter aues etenim nulla tibi ſimilis.

which ſurmounts them all,

She ſtill chaunts Cuckoe, whatſoere befall.

No hurt ſhe meanes to any liuing thing,

And therefore deemes no creature will her harme:

For when her little egges ſhe forth doth bring,

Within anothers neaſt ſhe layes them warme,

Suppoſing that kind bird will loue them deere,

As Cuckolds doe, which no deceit doe feare,

Suffering their wiues to keepe good companie,

Thinking that men will vſe them honeſtly.

[Page]

Neither doe I eſteeme her as a Sinner,

(Although Pythagoras reproue the fault,

Which neuer eat an egge vnto his dinner,

But onely fed vpon a root and ſalt)

Becauſe ſhe flyes into anothers neſt,

And ſuckes the egges which there ſhe liketh beſt,

Nor doth ſhe more deſerue and merit blame,

Than honeſt men, which daily eat the ſame.

Rather I deeme her worthie commendation,

(If to the Cuckoe her deſert we giue)

Since ſhe deuoures and ſuckes their procreation,

That eat the corne whereby mankind ſhould liue.

Herein ſhe ſhewes her ſelfe a friend to man,

Seeking his good by all the meanes ſhe can,

Both in applauding them which weare the horne,

And ſucking vp their brood which eat the corne.

Kind gentlewomen, ye which take delight,

A pratling Parrat in your Cage to haue,

Becauſe ſhe prates good morrow and good night,

Or bids a ſawcie fellow Walke a knaue.

And ye which keepe a Puppie or a Daw,

To make you laugh by playing with a ſtraw,

Let not theſe toyes be thought a womans treaſure,

But keepe the louely Cuckoe for your pleaſure.

Your Iack daw cannot with her ſiluer bell.

Match this ſweet bird, the miſtreſſe of the Spring;

And truſt me truly, ſhe doth farre excell

Your Puppie and your Parrat in each thing.

The Parrat prates as ſhe is taught by rote,

This bird by nature hath a merrie note,

And all her ſongs, in lieu of fauors ſhowne,

Shall tell your husbands glorie, or your owne.

[Page]

Thrice famous Dauid Lindſey of the North,

Thou hadſt great conference with a Popingay,

Which erſt did tell thee many things of worth,

As they in print are extant at this day:

Yet greater matters might thy pen haue painted,

If with the Cuckoe thou hadſt beene acquainted:

For deeper myſteries doth ſhe bewray,

Than euer was reueal'd by Popingay.

No bird, nor any creature hath the grace,

(Though they in other qualities excell)

Which can ſo truly to a mans owne face

In good plaine tearmes his proper title tell.

No ſooner ſhe a married man eſpies,

But in her language Cuckoe ſtraight ſhe cries:

Which her a Prophet makes me to ſuppoſe,

Since ſecret faults ſo openly ſhe ſhewes.

If ſhe farre off a companie deſcrie,

Or by the noyſe their comming vnderſtand,

Cuckoe ſhe doubles moſt melodiouſly,

As if ſhe ſaid, More Cuckolds are at hand:

And (though ſhe neuer ſee them) ſhe can tell

Both what the perſons are, and where they dwell;

Cuckolds they are, if you their names require,

And where they dwell? forſooth in Cuckoldſhire.

This is the cauſe, I thinke, that Iealouſie

Repines to heare the Cuckoe ſing ſo faire:

For he, conſum'd with fooliſh phreneſie,

With raging madneſſe, griefe, and fretting care,

Kickes like a ſcabbed Iade, when he doth heare

That name repeated which he needes muſt beare,

And with impatience brookes her gracious call,

Which tels him truly what will after fall.

[Page]

Another ſort there are, which cannot well

Abide to heare the Cuckoe for their liues,

But do deteſt her as a Fiend of Hell:

And theſe are women, Minions, vnchaſt wiues,

Which are aſhamed for to haue diſplaid,

How their kind husbāds they haue Cuckolds made:

Or they are Baſtards, which ſcarce loue to heare

Their mothers faults, and who their fathers were.

But for the yeomen of the horned Crowd,

Me thinkes their ioy and comfort is not ſmall,

To heare the Cuckoe carroll out ſo lowd.

The wondrous glorie doth their ſtates befall,

And ſo harmoniouſly their prayſes ſing,

That Woods and Foreſts with their Ecchoes ring:

Doubtleſſe a Cuckold is a gallant name,

When birds chant Hymnes in honor of the ſame.

And ſuch in ancient times hath beene the praiſe,

And eſtimation of this worthie State,

(Though much it be diſgraced in theſe daies,

And ſore abuſed of each ſcoffing Mate)

That Kings and Emperors haue thought no ſcorne

For arms to beare the beaſts which weare the horn,

And crowns & ſcepters, thrones & great dominiōs,

Are not more rich than hornes in ſomes opinions.

Let famous Greece be witneſſe of this thing,

Where horned heads were wont to beare ſuch ſway,

That ſeldome any came to be their King,

But ſtill he prou'd a Cuckold, as ſome ſay.

This Menelaus well could verifie,

Whoſe hornes procur'd Troyes endleſſe miſerie:

The hornes were not the cauſe.

Yet not from them aroſe that mortall ſtrife,

But that he could not haue againe his wife.

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He could haue beene content with all his heart

To haue beene Cuckold, and haue bleſt his fortune,

If they his wiſe had ſuffered to depart,

Whom he to haue againe did much importune:

But when he ſaw faire meanes could not obtaine her,

It was concluded, he by force ſhuld gain her;

To make it knowne, that ſhe was his by right,

And ſhew himſelfe a Cuckold of great might.

And not alone was he a Cuckold deemed;

But Agamemnon, which was eke his brother,

And in the warres as chiefe commaunder ſeemed,

Had happie fortune to be made another.

Nor could Vlyſſes quite himſelfe exile

From out this companie by any wile:

Samius ſaith, that all her Woers lay with her, and thereupon Pall was begotten.

For though Penelope was loth to marrie,

So long without a friend ſhe could not tarrie.

Suruey the Hiſtories of elder daies;

Peruſe the chronicles of euery Nation;

And thou ſhalt find that men of greateſt praiſe,

Wealth, riches, honor, fame, and eſtimation,

Moſt valiant, hardie, learned, graue, and wiſe,

Grieu'd not to be addreſt in Cuckolds guiſe.

And thus hath Fortune often thought it beſt

To make kind-hearted Cuckolds perfect bleſt.

None euer liu'd and haue had better chance,

Or beene inhanced vnto higher ſtate:

None of more valour, might or cheuiſance,

Or in the warres haue beene more fortunate,

Or greater glorie and renowne haue wonne,

Then hath the Cuckold, and the Cuckolds ſonne;

As from theſe two great Monarchs we may gather

Great Alexander, and his worthie Father.

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I will not here inſiſt my lines to cumber,

Let it ſuffice, that I haue named two.

He which aſſaies by name to take the number

Of ancient Cuckolds, ſhall haue much to doo.

If he can tell the ſands vpon the ſhore,

Then he may count the Cuckolds all of yore.

This is enough to free the name from ſcorne:

Kings haue not beene aſham'd to weare a horne.

But what ſhould I dilate of earthly Kings,

Of worldly Monarchs, and of mortall men?

Since Ioues owne wife, (as Ouid ſweetly ſings,

And other pleaſant Poets erſt did pen.)

Iuno the glorious Empreſſe of the skies,

Queene of the aire, where winds doe tiraniſe,

Was through her husbands vſuall ribaldrie

Made Ladie regent vnto Cuckoldrie.

Nor had ſhe only ſuch propitious luck,

(Though ſhe in Heauen chiefe Cuckqueane was reputed)

Vulcan her ſonne was headed like a Buck,

And by the luſtie God of Warre cornuted.

And Ioue himſelf, (thogh ſome the truth do ſhroud,

Faining Ixion did imbrace a cloud)

Was in this common lot a great partaker,

And both a Cuckold, aud a Cuckold-maker.

If then no other matter did commend

Or paint the glorie of a Cuckold forth;

This were enough (me thinks) that I haue pend,

To grace his title and approue his worth.

That Ioue, his wife and ſiſter, and their ſonne,

Were ſubiect to that chance which none can ſhun.

And yet a Cuckolds dignitie is ſuch,

That in his praiſe I cannot ſpeake too much.

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Greatly I muſe, and no occaſion find,

Why men ſhould mocke a Cuckold with the horne;

And ſcoffing Peaſants (as they come behind)

Should with two fingers point at him in ſcorne;

Since he hath oftentimes as good a face,

As he that ſeeks his blemiſh and diſgrace.

And in his forhead (though you marke him neare)

Seldome or neuer doe the hornes appeare.

If one but ſtumbles as he goes along,

Or chance to ſtrike his foot againſt a ſtone:

Tis with the vulgar ſort a common ſong;

Some Cuckold there was buried long agon,

Whoſe hornes vpſtarting ſtrongly in this place

Well neare had caſt the fellow on his face.

Surely I wonder where theſe hornes ſhould be,

Which each one talks of, yet could neuer ſee.

But let vs grant, what addle heads ſuppoſe;

That hornes are grafted on a Cuckolds brow:

Small hurt thereby vnto a Cuckold growes,

Nor is he therefore like an Oxe or Cow,

Or to be thought a monſter vnto nature,

Or a miſhapen and deformed creature;

But in all points a comely handſome man,

And not vnlike vnto the great God, Pan.

Pan was a mightie Syluan God of yore,

And (by tranſlation) Pan doth all containe:

Yet on his head a paire of hornes he wore;

Which ſhewes that hornes to all alike remaine.

Why then ſhould hornes a Cuckold ſo diſgrace,

Since that a God hath borne them on his face?

Certes I bleſſe his fortune with my heart,

Which is alike the Gods in any part.

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The ſiluer Moone, faire Cynthia of the night,

The great'ſt and ſwifteſt Planet in the skie,

Which did in marriage neuer take delight,

But as a maid kept her virginitie,

(And therefore cannot well be Cuckold deemed)

Of ſuch great value hath the hornes eſteemed,

That ſtill ſhe weares them, not accounted ſtrange,

Three or foure dayes before and after change.

In great account our Elders heretofore

Did hold the horne, when as they went to fight,

The ſound whereof their ſtrength encreaſed more,

And with freſh courage did ſupply their might.

And when in hunting they purſu'd their game,

They tooke great pleaſure for to vſe the ſame:

It cheares the dogs, it makes them come and goe,

'Tis much in hunting, well a Horne to blow.

And ſuch a neceſſarie Inſtrument

It is for hunting either Hare or Conie,

That not a Huntſman wants this implement,

Nor would be void of it for any monie.

And ſo much credit now attends it daily,

That euery common Crier, Petie Baily,

Swine-heards and braue Sow-golders in a pride

Doe beare a horne low dangling by their ſide.

Matters of chiefe importance are in haſt,

And for more ſpeed diſpatched by the horne:

Great light a Lanthorne, made of horne, doth caſt,

Which with a candle in darke night is borne.

When little children firſt are brought to ſchoole,

A Horne bo [...]ke is a neceſſarie toole:

Nor can a Shoomaker well lacke this ginne,

A ſhooing-horne exceeds the Squirrels skinne.

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What ſhould I tell the vertues of the horne;

Which are incredible to muddie braines?

Groſſe ignorance will laugh the truth to ſcorne,

Becauſe beyond his compaſſe it containes:

But let him know, ſome hornes haue ſuch refection,

They can expell each poyſon and infection,

And that the ſhauings of a Horners ſtall,

Good to preſerue are Artichokes withall.

But of all Hornes that euer I haue heard,

None is more famous than the Horne of Plentie,

Which had ſo great abundance ſtill prepar'd,

Take while men would, yet it was neuer emptie:

Which (not vnfitly) we may well compare

Vnto the hornes befall a Cuckolds ſhare:

For theſe are cheſts, that hold great ſtore of treaſure,

Though theſe men liue at eaſe, & ſpend at pleaſure.

Such profit and commodities ariſe,

And ſo great gaine redoundeth from the horne,

Vnto the Cuckold, which will blind his eyes,

And can with patience well endure the ſcorne,

That many haue a better liuing made,

Than by the traffique of their honeſt Trade:

And ſome haue foūd ſuch gettings by theſe means,

That they haue forſt their wiues to play the queans.

Many that ſeeme ſubſtantiall men in Towne,

Reape through the horne an hundred pound by yeare,

And many which are ſcarcely worth a crowne,

Thus keepe themſelues with pride and lordly cheare:

And many which in priſon haue beene layd,

In taking of the horne their debts haue payd,

That ſure I thinke, though other hornes be daintie,

A Cuckolds horne it is the Horne of Plentie.

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And yet not onely doth the horne befriend,

And yeeld the Cuckold that which is his due,

But wondrous profit often doth it ſend

Vnto his wife, although ſhe be vntrue.

By this ſhe earnes great ſtore of golden crowns,

To buie her veluet kirtles, ſilken gownes;

This makes her braue; this makes her fine & nice;

A Cuckolds horne, it is a horne of price.

Nay more then this: which ſome wil think a wonder;

The Cuckolds horne maintaines the Cuckold maker.

For need the law will neuer be kept vnder.

The Vine muſt fall, if that the Elme forſake her:

Some women in another field ſuppoſe,

Fertilior ſeges eſt alienis ſemper in aruis.

That deeper graſſe and better paſture growes.

Wantons are wilfull; and before they lacke

Their pleaſures, they will make their purſe-ſtringes crack.

Scarce will you thinke a ſwaggering Caualier,

Which hath his garters brauely frindg'd with gold,

Swimmes iu his ſilks, and ſurfets with good cheare,

And liues as pleaſantly as can be told,

Onely by Cuckold-making thus ſhould liue,

And get no more but what kind wenches giue;

Yet many gallants I haue heard report

Are now maintained after ſuch a ſort.

What ſhould I further amplifie this matter?

Since euery honeſt man, which weares the horne,

Can tell for truth I neither mocke nor flatter,

Though fools may deem I write theſe things in ſcorn.

But what they ſay I haue in no regard;

Nor doe I paſſe the cenſure of a knaue,

Vnto the touch ſtone of a Cuckolds wit

The truth for triall euer I commit.

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For (cert's) I know they are a generation

Of wiſe diſcreet ſage honeſt, ſober men;

Their name it is a name of eſtimation,

Deſeruing worthily a golden pen.

But for the horne, which fortune them hath ſent

(Since it would proue ſo fine an ornament)

Well could I wiſh, that to their greater grace,

Each Cuckold had two hornes vpon his face;

And yet (graue Patrons) let me here intreat

You would not ſeeme my meaning to miſtake.

For I proteſt, my loue to you is great,

Deuoted to you all for one mans ſake;

And therefore thinke not that I vſe this ſpeech

Your names, eſtate, or credit to impeach,

Or by this wiſh deſire your heads to harme:

For hornes will keepe your heads in winter warme

But thus the world might know what men you are;

Which be the ſonnes of Fortune and of Fame;

And thus the better ſort might haue a care

To giue your ſtate what doth belong the ſame;

Thus might the name, to which you haue aſpired,

Be both applauded, honoured, and admired:

And men would wonder at the ſtrange euent,

To ſee kind Cuckolds weare this Implement.

Thus euery gentle heart and patient mind,

Which haue the hornes and willingly do weare them,

Might be perceiued from the Keſtrell kind

Of froward iealous fooles which grudge to beare thē;

Thus honeſt Cuckolds might ſequeſtred be

From ſcoffing Peaſants of a baſe degree;

Thus might your glorie be the more increaſed,

And you well hooded, and your wiues wel pleaſed.

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For (ſooth to ſay needes muſt it pleaſe your wiues.

To ſee faire hornes vpon your forhead grow,

Sure that the whole demeanor of their liues,

That they deſire the ſame, doth clearely ſhow

And if they did not wiſh you ſuch a head,

They would not ſo defile their marriage bed.

But vſuall practiſe makes plaine declaration,

They both deſire and ſeeke this transformation.

If then ſuch profit hereby might ariſe,

Both to your glorie and your wiues content:

Seeme not ſo great a bleſſing to deſpiſe,

Nor ſcorne the wiſhes of my good intent.

For 'tis not ſuch a blemiſh and diſgrace

To haue faire hornes to grow vpon your face,

Neither a wonder to behold this change,

Though gaſing fooles at firſt might think it ſtrange.

For many famous men of older daies,

(As writers doe record, and ſtories mention)

To their great honour and eternall praiſe,

Without reproch, ſcoffes, mockes, or reprehenſion,

Haue had the fore-part of their comely head

With two faire hornes full ſeemely furniſhed.

This may you well perceiue by horned Pan,

Which was a mightie God in ſhape of man.

I will not here vpon examples ſtand,

To cloye your minds with wonders, tales, and lies:

Onely for proofe of what I tooke in hand

Theſe few (to paſſe the reſt) ſhall now ſuffice

Cippus, the valiant Roman, who tooke ſcorne

To be a King, (though choſen by the horne)

Did by his hornes become ſo much renowned,

That they on poſtes were painted, and he crowned.

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When luſtie Ioue was once a wanton louer,

And woo'd Europa, King Agenors daughter,

That he in ſecret might his loue diſcouer,

(Althogh he knew ſome fools would make a laughter

To ſee the ſame) yet on his head he bare

Of faire bright ſhining hornes a comely paire:

Cornua parua quidem.

And therefore Ouids booke (of leaſings full)

Doth faine that

Puraque magis perlucida gemma.

Ioue was turned to a Bull.

On ſtrange and foraine proofes what ſhould I ſtay?

Or tell of antique matters long agone?

The time would faile me, if I ſhould aſſay,

To number all the perſons one by one,

Which to their glorie and their hearts content

Haue on their forheads worne this implement:

Our preſent time for truth can teſtifie,

It is no Monſter, wonder, nor a lye.

For in the North is ſituate a Towne,

Bounding vpon the Riuer, named Aire,

Which for the Trade of Clothing is well knowne,

And for ſtrong napple Ale hath great repaire,

Whereas an honeſt man did lately dwell,

(A patient Cuckold, as Report doth tell)

Which had a horne faſt growing by his eye,

To ſhew that hornes belong to Cuckoldrie.

Loe here (cornuted Seigniors) here you ſee

It is no wonder for to weare a horne,

No ſhame or blemiſh vnto your degree,

No ſtaine, diſgrace, reproch, contempt, or ſcorne;

But famous, full of glorie and renowne,

As ancient Writers haue ſet truly downe.

'Tis but conceit, that hornes will looke ſo grimly,

Doe but beleeue, and they will fit you trimly.

[Page]

And, in my iudgement, if you had them growing,

That each one might diſcerne them with his eye,

Fooles would not vſe their mocks and apiſh mowing,

Nor knaues ſo much deride your grauitie.

For they perceiuing how the hornes would grace

The ſuperficies of your honeſt face,

Point with their fingers, as if that their taunting

Did ſhew, that ſomthing frō your heds were wāting.

Whereas if hornes were preſent to their ſight,

What ſhould they with their fingers need to ſhew it?

Since by this meanes a purblind fellow might

Perceiue your worth, and by the horns might know it.

And then would ſcoffing Peaſants ceaſe to prate,

Becauſe that others plainely ſee your ſtate;

Then ſawcie fellows, which their neighbors flout,

Wold ceaſe to mock, their own horns peeping out.

Thus ſhould your name be had in wondrous feare,

And not a man, from greateſt to the leaſt,

Should dare to mocke a Cuckold for his eare,

Nor once againſt the hornes to breake a ieaſt:

Nor ſeeme anothers fortune to deride,

For feare the ſame good lucke might him betide:

And thus I hope your heads haue vnderſtood

What fruit would bloſſome, if your hornes did bud.

But let vs put the caſe; as ſome ſuppoſe,

That ſleering fooles for this might more deride you:

Nought by their miſdemeanour doe you loſe,

Neither (ywis) doth greater ſhame betide you.

Hereby your merit is the more augmented,

If you with patience hold your ſelues contented;

Thē ſcorn that childiſh ſcoffes ſhold make you ſorie,

The more you ſuffer, more will be your glorie.

[Page]

Neuer caſt downe your heads, nor be aſhamed,

Though graceleſſe wits vnkindly you entreat;

Your bleſſed fortune cannot be defamed,

Nor prating ſlanderous tongues your praiſe defeat:

For though your worth and credit in the ſight

Of ſcoffing perſons be accounted light,

Yet in the iudgement of the wiſer ſort,

A Cuckold is a name of good report.

And in defence of all the Patient traine

Here I,

Paſquils chalenge.

as Challenger, doe readie ſtand,

Iuſtly to proue, vphold, and to maintaine

Againſt the proudeſt Champion in this land,

That no Promotion, Calling, or Degree

Can be free from the ſtate of Cuckoldrie;

And that the Hornepipe is as ſweet a fit

As euer Fidler playd vpon his

A kind of Inſtrument.

Kit.

What Countrey in this Vniuerſe is knowne,

Which can affirme from Cuckolds it is free?

What Kingdome, Prouince, Borough, Citie, Towne,

In all the world exempted doe we ſee?

Which hath not more or leſſe (as Fortune pleaſed)

The number of kind Cuckolds ſtill encreaſed,

Or could not yeeld at one time or another

A horned Father or a horned Mother.

Greatly this title through the world is carried,

And ſo encreaſeth, as we heare by fame,

That if it mought it would be to the married,

As Homo is to men a common name.

And this we ſee apparant at this day,

For as a ſtranger trauailes by the way,

If any married perſons dog doth ſturre,

Straight one or other calls him Cuckolds curre.

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[...]

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Truly I doe not much miſlike theſe words,

Becauſe he is, or elſe may be hereafter,

Although I would not haue them with their boords

Miſcall the Cuckolds dog, to make a laughter:

Nor would I wiſh a Cuckold goe to law

For ſuch an idle ieſt, not worth a ſtraw;

Neither for this diſgrace to brawle or curſe,

His ſtate is better, and his dog no worſe.

Much is his ſtate the better, as we may

Perceiue by that which is alreadie ſaid,

And if with patience he can beare away

The Apiſh mockes, which ſometimes will be made:

Beſides his glorie (which before I quoted)

A valiant-minded man he ſhall be noted.

Fortior eſt qui ſe, quàm qui fortiſſima vincit moenia.

Stronger he is that holds his furie downe,

Than he which winnes a Fort, or walled Towne.

Great is a Cuckolds honor and his fame,

And wondrous is the glorie of his fate,

Which makes ſome perſons ſo deſire the name,

And with ſuch greedineſſe the horne await,

That for becauſe none other will aread

To make them Cuckolds, and to arme their head,

They are content, when time and place importune,

To be the caruers of their owne good fortune.

Thus Cephalus in Athens vnperceiu'd,

Like to a merchant clad, his wife did trie:

And thus another man his wife deceiu'd,

Which did belong to Loues kind Familie.

Thus on their own heads ſome haue graft the horn,

For very loue they haue to Cuckolds borne.

Which makes me thinke, becauſe of others wiſh,

That Cuckoes egges are ſure a daintie diſh.

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Of all the men that euer I haue knowne,

A Cuckold doth for kindneſſe beare the bell,

Which for his proper vſekeepes not his owne,

But giues in common to his friends as well:

And ſo to courteſie he is allyed,

What ere you aske ſhall hardly be denyed:

That if his wife would any way befriend you,

He will not ſticke his very wife to lend you.

But to his wife, the world doth not containe

A kinder man, replete with all ciuilitie:

Doe what ſhe will, he murmures not in vaine,

But giues her ſcope with all facilitie:

Nor (though ſhe graft the horne) doth he cōplaine,

Since he can doe as much for her againe.

If I by nature had beene borne a woman,

A Cuckold I would haue, or marrie no man.

In vaine it is, and needleſſe for to ſpend

My worthleſſe prayſes on a Cuckolds name:

Words I ſhould ſooner want, them to commend,

Than make a Period fully to their fame;

Or yeeld them all the honor which is due,

And doth of right 'long to the horned crue;

Onely a glimpſe I giue vnto their glorie,

Not able t'reach the height of ſuch a ſtorie.

For how ſhould I a Cuckolds prayſe enchaine

Within the compaſſe of my ſhallow quill,

Which all the ſpacious world doth ſcarce containe,

Such ſtore of Cuckolds euery corner fill:

And ſuch a wondrous troupe the Hornpipe treads,

One cannot paſſe another for their heads,

That ſhortly we ſhall haue (as Skelton ieſts)

A greater ſort of horned men than beaſts.

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If all the Cuckolds in the world were preſt,

And ranged for the field in battaile-ray,

So great an Armie there would be addreſt,

As neuer was the like ſeene to this day:

For ſuch a number would encamped lie,

That Xerxes Hoaſt, which dranke huge Riuers drie,

Nor all the Armies which haue beene prepared,

Might with this band of Cuckolds be compared.

Caſt vp the number of the birds that flie,

Reckon the ſands which are vpon the ſhore,

Or tell the golden ſtarres which paue the skie,

Then mayſt thou count the Cuckolds all of yore:

For millions of men that haue beene married,

Haue vnto Cornwell without boat been carried;

And ſuch a crowd are of that reputation,

They neuer can be put in numeration.

But though a Cuckold were a word of ſhame,

And ſlander and diſgrace did ſtill attend it,

(As all men know, it is a famous name, And many married perſons ſhould defend it)

Yet let no Cuckold take it to the heart,

Since both his friends and neighbors beare a part:

It is great comfort to a Cuckolds chance,

That, many thouſands doe the Hornepipe dance.

Then to conclude (my friends of Cuckoldſhire)

Grieue not to beare the horne vpon your creſt;

Let not the ſonne be prouder than his Sire,

Your name is famous, and your fortune bleſt,

Your life is void of ſorrow and of care,

Your greateſt croſſes are but neighbors fare;

Spit in the face of Enuie and of Scorne,

There is no credit like the Cuckolds Horne.

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LEt none ſuppoſe I weare the Horne,

Becauſe the famous Horne I praiſe,

Or that I am a Cuckold ſworne,

Becauſe his worth I ſeeke to raiſe:

No, no (poore fooles) in truth you are deceiued,

Into that Order I was nere receiued.

All are not rich that talke of gold,

Nor Merchants, which the Burſe doe walke,

Nor all Diuines, which Pulpits hold,

Nor ſtrong, which doe of Sampſon talke:

Nor doe my words ſo ſure my ſtate proclame

To be a Cuckold, though I praiſe the name.

And yet by Vulcans head I ſweare,

Let ſleering Apes their pleaſure ſay,

If I the richeſt Cuckold were

That is in England at this day,

I know not how the hornes might well content me,

But of his Liuing I ſhould ſcarce repent me.

Non liber indicium eſt animi, ſed honesta voluntas

Plurima mulcendis auribus apta refert.

Accius eſſet atrox: Conuiua Terentius eſſet:

Eſſent pugnaces, qui ferae bella canunt:

Crede mihi, Distat Caſus a carmine noſtro,

Vita verecunda eſt, Muſa iocoſa mea eſt.

Ouid.

Quamobrem licet irrideat, ſi quis vult;

Plus apud me tamen vera ratio valebit,

quàm vulgi opinio.

Cicero.

FINIS.

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§

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CORNV-COPIAE, Paſquils Night cap: OR, Antidot for the Head-ache.

NON INTRET CATO autſi intrauerit Spectet.

Martialis

LONDON, Printed for THOMAS THORP. 1612.

Proaemium.

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VNTO the kindeſt men that euer wiu'd,

Whoſe titles from the Cuckoe are deriu'd,

And thereof Cuckolds named:

To all the Francklins of the horne,

Whom ſcoffing Peaſants vſe to ſcorne,

And greatly haue defamed:

And vnto all our friends in Cuckold-ſhire

Health, happie fortune, and their hearts deſire.

Paſquil, a terror erſt to forreine States,

To mightie Princes and great Potentates,

In euerie other nation,

Perceiuing here the Horne defaced,

And honeſt Cuckolds ſore diſgraced,

With termes of deteſtation,

Lately in England is arriu'd from thence

In challenge of a Cuckolds excellence.

If anie Cuckold-maker him deride,

(For none but Cuckold-makers haue enui'd,

A Cuckolds commendation)

Or ſleering knaues which on it looke,

Condemne it for an idle booke

As ſtill it is their faſhion,

Paſquil proteſts, allthough they ſcoffe and flout

Hereafter he with them will haue about.

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And little doth he care, though they forſake it,

For not for them did Paſquil vndertake it,

To winne their affectation:

For honeſt Cuckolds was it penn'd,

To them this VVorke doth he commend,

And craues their acceptation.

Then grudge not (gentle Sirs, without offence)

Kindly to reade a Cuckolds iuſt defence.

And yet in reading here I humbly craue,

No foolish applications you would haue,

Nor cenſure thinges at randon,

Nor priuate meanings would ſurmiſe,

Whereby fond quarrels might ariſe,

True friendship to abandon.

Nothing but mirth did Paſquil here pretend,

Iudge not before you read: and there an end.

Paſquil Anglicanus

—Iuueneſque Seneſque

Et pueri naſum Rhinocerotis habent.

Sed abſit a iocorum noſtrorum ſimplicitate malignus interpres.

Information about this book

Title statement

Cornu-copiæ, Pasquils night-cap: or, Antidot for the head-ache

Fennor, William.

Edition statement

1612

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2006-02 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A68044

ID [STC]

STC 10782.5

ID [STC]

ESTC S104717

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99840450

ID [PROQUEST]

99840450

ID [VID]

4958

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Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A68044)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 4958)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1475-1640 ; 1440:13)

Source

— Cornu-copiæ, Pasquils night-cap: or, Antidot for the head-ache, Fennor, William., Breton, Nicholas, 1545?-1626?, attributed name..

Extent

[4], 119, [1] p.

Printed for Thomas Thorp,. London :: 1612.. (Attributed to William Fennor; formerly attributed to Nicholas Breton.) (In verse.) (Running title reads: Pasquils night-cap.) (Identified as STC 3639 on UMI microfilm.) (Reproduction of the original in the Bodleian Library.)

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