FAbian, Good morrow: How do you, and how far walk you this way?

I do as you sée, neither of the best, nor the worst: and am travelling not very far, & yet somewhat more than a pretty walk; about some hundred miles or two for a breathing, to teach the dancing legs of my youth, to plod for the provision of mine old age: & since it is no better, it is well it is no worse: for since I have done my self more wrong, than I can make my self amends, I must be contented with a pudding, while others may feast, that have better fare.

Then I pray you be not angry; for Patience is a plaister for all pain, it is the very poison of all sorrow, a preparative to all comfort, and the onely quieter of a troubled spirit.

Why how now? Have you been a Scholler since I saw you? Truely I desire not to trouble your memory, with saying over your lesson without book: all you Adverbs and your Proverbs, will not do me a pins worth of pleasure.

Oh Fabian! have patience, be not angry with your fortune, there are Flouds as well as Ebs: Time hath his turn, and Fortune may be as great a friend as she hath been an enemy: the Stars may [Page]one day shine over your house, as wel as your neighbours: and there­fore stay your hour, you know not when it will come; and therefore take no thought: I pray you be not angry.

Wel Fernunio to your sentences: let me tel you, y^e you know, that I know, that you know, that when you and I did first know one another, you knew the world was better with me, than to let me plod up and down in this manner, with no more Company but my Dog, and my plain Cudgel: but it is no matter, all is one, for ha­ving plaid wily beguily with my self. I can thank no body for my hard bargain: for in the time of my youth (the most perilous point of mans age) falling into such acquaintance as were smally to my commodity, as well of the Masculine as the Feminine gendr who so long fed mine humour with folly, that I fell almost into a Con­sumption, before I found the Nature of the disease: at length (though somewhat late, yet better late than never) remembring y^e my father left me more land than wit, and Nature being more Mi­stris than Reason over my il ruled sences: & séeing the world at such a passe that I could have wel wished to have been out of it; finding my friends scorn of me, my foes scoff at me; some few pitty me, and few cōfort me. I resolved to shake of my Shake-rags, and to retire my self unto fōe solitary place, where having left one fool to laugh at another; one Villain to cut anothers throat, and one honest man to be an example to a whole Parish; I betook me to a travelling life, rather to hear, than to speak how the world went, and to note the courses of the wife, rather than enter into the courses of the wicked whereof y^e world is so ful, y^e a man can scarce escape their intectiō: why? if I should tel you how I have béen used amōg thē, you would say I had good cause to be Angry with my self, or some body else.

And yet I say, I pray be not angry: for if it be with your self, fretting wil but breed melancholy, and melācholy bring you to such a sickness that you may repent it when it is too late. And to be An­gry with any other, if you cānot revēge it it is a folly: if you do, it is uncharitable: for you must forgive. For if I should tell you of some tricks that were put upon me, when I was as wise as any Goose upon Bedlame Green, I should make you believe, that although I preach Patience to you, I should have cause to have little acquaint­ance with her my self: but spight of the Divel I hope to go to hea­ven, though I carry more crosses in my heart, thā in my purse, yet [Page]I hope (with my fellow begger) to be in Abrahams besome, when a rich Churle shall dance with Dives in a worse place: and therefore as a friend let me say to you, knowing what is good for you; whatso­ever fortune befall you, I pray you be not Angry.

I must confesse it is good Councel to have Patience, for Pati­ence is a pretty virtue, but y^e it waits upon a number of Villanies; but let me tel you, if a man spend all the mony in his purse upon a company of unthankful villains, and when he commeth to the bot­tom of his purse, and there finding nothing, intreateth with his friends (as he hath held them) but for an Ordinary or two; and scof fingly put off, cannot get a penny among them: what can ye have in all the rule of Patience? onely fret at the heart, to hear men say I pray you be not Angry.

And yet let me tel you, that when Anger wil not avail him, it is better to be Patient, than Angry; for I have heard it spoken by a wise man That he who cannot be Angry, is a Fool; but he that will be Angry, is more Fool: for when I was (as you said, and I may say) in the prime of my time, I may say in the foolish pride of youth, when all the Gold in the Parish, was copper to my silver: and my wit w [...]s beyond reason, when I was the onely fool of the World: Oh then (to tel you) I was overtaken in the half turn would make one run out of his wits and into them again, if it were possible: for say this, if a man hath no deformity in his proportion, is no Wood­cock for his ordinary course of wit, hath wealth enough to live by his neighbours without borrowing, is of parentage with the best of the Parish is in the way of good speed w^t a match worth y^e making of: & leaving all honest wise, and good councel sorsaketh his fortune and binds himself Prentice, during life, to an il favoured baggage, the worst child that her father had, whose beauty is like the back of a sea-coal chimny, and for proportion, the true proportion of a sea­crab as much wit as a gray goose, and manners as a blind Mare, & no more wealth than the wool on a shorn sheep: besides the issue of idle drunkenness, which being grounded in all foolishness, can away w^t nothing, but worse thē nothing: whose tōgue can kéep no secrets; whose heart can think no goodness and whose life is a world of un­quietnesse: & spight of his heart having takē her for better or worse, (when she cannot wel be worse and wil be no better) must hold out his life worse than ten deaths with her: say your self that whē a mā [Page]thinks of this misery it would fret him to the very heart; but where is the remedy.

Oh! I pray you be not angry: for if a man should have a Si­ster whom he loveth dearly, whose beauty and virtue were a Dow­ry for a Prince, her Linage Noble, her person comely, her nature kind, her government so discreet, that by the judgment of the wise, she was a match for the worthy: to sée this blessed creature, by y^e cru­elty of the fates, bestowed upon the bastard son of a Beggar whose father was a villain, his mother a fool, and he a Changeling whose eyes were thrée foot out of his head, his nose too long for his mouth, and his skin too wide for his face, his head like a high-way, with a little heath on either side, and his beard bending to the alehouse, from thence came the Original of his little honor: and for his un­der proportion, & answering to the upper parts, whose wit was one­ly practised in villany whose heart studied but Hell, while his soul was sworn servant to the Divel; and yet this rascal Viper shal, one­ly with his golden claws, creep into the hands (for in the heart he could never) of a pretty wench, and carry her away in such a world of discontentments, that she could never leave sorrowing, till she got into her grave: would it not fret such a brother, that had such a Sister: or chafe such a Lover as had such a love, to see such an over­throw of his comfort, or confusion of his hope.

Oh! I pray you be not Angry: for marriage and hanging some say go by destiny: and although hauging is but a short pain, & mar­riage is a lingring misery: where disagreement is a deadly life; yet since we cannot go against the will of the higher powers, Pati­ence is a plaister, that wil in time draw a mans heart out of his bel­ly, except he have more wit to govern his passion, but leaving love ioys, let me tell you, that if a man finding by some old writings in his mothers chest, that his father had title to a piece of land, which for want of a good purse, he durst never make challenge to; & say that I were the man, and by the witnesse of my honest ancient neighbours, can approve it in good conscience to be mine own in right of law; and thereupon asking counsel & paying for words by weight, and by my learned counsel perswaded, that it is mine past all plea: and thus playing with my nose, or rather with my purse till all be spent: with Demurs and tricks, he drives me to beggery, with suing for mine own right, while he goes gay with my money, [Page]and I starve with his words: a vengeance upon his crafty tonvey­ance. Would not this fret a mans soul to think on it, and cannot help it.

Now God forbid: I pray you be not angry: for Law was ordai­ned for the best; and though in al professions some are to blame, yet no doubt, but some have such cōsciences, that they would not be cor­rupted for a kingdōe, but Courts must have their fees, & Schollers must not study for nothing. But for that I am no good Lawyer, nor ever met with any bribes; I have nothing to say to thē; but wish the wicked their reward, while the honest may take heed by their exam­ple: & so leaving thē all to the day of their death, I wil tel y^u of ano­ther matter. Say that I had a friend at least as I take him, and lo­ving him so dearly, that I durst, nay I do trust him withall that I am worth & being to take a voyage either upon cōmand or cōmodi­ty, fearing some il courses to be takē for my children if I should dy, knowing womē generally, so sorrowful for a lost husband, that they wil not tarry long for a new: & what fathers in law be to Orphans, while widdows sigh & say nothing, having (in trust to my friend) made a secret deed of gift of all my estate unto him, the rather that my wife & children may fare the better, & now I have escaped many dangers by sea and land, & spoiled of all I had with me, come home, hoping to find comfort yet at mine own house, with that I left be­hind me: and there no sooner ētred in at the gate, but w^t a coy look, & a cold welcom, I find my wife, either turned out of doors, or so basely used within, that she could wel wish to be without: & then if I take it unkindly, be bidden mend it as I can; and so with a frown or a frump, almost thrust out of doors, be constrained to go to law for mine own living, while my mistaken friend having turned Turk, rates for nothing but his own cōmodity; & cōtrary to all con­science plays with me for mine own mony, til the Lawyer & he to­gether have won me quite out of mine own land, and so play me the Traytor with my trust; save me in the misery of my fortune to end my unhappy days now can you say to this, I pray you be not an­gry.

Yes very wel; for since you sée no remedy, but God is such a God in the world, as makes the Divel work many wonders among men, is it not better with Patience to endure a crosse, thē to crucifie the soul with impatience: but say that you should have a wife that [Page]you thought did love you well, when she would streak your beard, and never lie from your lips, and would speak you as fair as Eve did Adam, when she cozened him with an Apple, would not abide an Oath for a Bushel of Gold and be so sparing of her purse, that she would not lose the dropping of her nose; bridle it in her coun­tenance like a Mare that were knapping on a Cow-thistle; would wear no Ruffs but of the small set, though of the finest Lawn that might be gotten, and edged with a Lace of the best fashion; would not abide no embroidery in her aparel, yet have the best stuffe she could lay her hands on: and féed sparingly at dinner, when she hath broke her fast in the bed; and missed not a Sermon, though she pro­fited little by the Word: This dissembling piece of flesh, making a shew of lamentation, out of the abundance of her little love, for lack of your good company, if you were but a mile out of the Town; and if you were to take a journy, would lay an Onion to her eys. to draw out the Rhinne instead of tears, and having eaten an Apple, with pinching in a backward wind, send out a belching sigh for sor­row of the absence of her Goose-man: and then after all these, and a world of other tricks, to bring a man in bad belief of her good mind: if you returning home a night sooner then expected, and a year sooner than welcome should (having keys to your own doors) come in, and find in your own bed betwixt the arms (I go no lower) of your too much beloved, the living carkass, of a lubberly rascal, or perhaps the perfumed corps, of some dainty cōpanion, working upon the ground of your pleasure, to plant the fruit of idle-fancy to the horn-greif of your poor heart; could you be pacified with, I pray you be not Angry.

Indéed you put me to it with an If: but I hope there are no such women, [...]e for shame it were enough to make murther but Pa­tience being the mean to save many a mans life, and y^e perhaps being her first, & she upon repentance after a secret reprehension likely to turn honest, were it not better to steat away, and have her maid to wake her, the matter cleanly shuffled up, and she with sorrow rather to confess it in secret and to be sorry for it, and in shame of her fault to leave it while few knew it, rather thē in a fury or a frenzy bring in your neighbours, raise up your house, beat your wife imprison the knave, bring your wife to shame, and make the world privy to your cuckoldry: and so she in a desperate madnesse, either shamelesse after a little shame, or gracelesse, in impatience to bear her correcti­on, [Page]either cut her own throat or yours, or both, & so all come to con­fusion through lack of a little charitable discretion: No, God for­bid for rather then any such mischance should befall is it not better to say, I pray you be not angry.

For to quit your discontentment, say that I should (as God forbid I should) have married an honest woman, that hath brought me ma­ny pretty children, is a good housewife in her house, carefull for her children, and loving both to them and me, and for the space of many years, with a good opinion of all her neighbours, and good credit w^t all that know her, had passed some score of years or two with me, with as much contentment as a reasonable man might desire: and to make her amends for all her kindnesse, I should either take a whore into my house, or keep her as a hackney at rack and manger abroad, so long till being led by the nose, to believe that she loves me, when I pay for y^e nursing of half a dozen of bastards: of which if I be the wicked father, my conscience hath little comfort in: & if any other (as tis most likely) be y^e father or fathers, how am I beguiled to play poor noddy, to let my purse bloud to pay for y^e maintaining of anothers pleasure. And at the last if she find his abridge my libe­rality, in a venomous humour come with an out cry to my dore, with a nest of her fellow beggers, and there with railing upon me, calling me old letcher whoremonger and I know not what lay her brats down before my gate, and so with gaping mouth go her way, leaving me to my purse onely to séek the saying of my credit, and so become a grief unto my wife, a sorrow [...] children, and a laugh­ing stock to mine enemies, a by-word among my neighbors, a shame to my self, & an enemy to mine own soul: and thus seeing my wealth wasted, my credit lost and impaired, and God so displeased, that I know not which way to turn my self; shall I neither be angry with y^e whore for bewraying me, nor with my self to let her so befool me?

No; I say as I did, I pray you be not angry: for she did but her kind to use her eys to the benefit of the rest of her members; & you therefore being a man of judgement, ought rather to be s [...]ry for her wickedness, than to shew your own weaknesse, in such years to have a thought of wantonness: but sure y^e flesh is weak and the strongest may fall: better is a sorrowful repentance than a fretting madnesse: and since fretting at your own folly will not get you a foot of earth more then your grave, be not at wars with your self to no purpose; [Page]cease from doing evil, make much of your honest wife, serve God in true repentance, and the Divel shall do you no hurt: For is it not better to bear your crosse (especially being of your own making) than to run into further mischief, by the wicked humour of impati­ence? But to the purpose: say this (to quit you with an other pro­position) put the case that I being (as you sée) a proper man, and in the way of good spéed with a handsome woman, and she in state able to do for an honest man that would love her, and make much of her, and I have an intent to deal honestly with her, and she gives me her faith and troth, and swears by her very soul, that I have her heart so fast no man shall have her hand from me; and I thinking because she is old she is honest, and because she swears, that she saith true, go about my besinesse as she bids me for some few days, and then to re­turn to the ioyning up of the matter betwixt us; and in the mean time, after I have spent perhaps more then my half years wages upon her in wine and sugar and good chear, and hope to come to be merry, come and find her married to a filthy cousening knave, who by a little more money then I had in my purse for the present, to bribe another rascal like himself, who was the maker of the match, dwels in my hoped house, gives the bag for my mony, and hath my fat old sow in such a snare that there is no getting of her out again; when I am thus handled for my good will w^t this wicked old piece of whit-leather to put my trust in an old hogs-sty for my habitation, and to be thrust out of do [...]s for my labour, shall I not be angry?

Oh no in any [...] women have wits beyond mens rea­son, especially when they are past a child or child bearing, more than they that are past children. Oh I tell you, it is a perilous thing to slip occasion in matters of love; and age is either froward or frail: and therefore you should rather have fed her humor full ere you had left her, than to think she would be unprovided till you should come again to her: and therefore I say as you say I pray you be not angry. For I wil tel you, say that I being a man every way to content an honest woman, and having unhappily bestowed my self upon a wo­man of the worst kind, which before I married her was neither widdow, maid, nor wife but a plain whore: and this misery of my days being by my folly brought to some better state than she were worthy; and seeing her self in a glasse grown fat through good fare and ease, & setting her countenance even with the pride of her folly, [Page]beginning to think better [...] the Parish besides, should chance upon a little kindness [...] grow in love with my Kins­man, or he with her, and so they grow so great, that I shall stand like John-hold-my-staff, while they take their pleasure: she should sit at the upper end of the table, and I at the nether end: she lie in one chamber and I in another, and yet must not find fault with it for fear of a stab, or a fig, or some other villany; but with a séeming countenance bear all, as if Pudding were the onely Meat of the world while one makes horns at me, another moes at me, another cal [...] me cuckold another wittal, and I know all to be true and can­not or dare not do withal: do you think that flesh and bloud can bear with this and not be angry?

Yes, very well, for as you have flesh and bloud, so you have wit and reason: and when your wit and reason can consider, how her trade brings more commodity, and with lesse travel, than your traffick, if you be not wilfull, that you will hear no body speak but your self, or so scornfull that you can endure no companion in kind­nesse, or so covetous, that you will not spare a penny towards the nursing of your neighbours child or so proud that you scorn the gift of a friend; you wil find that such a wife is worth two Milch-cows: and whatsoever the world says, you are beholding to none but her: and where others beggar their Husbands, she hath made you the Head man of the Parrish: and then cannot you wink at a little fault that is so full of profit? Yes I warrant you: and therefore I may well say, I pray you be not-angry.

True, it may be that some good Asse that knows not how to live without the basest trade of beggary, will put on any Pati­ente for Profit: but from such a rascal nature God deliver me. But to requite you with as good as you bring let me tell you: if I should serve a man of great wealth, and he have a wenching humour, and he kéeping more Maid-servants in his house than ever meant to be true Virgins, and one of these mad eattel, that for the price of a red petticoat would venture the lining of her placket, should by a mis­chance of her Masters making, fall into a Two-heeled-Timpany, which could by no means be cured without my consenting to a wic­ked marriage for a little mony; which I by the villany of the Trul which would put the trick upon me must séem willingly to yéeld unto, for fear of I know not what to fall out I know not why: and [Page] [...] own hearts comfort, when [...] delivered of this mischief, hoping that she would meddle no more with any such matters, be­gin to make a little more of her than she was worthy: and she there­upon grown so lusty, that she cared not for the Parrish so long as the Constable was her friend, give enterttainment to whom she list, and use me as she list, set more horns than hairs on my head and care not if I were hanged for my good will: This Rascal, round­about, without good complexion or good condition as ill-favoured as mannered and so spoken as wicked, being thus void of grace, carelesse of all credit and irremovable in her resolution for the wicked course of her life; this (I say) hellish piece of flesh, to do­mineer over me, and with the countenance of her Master, to make a slave of her Good-man who should, be sent on Errands, while she were with her Arrants; I should fetch wine for their drink­ing, turn the spit to their Roast-meat, or walk their horses while they were saddling my Fillie: And yet all this, and I say not what else, I must bear, as though it were no burthen for a small rec­koning at the weeks end for washing of a foul shirt or setting of my Ruffs right, or séething of a Calves head, or making sawce to a tame g [...]se, or for a nod of my Master, that makes a noddy of his Servant: for such and such like matters to put up all matters and swallow grief in my throat, that it is ready to choke me in the go­ing down: is it possible to do all this, that You could be I and not be angry.

Yes very well, for profit is so pleasing, that it puts out a great many ill thoughts that would trouble a man that hath no wit; and for honesty, it is a good thing, I must confesse: but if a man be not born rich, and keep himself so he shall gain little by simpli­city: and therefore (as I said) where Patience brings Profit. I say still, bear with your Fortune, and be not angry. But leaving to talk more of Female discontentments, let me say this: That I, being a man of sufficiency to supply the Office of a good place born of a Noble house, bred up in all courses requisite for a Gentleman, have travelled divers Countries, seen much of the World by Sea and Land, and through want of my Fathers discretion, not left so good a Portion as may maintain my Reputation, without some better matter then mine own Estate, and driven for my better [Page]comfort, to put my [...] know not what hath made rich; and being onely wise in the world, hath no féeling of Gods grace, but by a thousand ill practises, finds the mean before his death to look over a great deal of more ground than his Grave; and this Captain of the damned crew, who is haled to Hell with a world of chains the Son of a Beggar, and Brother to a Villain to govern over the honesty of my heart, with the commandement of evil service; or (finding me not for his humour, to frown upon me like an old Frying-pan, or to rate me like a Dog because I will not be a Dovil; to be impleyed in more vilenesse then half a Christian could endure to hear of: now (I say) to spend my time in this misery, onely for picking of a Satlad waiting at a trencher, looking on a fair House, making courtesie to an old Relique, hold the Bason to the Rhume, or hea­ring the Musick of a cotten Cough; and after many years Pati­ence in this Purgatory, where all the wisdome I have learned, were but to corrupt the nature of a good wit, either for a trifle to be frowned at, and by tricks to be wrought out; or with a Livery without a Badge, to seek my fortune in some other soil, to have ser­ved long for Nothing or for Worse than Nothing when Discon­tentments must be cancelled, and I (for fear of a mischief) must speak all Honour of Dishonour, and with a Merry-go-sorry sigh out my days that are no better blest: when I shall sée a Fool graced, and better Wits put down, Honesty scorned, and Knavery in more ac­count then commendable; and I, cozening my self with an imagi­nation▪ that service was an heritage, where I found nothing but losse of time and repentance have I not cause think you with all this to be angry?

And yet I say, I pray you be not angry: For if you had so muth of the Grace of God, as to make you rather leave the hopes of Preferment than yield to an ill imployment, no doubt, but ei­ther your private life will find some secret contentment, or your Patience will find somewhere the advancement of your vertues: and therefore rather be joyfull of Gods blessing, than impatient with your Fortune, and think not amisse that I say, I pray you be not angry, But to requite you: Say that I having more money in my purse then a wise man would part with but upon the better reckoning should be perswaded to play the Vsurer, & so with a lit­tle [Page] [...] cunning [...] should be brought in hope of gain to take in pawn for my mony some lease of a good farm, or piece of rich plate: which being not fetched by the day of payment, would return me more then double my mony: put my mony out of my hands, which I have fared full hard to get together, and I glad of my forfeit, hoping to gain more then a good conscience would a­way withall, find my lease not worth a point, by a former déed of gift or such a conveyance as carrieth all away from my fingers, and leave me (for all my cunning) in the law, to plead repentance to my folly: or my plate challenged for some piece of pilfery & I brought in trouble for I know not what, and to get out I know not how, till I have brought my stock to a poor state where. I may see the just reward of Vsury; when I look in my purse and find nothing, would not this make one angry?

Not a whit: For Knaves will be Knaves, and Fools must be bitten ere they be wise; of which if you be none, no doubt but there are enough in the world. And since all the anger in the world will not recover a penny loss, let me say to you as you say to me, I pray be not angry. And let me tell you that upon a time it was my hap to have a friend (as I thought) whom I loved dearly: and building upon the care of his conscience, that for a world of wealth he would not play the Jew with me; it fell out, that I having more then a moneths mind to a wench above a year old whose worthiness might command a far better servant than my self, and yet it had so fallen out betwixt us, that our Affections were so settled, that I thought (without death) there could be no remove: and therefore fearing no Fortune relying so much upon her Love, loving (as I said) my ima­gined friend more then a wise man should do (for there is a measure to be kept in all things) made him acquainted with my serresse, iou­ching the intent to steal away my Mistresse from the place where she had no pleasure to be kept in, as she had béen long like a chick­en in a coop; and to the performing of this purpose, hoping to have use of his best help, deliver him a ring, or a jewel of some value to present unto my Love, when I know his means better then mine own, to have accesse unto her without suspition; and he after a world of Protestations sealed with too many Oaths, to deal so faithfully, carefully, and secretly for me, as my heart could desire, when faith [Page]there was none, nor care of me, nor care of me, nor secresie but in kée ping all from me, when like a dissembling Jow he useth my Iewel for a mean to rob me of my better Iewel: when he presented it as for himself, and revealing some matter of secresie betwirt us, unpleasing to her, and nothing to my profit, with inchanting charms wins her affecti­on and borroweth my money to cut my throat till having carried a­way my mistris, he either laugh at me, or write me, a letter to co­logue with me: when I think how with trusting a knave. I have played the fool, in conscience say, if ever man would fall out with himself have not I cause to be angry.

No, for as you said to me, knaves will be knaves, and in matters of love, he that will not be the follower of his own cause, may happen to be over thrown in his own sute, and to look for con­stancy in woman, especially, of a woman in young years, when gifts and bribes are able to work great matters in those courses, it is a meer folly: for say that some are, I know not how many, as con­stant as Penelope, yet let Danae take heed of a golden shower in her lap: and therefore I pray you be not angry. For lot me tell you to be deceived by a friend it is an ordinary matter: to loose a wench, it is a thousand mens fortunes: and therefore since she was so fickle to trust to think her better lost then found, and for him get your gol­den Iewels and your mony from him, and let him walk with his wirked houshold-stuffe; and let me tell you of a discontentment of mine. It was my hap, I may say my ill hap to cast my affection of late on a very proper young man of a pure complexion, neither effe­minate nor course faced, neither of Lether-sellers, nor Painters comp [...]ny but a good feature and well coloured: and for his counte­nance, neither Paul-sleeple height, nor with the fall of the tide; but carried in so good a measure, as shewed his wits no more out of or­der then his members: for his voice, neither Treble nor Base, but a good mean: and his spéech neither Rhetorical, nor Logical, nor Tragical nor Colastical: but such as neither too little nor too much answering directly to every question: and speaking necessarily upon good occasion, wan him such commendation for his discretion, as increasing much my affection, made me (as I thought) upon good judgement, make him a subject of my contentment: in brief I sing­led him out of company, to make him my compa [...]i [...]n, to [...] him in­to my house, bestowed bountifully upon him, let hi [...] want [...]ny [Page]thing that was néedfull for him: my table to dine at a fair chamber for his lodging, yea and sometimes made him my bed-fellow, furni­shed him with money, horse, apparel, books, and credit for whatsoe­ver he would demand yea, and in mine absence trusted him with the government of my whole house; till my favour bred in his folly that, that at the first I saw not, such a presumption of his own wor­thinesse as I liked not, where contronling even my self for a trifle, himself to blame in the self-same nature, for a greater matter, thin­king all too little that was done for him, and urging more then was meet for him: at last, not able to suppresse the venome of his pride, till his heart made his head swell as big as a cods-head, in recompence of all my kindnesse, plays false with my servant-maid, steals away my eldest daughter, robs my coffers, cracks my credit, befools my wi [...], & doth what he may to séek the ruine of my estate; is it possible that a man could think of such a villain, and not be angry?

Yea very wel, and I say unto you, I pray you be not angry▪ for still knaves will be knaves, and a man had néed eat a bushel of salt with a man, before he go toe far to trust him; for he was a worldling and out of the simplicity of your honesty, thinking him to be that he was not, might learn him to trust his like, or any at all, at least with your house your daughter (if you have any) or your servants, if you kéep any: and having Patience with your lack of judgement, do for your daughter as you have cause in nature and reason, and pray in charity for his soul, what ever be­comes of his carkasse: and since I hope you will take this for no ill councel I say as I did, I pray you be not angry.