MILLO, Good morrow.

And a thousand to thée, honest Dalio: but whither plod you so sadly?

I was walking towardes your house, and finding your wife abroad, I hoped y ^e better to haue you quiet at home.

You say well: Is it not a pittifull Case, that a mans house that should bée his castle, and his wise his comfort▪ should through the vnqui­etnesse of her indiscretion, become more terrible to him then a towne of Warre?

I must confesse it is too true, I haue pittied you often, but could neuer doe you good: and he that could iudge what I see and you [...]eele, would confesse it were a pittifull Case ind [...]d; God helpe you.

I thanke you, for I thinke that the noyse of a volley of shot, is not comparable to the roaring mouth of an [...]nquiet woman: which since it will not be mended▪ it must be borne, & so forth. But I pray you tel me, how doth your eld [...]st sonne? followeth he his olde courses? will no good cou [...]sell bring him home againe?

Oh, no Neighbour: I may sigh to [...]are men s [...]y, that yonder is an honest man▪ yet hath a sonne able to breake the heart of his father: Oh, it is a pittifull Case▪ that a man [Page] should [...] [...] care all the d [...]yes of his life, to lay vp wealth to: [...] [...] sonn [...] that shall spend it before he were ready to part with [...] [...] [...] he could [...] to be a childe be sicke of the [...], [...] [...] vpon his death, be glad of his sicknesse, [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] continuing in an euill course, scorne [...] [...] ▪ [...] [...] [...] the Lawe, he growes so [...] [...] in his [...], [...] he be [...] of all good compa [...], [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] to his fathers hear [...]: [...] [...] [...] [...] of [...], the [...] of punishment, the [...] [...] [...] ▪ loue of [...] [...] [...] [...] him to good▪ [...] [...] [...] [...], to [...] him so past gra [...], that there [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] nature is of such f [...]ce, that [...] canno [...] [...] his owne childe: what shall I say to it?

Why, as you sayd to me, let me say to you, a pitti­full Case, a pittifull Case, for tis [...]o lesse▪ Ascolding wife, and a stubburne childe, are two pittifull Cases for patience to plead [...]. But what is become o [...] my neighbours [...] daughter?

Alas the day there is a pittifull Case indéed, if you [...] of a Case to be [...]. A [...]ong wench, a faire wench, a [...] wench, a pretty wench, a [...] wench a gallant wench, a proper wench, a wife wench, an honest wench, a [...] wench a [...] wench, that could speake well, and [...] well, [...] [...] [...], [...] pl [...] [...], [...] w [...]ll, [...]nd do [...] thing [...], to be [...] [...] ▪ I say cast [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...], [...] [...], [...] that loues nothing but [...] meate, [...] can [...] [...] [...] [...] upon gay [...], [...] [...] [...] [...] all for a [...] [...] [...] [...], to be [...]?

[...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] the should [...] & I would reele, [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] a liuing, before I would bring her to her death by such a miserie.

You say well, & so I thinke should I▪ but tis a pittifull Case, and so let it be: And since we are entred into these mat­ters, [Page] let me aske you a question. I pray you what heare you of your Nephew, and his marriage?

You do wel to put me in [...] of him for in t [...]th I pitty him: a yong man, a handsome man a wise man, an honest mā, a kinde man, & a carefull man, giuen to thriue, like to do well, comming on well in y ^e world; to bestow the p [...]me of his years, the hope of his fortune, and the fruite of his trauaile, vpon the figure of deformitie, the discomfort of continuance, the crosse of pleasure, & the misery of time, & all for a little can [...]kred coyne, which may hap to be short of his reckoning & he may leaue ere he be aware: would it not fret a man to thinke on it? [...] a man to see it? & pitty him, that he cannot helpe [...]? when his youth is drowned in her age, his wit in her wilfulnes, his lear­ning, in her lacke of vnderstanding, and his worthinesse, in her wretchednesse. Is not this a pittifull Case?

Oh yes, a pittifull Case, a pittifull Case indéed: and for my self, had I such a sonne, I would make him plough and I would sow, & we would both labour for bread▪ [...]re he should [...]ast with such a morsell. But to goe on with you a little, I pray you how doth my Couzen Sindo, with his bar [...]aine?

You say well, for there is a Case pittifull enough, I think: oh poore man, he is vndone: wh [...], his stocke o [...] [...] [...] put into a stocke of sheepe, & hauing them warranted good and sound, takes a pasture for them, which hath beene [...] [...]th sick cattel, & there findes thē day by day fall into diseases that what with y ^e [...]ot, the Scab, the Flie, the worme, th [...] [...], & I know not what, in a little [...], the Fold com [...] [...] a little roome, & the [...] [...]o [...] [...] the [...] ▪ that the [...] [...] [...] not be worth the taking vp: wh [...] ▪ [...] [...] the [...] and the Woolfe▪ the carelesse▪ o [...] the [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] ground, or the [...] [...] ▪ the [...] com [...] [...] [...] reckoning, y ^t repentance may [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] [...]acke of [...] of his owne [...] play [...] [...] [...], [...] the shepheard with another: to see an hones [...] [...] in [...] [...] of his neighbous▪ carefull of his estate, [...] [...] [...] [...] [...] should either through want o [...] [...]ill, or the [...] o [...] [...], come into such [...] ▪ [...] being able to le [...]d [...] [...] [...] [...] [...], shuld not now haue either credit or comfort [...] misery: [Page] Oh is it not a pittifull Case, that man, who should be as a God vnto man, should become such a diuell vnto man?

It is true, the diuell at the first crept into the eare of a woman, to deceiue man, and I thinke he hath of late so crept into the heart of man to deceiue one an other, and themselues most of all, that the monstrous minds of these daies doe so de­ceiue and abuse the simple hearts of honest soules, that we may say it is a pittiful Case, to see what the diuel can doe among men: but let this passe: and let me aske you a question.

With all my heart, and as I can I wil kindly answere you: then say this: When a rich man dies, and owes a great deale of mony, to a number of poore men, and women, many of them take his word and haue no writings, he dies and makes his will, giues what he hath, to whom he list, but hath no mind of his debts, though he haue set downe all his debters, and so with a cōscience world wide goes to hel with the diuel: leauing poore men to begge, that cannot come by their mony: when the labourer, the widowe, and the fatherlesse, come weeping to the doore for the paiment of a poore reckening, and with a checke or a [...]aunt, either deferred for a litle, or with nothing but a re­buke sent away: while the Executor come out puffing after a banquet, the h [...]re come prouding after new apparell, the sis­ter pricking as towards the hope of a gallant husband, and the guests with curtisies, and I thanke you for my good cheere go­ing home, the poore wretch, with a cold comfort, must walke a­way with a poore pittance, breaking his hart with the sighes of his soule to see y ^e misery of his fortune, Is not this a pitiful case?

It is a most pittifull Case, but who can helpe it when mens hearts are so shut vp in their purses, that mony comes from them like their heart blood: and with wicked consciences rather die indebted to many, to enrich their posterity, then leaue order for the paiment of their debtes, euen out of their su­per [...]: but I hope, there are not many such: But to goe a­long with you, let me tell you, which I thinke you haue not heard of, a pitifull Case indeede: I thinke as we haue yet spoken of, the ouerthrow of [...]. [...] estate.

It is the first time that I heard of the manner of it, but of his decaie I haue heard, and sorie to heare of it, and there­fore, I pray you let me heare you deliuer as I know you will, the truth of it.

I will: and thus it was. The Gentleman, as you know, a proper man, well carried, well qualified, and well dis­posed, deeply read, and soundly studied, one whom his friendes had good hope of, and many men of great wisedome did con­uerse withall for his iudgement, in the midst of all expectati­on of his fortune and well doing in the world, falls into ac­quaintance and too much affection, with a Scholler that hath more learning then honesty, who to gaine a litle wealth, cared not whom he brought to beggery, and fell so farre into an ouer­weening of his wits, and giuing such an applause to his rea­sons, that for the spending of a litle mony, he should growe into a mountaine of golde, and so long ledde through fooles paradise with hopes of strange working in natures, that euery day im­pairing his estate, by the defraying the charge of his expence, perswading him to make golde of drosse, he found nothing in the end, but to bring indeed golde to drosse, for when his land was sold for mony his mony went for coales, glasses, brickes, and bellowes, and I know not how many necessaries, as he was perswaded to be at charge with, for the making golde by the Admirable Science of A [...]camist: when this glasse was bro­ken, and that fire was out, and this and that must be renued, and I know not what must be laid out, till there were nothing to lay in, when the poore gentleman saw himselfe thus mocked with imagination, and cosened by illusions, that he found Al­camist, to be [...]: which is, All mist: amazed to find him selfe All hid in a miste, where through want of a cleere sight, [...]e grew so blinde, that he could neuer see a pennie in his purse: Oh, how it st [...]ooke him to the heart to see the wofull fruite of his wilfull folly: beleeue me carele in a manner, either of himselfe, or what might befall him, he fell to such a melancholy humor, as with inward sorrow, sighing, and sobbing, desirous alwaies to be solitarie, and out of companie, fell at last into a consump­tion, [Page] and so as a dead man vpon the earth, walketh vp and downe as you see. And is not this a most pittifull Case, to see a proper man a handsome man, an honest man, a wise man a learned man, and a rich man made such a Stale such an [...]sse, and such a monie, to vndo himselfe, to sell all he hath and with sorrow to weare himselfe to the bones, for a hope of wōders out of the wit of a villaine, that only studied Philosophy, to vse a foole o so fie? Beleeue me, in mine opinion it is a pittifull Case.

It was indéed: and is a most pittifull Case, to see how many are so cousoned in the world, by imagination of mira­culous courses in nature: but let them burne that will needes leape into the fire: in one sense. I meane, in Charitie I could pittie their misery, but truly I cannot but laugh at there folly, that, in so seeking to make gold of leade, put them selues cleans cut of siluer. But let vs leaue these long Cases: and in briefe answere me to such Cases, as I will put you.

As I can I will.

Well then first tel me your opinion in this: Is it not a pittifull Case, to see a proper man without mony?

It is.

And to see a faire woman without wit?

No lesse.

And an old man leacherous?

Alas poore man.

And a yong man vitious?

He will be sped.

And a rich man couetous.

Tis pitty that he hath so much.

And a whore vndoe an honest man?

Fie vpon her, there are too many of them.

And a foole in Authoritie?

Woe be to that gouernment.

And a begger an horsebacke?

Let him ride like a Rascall.

And a gentleman on soote?

I would he had my horse.

And a [...]onky kisse a woman?

I [...]auoured vr [...]hin.

And a dogge [...] a man?

[...]ang him Curre.

And a [...]orse [...] his Rider?

[...] fortune.

And a [...]enne C [...]ow troden?

Cut her throa [...]e.

And a Fore kill a [...]ambe?

Set dogges vpon him.

And a woman beat her husband?

Let his neighbour ride.

And a poore man arrested?

God helpe him.

And a villaine rich?

Beware a mischiefe.

And a Louer deceiued?

[...]oo common.

And a deceiuer, beloued?

Oh pittifull!

And a good tale ill told?

[...]acke o [...] wit.

And a lie [...]?

Fie on fla [...]tery.

And loue abused?

Ill nature.

And abuse fauoured?

Ill iudgement.

And warre [...]?

[...]is dang rou [...].

And peace [...]?

Tis impious.

And a Souldier begge?

It is grieuous.

And a Pudding burne?

No, it skils not: Tis a thing of nothing.

And a Goose goe bare-foote?

It is naturall.

And a woman wéepe?

It is ordinary.

And an Asse loaded?

Hee serues for it.

And an Ape cloathed?

Tis the Bearwards gaine.

And a Grey-hound spurned?

A churlish nature.

And a Mas [...]iffe stroked?

The Clownes iewell.

And a Tree fruit [...]esse?

Cut it downe.

And a friend faithlesse?

Trust him not.

And a worke-man lazie?

Pay him not.

And a seruant idle?

[...]eepe him not.

And a Wife gracelesse?

Loue her not.

You answere briefly, but not directly to my proposi­tions: I aske you if al these be not pittifull Cases?

No: some are, and some are not.

Which are not?

Why a bare▪foote Goose, for she can weare no shoes, but she would leaue them in the water: and a weeping woman when she cryeth for curst heart: and a bearing Asse, for hee is good for nothing els: [...] an Ape in his coate, for he makes sport for fooles. These and a number more of this nature, I thinke neede not greatly to be pittied: for others, you may iudge my [Page] minde by mine answeres.

You say well: & yet let the Goose alone to féed with the Gander: but to the woman, I thinke when she weepes she cryes not, and then a kinde heart will pittie her: and to loade an Asse too much may breake his backe: and to cloathe an Ape too richly, is cost ill bestowed: and therefore some way there is, none of these things but are to be pittied.

I holde with you; but let vs leaue this short chepping of Cases & a little speake of a Case too pittifull to be spoken of if it could be helped. Say, that I should marry your daughter, being a widow, and being possessed of pre [...]ty lands of her owne inheritance, by her mother (who you lately buried) and hauing liued with my said wife some fewe yeares, in loue and kindesse, till she be forced to walke the way of all flesh, and then she hauing a daughter, heire to h [...]r sayde lands, liuing with some of her friends farre f [...]ō her; I knowing this daugh­ter true heire to these lands, do against my conscience, passe a­way this land vnto a man of wealth, who if it euer come in question, can follow the Law with a good Purse: the Heire comes to claime her right: I am dead; he that hath bought it keepes her from it, and the Lawe findes meanes to keepe her from it. Is not this a pittifull Case?

Yes, and pitty but it should be better plea [...]ed, that the Heire might haue her right, and the oppressor either be pu­nished, or put to pay for it.

Well sayd, then let me tell you this: If a Rogue cut a Purse, and put it in my pocket, I be demaunded the Purse, and knowing my selfe cleare from the thought of such a villai­nie, do in furie deny it, & [...] [...] th [...] Purse is [...]ound about me, & I apprehended for [...] [...], except the thief come to cleare me, am like to hang for it: Is not this a pittifull Case?

Oh Lord, who would [...]ot thinke so. And to answere you, if a fi [...]thy whore be g [...]tten [...] childe by a rascall [...]naue, & be counsailed by her [...] [...] the [...] vpon me, if she will [...] at [...] though she sor [...] it [...] as mine, I must be at th [...] charg [...] [...] keeping of it, and suff [...]r I [...] [...] [Page] what trouble for it, to my great discredite, and almost vndo­ing: Is not this a pittifull Case?

Yes in truth, and grieuous: but to quite you. Say that you are a poore man, and simply honest; I like a Gallant come riding on the high way, vpon a horse that I haue stolne but a little before, and am pursued for: I seeme to light to vn­trusse a poynt, and knowing the Countrey, deliuer you my horse to leade on a little on the way, and giue you a small piece of money for your paines, promissing to come presently backe vnto you: when I wake away through a Wood to a Ferry, and so shift away and leaue you; you are taken with the horse, & if the Countrey be not the better vnto you, you must hang for your kindnesse: Is not this a pittifull Case?

A miserable Case: but leaning hanging Cases, let me aske your opinion touching some fewe Cases, that come sud­denly into my minde.

With all my heart, and I will deliuer you my iudge­ment, what I thinke of them.

Then say this. To giue white-bread to a dogge, and browne to a man: Is it not a pittifull Case?

It is, and it is not.

How so?

It is pittifull in respect of y ^e bread, that was ordained rather for mē than dogs; but of the gift no pitty: for it is better to make much of a profitable dog, then an vnprofitable man.

Well then, is it not pittie to sée a wise man poore, and a foole rich?

It is, and it is not.

As how?

It is pittie that wisedome should want, but wealth will corrupt a good wit, and a wise man may liue by his wits, while a foole may begge if he want money.

Well sayd: but is it not pitty to see good meat ill dresset?

No▪ for if it were well dressed, it might cause surfet­ting by too much pleasing the taste, where now a little well dis­gested may doe nature no hurt: but yet in respect of the meat it is pitty: so that in a priuale dish it is not well, but in a pub­ [...]: Feast, it is no great matter.

Well Syr, but to sée an honest quiet man matched with a scolde?

It is, and it is not: [...]or though in respect of his better desert, it is a pittie, yet in regard it is an exercise of his pati­ [...]nce, it is profitable, and so no pitty.

But to see a carefull maist [...]r matched with a careles seruant, is it not to be pittied?

I say as I sayd, it is, and it is not: for though in re­spect of his hinderance it is a pitty, yet for that it will keepe him from lazines, in hauing a carefull eye ouer all his businesse, it is good for him, and so not pittifull.

Well sayd: but to see a fi [...]e wench in ragges, and an [...] fauoured Slut well cloathed, is it not a pitty?

I say as I did still, it is and it is not; the Wench bet­ter des [...]rues it: but in respect her beauty with a little vertue wil get a better matter, then cloathing without wealth, it is no pitty: & since it is easie to consider, that the Croanes cloa­thing is al her countenance, & without the which she may goe [...]ry kitchin-st [...]ffe for her cōfort: it is pitty but she should haue something to helpe, that is worse than nothing: and the wench being vertuous in her pouerty, might perhaps be wicked if she were wealthy, and so (as I sayd) it is, and it is not pitti [...].

Well then, what say you to this: Is not the wreak of a ship, a pittifull sight?

It is so one way, & it is not another: for in respect of the common-wealths losse, that might haue made good vse of that she brought it was a pitty: yet in resp [...]ct y ^t it was a meane to humble the proud spirit of him y ^t ought it▪ it is not pittifull.

You speake to some pu [...]pose: but yet I do, & not allow of your opinion in many points: but for that w [...] come rather to talke of Cases, then [...]o fall out about Cases, let your opini­on stand firme, for it is not much [...]: & let me tell you of a pittifull Case that be [...]ell of late in a little Uillage, about a [...] from my house.

Come on: and ten to one, but if my memory fas [...]e me [...], I shall requi [...]e you with another worth the hearing.

Then heare me, thus it was. An old woman, a very old woman, a crooked old woman, a creeping old woman, a lame woman, a deafe woman, a miserable woman, a wretched woman, a wicked woman, f [...]ll with halfe a sight (for shortly af­ter she fell blind) in leue with a prety neate nimble, spru [...]e, [...] ­ly, handsome, & in truth, louely young man, and so faire, as af­ter the manner of the country people, she would if she met him in a morning bid him good morrow, with how doe you sonne? I praie you come neere, if it were néere her house, and I praie [...]ou sit downe, and I pray you drinke, and how doth your good father, and your mother, and all your house? In [...]roath, you are welcome, I am sorie I haue no géed cheere for you but such as I haue I pray you doe not spaire, if I haue any thing in my house, it is at your commande: In déede, I euer loued y [...]u of a childe, and if I had a daughter I would giue her with all I haue to you, that I would, I truly would I: but and you could make much of an old woman, it may be, I haue some old Rud­dockes that saw no day these twenty winters and ten, that may make a young man merry: yea, and perhaps make you liue by their noses that holde their heads full high. And [...]hus, with shewing of him all her weal [...]h, which she co [...]iured [...] ▪ to keepe secr [...]t, & giuing a piece of gold or two with him▪ she made h [...]n doe, y [...]a mary did he, that which his cons [...]ience had no comfort in, and he found no good of: for hauing robbed her [...] of a great deale a come only bearing her in hand to be her A [...]se-band, and for a litle [...]fauoured kindnes, it fell out that shortly after▪ he fa [...]ling in loue with a neighbours daughter, a we [...]ch worthy the lo [...]king on when all parti [...]s were ag [...]eed, the matter was made vp, hands were ioyned, hearts were ioyfull, [...]he [...]anes were [...], the Bride and [...] w [...]re married, the guests were bidden the dinner w [...]s r [...]adie, the minstrel [...]s plaid the youth danced and the old fooles [...]aught, and the day was w [...]ll past, and nothing longd for [...]ut night, and then the supper do [...]e, the guest [...]s departed then curtes [...]e and I thanke you, the Rich had their bellies full, and the beg­gers had their pockets full▪ and the house was at qui [...]t, the [Page] doores were shut, the fire and candel put out the bed made softe, and the sheets white washed, [...]nd the pillowes sprinckled with rose water, and all things in order, for the comfort of these yong couple: the old woman that grewe mad at this match, though she durst not forbid the banes, being at the church, and hearing of diuerse saying God giue you ioy, fell to mumbling to her selfe, and some sorrow too whē how she wrought with her In­chantment, I know not, but, the young people might kisse, while she might sigh▪ and he fret, but there was [...]s furthe [...] matter to be performed: and this continued some two yeares, till she in loue and modesty, concealing her miserie, & he seeking all meanes h [...] could for his comfort, and finding no [...]e, met by chance with this old woman, and in a mistrust that shee had done him some villanie with her ill tongue, fell vpon her, and throwing her downe, [...]rode vpon her, & did beate her, till he left her for dead: and indeed she neuer eate bread after, for going home to her house, belike going about some other hellishnes, her Cruch slipping, sh [...] fell ouer the threshold, and broke her neck: when the young man came home and talked so kindly with his wif [...], that within for [...]ie weekes after she brought him a goodly boy: And is not this a pittifull Case, that a man should so long be tormented by the wicked tongue of a woman?

A woman, you would say the shape of a woman, for a witch is but a dwell Incarnat [...]: it is pittie that any of them are suffered to liue. But to req [...]ate you: not many [...]iles from the town where I dwel the [...]e [...]as an old man, [...] o [...]d m [...]n, a coughing, sneueling, bleer- [...] wry mouthed, botle-n [...]sed, [...] legged, pal [...]ie handed stumpe footed, w [...]y bodied, [...] [...], s [...]andering tongue, fo [...] ▪ stinking breathed, who walked but vp­on cruches, read but with spectacles, and spake with a wa [...]ing, nodding, or a noddy head, this ongly [...] [...] rather abi [...]ct of nature, the sorrow of [...]outhes e [...]e sight, the disprofit o [...] time, th [...] hate of loue, and the lam [...]ntation of hope, such a man as is not in the world to be seene, by very ill [...]ortune, vppon a faire day chanced to meete with a Tenants daughter of his, whom ha­uing well viewed, as his dumne sight would giu [...] him leaue, [Page] giuing a nodde to her curtesie, sent the next day for her to his house, but the wench the day before hauing so much of his sight, that she desi [...]ed neuer to see him more, with bitter teares fell at her fathers feete, and desired him to goe and know his plea­sure, and make excuse for her, that she was not well, but the next day she would come to him: the poore man seeing his daughter change colour, did yeelde to her request, put on his best shooes, & a cleane band, & being but a litle way to his house, through want of a horse went on foote, when, but a litle wet­shod, with slipping into a ditch, he comes at last to the doore of this rich Clowne who being head Bailiff [...] to the chiefe Lord of the manner, kept a house, the best thatched of all his neighbours in the parish, there being saluted, by a couple of sowle curres, not much vnlike their old maister, being of his old acquain­tance, shewed him but their teeth, & then wagging their tailes, did him no harme, but let him there stay til this Chaps, the old mezil, [...]earing his dogges, and knowing their voices, came out to heare whom they talked too, and there seeing this poore man, stand cappe in hand, setting hunsclfe downe vpon a bench, after a horse cough, and a spalling spet or two, begins to aske him for his daughter, whose excuse being made, he falls aboord with him for her, to haue her for his seruant: which, he answering with an excuse, that it could not be, for she had taken earnest of a gentlewoman, to waite on her in her chamber: which he be­lieuing, answered that he would do more [...]or her then any gen­tlewoman of them all; for he had no children, and he would make her both his childe and his wife: and therefore she should take no eare for seruice: the poore man glad of this message, went home merily to his daughter, told her what good fortune was towards her, for ioy sent for the other pot, & now thought to take no care for rent, when his child should be his Landlady: but the poore girle seeming to her father to be as ioyfull as he, when her father was gone to his daies worke in the morning, tooke an old sacke, in which she put vp all her cloathes that she had, and away goes she to an Aunt she had ten miles of, and there with howling and crying, that her father ment to marrie [Page] her to the diuel, intreated her to put her to seruice, [...]r she had rather wash [...]uckes all daies of her life, then be matched with such a monster: Oh Aunt, euery body saies, that he kild his last wife with kindnes, and I thinke he would do as much with me.

Oh tis a venome man, as liues: and truly Aunt it is such an ilfauoured man, and he hath such a breath, It is a beastly crea­ture: besides the house that he dwells in, he hath but his life in, but if he had all the world, and as much good, as would lie in all your house, I would not haue him, I had rather begge my bread.

Her Aunt séeing the honest heart of the poore wench, and knowing that she could set a seame together, and handl [...] her needle prettily, for a plaine hemme, & could tell how to eate a peece of meate howeuer she could dresse it, spake to a gentle­woman neere vnto her to take her into her seruice, droue a bar­gaine for her wages, brought her to her, and placed her with her: where she behaued her selfe well, and was well thought on: and there I leaue her Now home comes her father, misseth his daughter, runnes to his Landlord, thinking to finde her there: the micher thinkes he is mockte, he falles out with his Tenant, warnes him out of his house, the poore man goes home weeping, his wife with her hands wringing, entertaines him with a scolding, railing vpon him, cursing her Landlord, and sweares she will haue her home, hang him dogge, he shall not be the death of her daughter, she will not dwel in his house, she will haue her childe out of his house, or she will beats downe his doores: and is as good as her word, the next mor­ning with an open mouth goes to his doores, where lowd [...] then both his Mastiffes, shée maketh an out [...]ry for her childe.

The man knowing her to be an vnreasonable woman, entreats her to be quiet, sweares by the crosse of his Crutch, that he knowes not whither she is gone: and with much adoe to pacifie her, gettes himselfe ridde of her: when comming home, and not finding her deare [Page] daughter, she falls into such an agony, that a horse would not abide it, when the poore man with griefe takes such thought, that he can eate no meat, and she weary & almost out of breath with scolding, goes to bed for anger: and the old man with sor­row to loose his loue, and to see her parents misery, after a fit of the stone, with a stitch of the Chollick, being griped at y ^e heart, & fearing to leaue the world, sendes for his Tenant, forgiues him his rent, & giues his house to his daughter if she be found againe: and so bestowing among the poore of the Parish, some litle matter not worth the speaking of hauing made al means he could, and by her parents good care and trauaile, found out, and brought vnto him some houre before his death, gaue her in an olde foule Handkercheffe that, which payde for more then the washing of two faire Smockes, and so causing the great Bell to be towlde, after a hollow hemme or two▪ euen for Loue, (because he could liue no longer dyed. And is not this of a long Case? a pittifull Case?

Yes, if it were true, but surely tis a iest: there was [...]euer such a man▪ nor such a matter.

Well then, say it were a iest, was it not a pittifull iest?

If there were any pittie, it was in that hée liued so long. But now after your long Case, let me come to you with a short Case. Is it not pittie to see a faire house without In­habitants?

It is, and it is not.

How so?

It is in respect of good Hospitalitie a pittie: but rather then be either a denne of Theeues, or a Brothell of Whores, it were better stand voyd, and so it is no pitty.

Well then: but is it not a pitity to sée a purse without money?

In respect of want is is: but rather then be filde with vnlawfull or vngodly gaines, it were better be emptie.

So: but is it not a pittie to see good cloathes ill worne?

It is, and it is not: in regard of the good cloathes it is pittie, but in respect of the wear [...] it is not: [...]or [...] [...] better [Page] to be carelesse, then proude.

Well humorde. But is it not a pitty to sée a mā blind?

Why? would you haue all so▪ y ^t one should not see an other? or how would you know blindnes, if all had their sight?

Well, and is it not pittie to see a woman dumbe?

Oh! then the Market would be spoyld.

Is it not pittie to haue a Dogge deaffe?

Hang him for his skinne.

Is it not pitty to see a Horse lame?

Kéepe him for a Stallien, or let him féed Hounds▪

Or a Hawke lacke a wing?

Pull off her head.

Or a Woolfe kill a Lambe▪

Hunt him to death.

What say you to a storme in Haruest?

It will driue the Farmer to prayers, and the labou­rers to worke apace.

So then, I sée your sullen humour will not be altred: yet, as too much pitty marres a whole Citie, so a dogged mind is too néere the diuell. But it may be, and so I gesse it, that you onely out of your humour, without spight at any thing, speake all that you do, and therefore I will entreat you a little farther to deliuer me your opinion, touching some other Cases.

I am for you.

Is it not pittie to see an Infant starued?

Hang the Nurse.

To sée a Church robbed?

Strangle the thiefe.

To see a Christian become a Iew?

Put him to the fire.

To see a sonne kill his father?

Bury him quicke.

What say you to sée a Clowne scorne a Lo [...]?

Marry him to a Whore▪

To see a Witch kill a childe?

Send her to the diuell.

Your answers are bitter.

The Cases are villainous.

Well, yet what say you to Shéepe without a Shéep­heard?

Ware the Wools [...].

A horse without a Rider?

Ware his heeles.

A Souldier in drinke?

Ware mischiese.

A house of [...]hie

Ware the whole Towne.

An honest man a Cuckold?

Ill Fortune.

And a faire wench wicked?

Weaknesse in Nature?

Or the penitent punished?

Tyranme.

Or the wicked spared?

Oh! [...] money.

Or the honest scorned?

Corruption of time.

Or a man womannish?

Shooe the Goose.

Or a woman tyrannous?

A Furie.

Oh Dalio, thou art still one man: I thanke thée for thy plamelesse: but searing that I trouble thee with too many Cases, let me heare some from you.

And shall. I pray you what thinke you of this Case? What say you to a yong wench sleepie?

Ware her Mayden-head.

To a couetous Lawyer?

Woe be to she Client.

To a slouenly Courtier [...]

Banish him the Presence.

To a dicing Merchant?

Ware the Stock [...].

What say you to a [...] [...] ▪

Ware the Campe.

To a carelesse Farmer?

Hee will die a begger.

To a lazie worke-man?

A whippe, a whippe.

To a counterleit Cripple?

An open punishment.

To a faithlesse friend?

Giue him the Knaue of Clubs for a Cognizance.

To a malitious enemie?

Ware Treason.

To a smoothe tongued queane?

Take heed of witchcraft.

To a lying Rascall?

Loose no time with him.

To a despera [...]e [...]?

Aueyd his company.

To a shamelesse woman?

Let no man abide her.

Well said: but to go along with you a litle to answere you in one point: if I were bitter, you are not sweet: for so much as I haue yet heard from you (I speake it not in dislike of you, but to be quittance with you) and therefore let me farther aske your opinion in this Case. I lend you money to do you good, and you game by it: and when I come at my day to dema [...]nd it, you haue it, & will not pay it: another lends me money and I loose by it: at the day appointed, I would & cannot pay it: you are rich & will not pay, I am poore & cannot pay: yet you hold the reputation of an honest man, after many delayes, an [...] I for one dayes breach an▪ accounted contrary: Is this a pittifull Case or not?

In truth I thinke the Case is pittifull, that I should haue so much credite, and so [...] conscience: and you so good a conscience, and so [...]ll a fortune.

You say right. Now farther let me put you ano­ther Case: Say, that I should lend you a s [...]ord, to weare for a day or two: you in a wor [...]e minde than I would wish [Page] you, fall by the high way vpon a Purse, in his handes, that will not easily part with it, you fight with him, and kill him, and take away his mony, and leaue the sword either s [...]icking in him, or being pursued for the murther, by some mis­chance in riding or running, loose the sword, or let it fall, and in hast, running for life, will not light for the sword, but by your horses swiftnes, or what meanes I know not get away with­out tuch, the sword is found, caried from Cutler to Cutler, till it be knowne who made it, and in the end being sound out who made it, and who bought it, I am shewed the sword, and can­not deeme it to be mine, if I cannot bring forth the thiefe, I must answere the Lawe, and hang for my kindnes: Is not this a pittifull Case?

Yes truly: in conscience this suspition and presumpti­on, are shrewd points to con [...]emnation: but though he that is borne to be hangde will neuer be drowned till he be dead, yet me thinkes it is a pittifull Case, to hang a true man for a theefe. And now let me put you another Case: Say that I should, lo­uing you as I doe, commit as I durst into your hand all the stock of my mony that I haue, and you and I take a shop togi­ther, and sell our wares together, you hauing as God sorbid you should, some wicked spirit of couetousnes entred into your ill conscience, watch a time, when I were out of doores goe into my Counting-house, take all my mony and writings, and at my returne, begin to thrust me out of doores, pick [...] some quar­rell with me, bid me seeke mine owne as I can, and so without pacification, resolued to play the villaine with me, dr [...]w me to sue by Lawe to recouer mine owne, while with commo [...]ity of my coine, you finde meanes to vse me as you list, and so long weary me with the suite, being not able to hold wage [...] you, that in the end I am inforced either to leaue it, or to compound with you for a thing of nothing, and putting vp all [...] [...] [...] in vr [...]ed to make you an acquittance for all matters: to [...]is­charge you for all claimes to my vtter vndoing, and haue no re­medy: but craue patience of God, while you are going to the diuell: Is not this a pittifull Case?

It is: but let the diuell séeke out his cop [...]smates. I [Page] haue nothing to doe with him, I deffe him, and all his tricks, and so I hope doe you, God blesse vs from him.

Amen. For if there euer was such a Case, it was hel­lishly handled, that the Lawe could no better determine it, but that a knaue should so be the vndoing of an honest man: but, leauing more to talke of these Cases, is it not a pittifull Case, to see a rich man who in the showe of the world hath bene repu­ted a man of honesty, and good conscience, vpon the sodaine, ei­ther at a banquet, or vpon a bench of Authortiy fall sicke, so be caried home, there lie rauing and crying out of the diuell, haue no mind of God, but onely calling for his keies, looke ouer his bagges, and curse euery one that comes at him, and like a dog, or a diuell, without the thought of Christianity, leauing his wealth to hee knowes not whome, dies like a logge: and so is tumbled into the durt with a number of teares, that he died no sooner: and he no sooner in his graue but his sonne hangs him­selfe, his daughters proue all whores, his seruants either begge or filtch for their liuing, for want of other waies, or any thing left them by their wicked maister: and thus vpon a sodaine is the fall of the whole house of wickednes: Is not this a pittifull Case, that the world should be so blinded with the outside of hy­pocrisie, to take such a Iew for a Christian?

Pitty? yes, it is pitty, that euer he was begotten, that he died not in his birth, or that he should euer looke like a man, to be so inward with the diuell: but I hope there is no such man in this world. But tel me your opinion, in this Case: If a yong wench that were of a pure complexion, and of good feature, wel thought of for her good behauiour, & with a litle wealth, might be a companion for an honest man, should, by falling into the company of some idle girles, learne to paint her selfe, and to make strange faces▪ with leering eies▪ and mumping chappes, and fleeting smiles, after the whore fashion, to draw fooles to an ill banquet, and so, continuing this ill course. doth spoile her complexion, spill a good face▪ and become of the [...] of Bridewell and so from one degree of shame to another, to de­struction in the end: Is it not a pittifull Case that euer such idle [Page] s [...]ares should be brought into a common wealth, or euer such wickednes should be practised among honest people.

Yes, in truth is it: but what is the helpe? I know not: and therefore it is the mere pittifull, that a mischiefe so to be pit­tied cannot be helped.

Then let it alone: and let vs talke of some other mat­ters.

Content. But me thinkes the day growes towards an e [...]o, the Sunne is setting, and I haue a start home: and hauing pron [...]sed my wife to be at home▪ by fi [...]e of the clocke, I would be [...]oth to breake my word with her: for you know her humor, and hauing some of her countrie tolkes come to see her, she meanes to bestow some good chéere vpon them: and there­fore if you dare venture a scolding ioy [...]t with your woman, go along with me, and howsoeuer i [...] will be hereafter, I dare war­rant you a welcome: for she m [...]anes to be [...]: the Cayon and Goose are both [...]ild.

But the Gander is left a liue.

Yea she keepes him for breede, to giue you a Gos [...]ing.

Well said old wagge, I think [...] I shall neuer die in thy d [...]bte: and therefore since all wodcockes haue long bills, let vs take our flights together.

You say well: and since all Asses haue great heads, let none be ashamed of his long eares.

Good againe: And since all Goates haue beards, let them be knowne from sheepe.

A good-yer on you, for me, I hope there are none in my flocke.

If there be, remoue them, for they wil not doe well to­gether: but looke you, who comes [...]onder?

It is my boy, his mother hath sent for me I must away, to morrow is market day▪ and if you w [...]l, [...] [...] [...] you here at this Oake, and we wil haue some talke o [...] [...] [...].

Content, farewell: for though I say little. I know its good to keep women in quie [...], that wil [...] for a [...] matter, [...]specially if their husbands lye not at home: farewell.

Farewell.

[Page]When they had thus ended their Cases, and giuen each o­ther a good night, and came home to their wiues in good time, that al things were quiet for that night▪ the next day about nine of the clock in the morning, according to promise they met at the place appointed, the great Oake, vnder which, when they had a litle [...] themselues, vpon their walking staues, atter a litle [...] [...] s [...]lutations, with good morrow, and well met, and how do [...] you with all your household? well I thanke God, and I thanke you, and God hol [...] it, and so forth: taking vp their [...]udgells, with come, goe, the morning goes away, and the market will be done, away they goe together, and being some foure or fiue miles to the towne, they fell into new matters, to talke vpon, which, if you wil [...]ary, [...] they be written, as I haue heard them, true or false as they be you shall haue them, in the time, hoping you will haue patience with this, till you heare of what followes, I will thus end.