The Coblers tale, Conteining the merrie Iestes passed betweene the Prior of Caunterburie, and a Smith of Saint Austins.

THe Prior of Caunterburie had a couent of Friar Augustines that were indued with great liuings, for the king and hee himselfe had great reuenues, that he li­ued like a Potentate and was had in great estimation throughout all the [Page 4] Citie: Liuing thus at ease pampred vp with delicates and idlenes the two Nurses of Lechery, hee minded not so much his booke, but that passing one day through the stréetes, he glaunced his eies to see where he might finde some handsome trull that might be his Paramour: ma­ny he sawe and many he liked, but at last comming by a Smiths forge, he spied a proper tall woman meanly at­tired after the pouerty of hir husband; but of such a beau­tifull visage and faire countenance, that shée pleased greatly the Priors eie, that he thought hir the fairest in all Caunterburie: he returned home that way hee went out, because he would haue an other looke at the Smiths wife, and as hee passed by he gaue hir a curtesie for his farewell. Well home he went to his Chamber, & there he bethought him of his new loue, and cast in his minde a thousand waies how he might come to his purpose: At last hee sent for the Smith to come looke on his horse, who very hastily hied him to the Priory, where the Pri­or welcommed him and intertained him with great curtesie, kissing the Nurse (as the olde prouerbe is) for the childs sake, and making much of blacke Vulcan for faire Venus sake: the poore Smith very carefully lookt to the horse, and where ought was amisse amended it: The Prior and all his Couent gaue him great commendati­ons and thankes, and bidde him into breakefast, where he had good cheare and store of strong drink, which made the Smith passing pleasant: as they sate at breakefast the Prior tolde him, sith they had made experience of his skill, and that he was cunning about horses, he was con­tent to make him Farrier for the Priorie: At this the Smith was very glad: Nay more quoth the Prior be­cause thou shall haue more gaines out of the Dorter, séeing thy wife is a good clenly woman, shée shal be Lan­dresse for mee, and the whole Couent. The Smith hea­ring this, perceiued by the weathercocke which way the wind blew, shakt the head and began to smile: The Pri­or [Page 5] demaunded of him why he laught: marry syr quoth he, séeing we are at meate, and mirth is good for digesti­on, I will tell you a merry Iest. There was such a poore man as my selfe that dwelt as I doe hard by a Priory, and he had brought vp in his house a litle Lambe, which growing to a shéepe woulde wander all abroade and re­turne home safe at night without any hurt; at last this litle shéepe beeing the poore mans treasure, séeing the Priory gate open and the yarde full of grasse went in and fedde there: The wanton Fryars that were idle, would oft sport with the Lambe and play withall, and pulled off the wooll of the backe, that it had almost left nothing but the bare pelt: which the poore man espying kept vp his shéep and would not suffer it to go any more abroad: yet it had gotten such a swéet sauour in the Pri­ory yarde, that assoone as it brake loose, it would thither; where the Prior and the Fryars spying it againe, con­sented and eate it vp all: the good man came to aske for his shéepe, and they laughing at him gaue him no other mendes but the hornes: So my Maisters if my wife should bee your Landresse, I warrant you, if I came to inquire for hir, I might haue such fées as the poore man had for his losse: No, no I am well I thanke you, if my selfe may serue for a Farrier so it is, but my wife (of all men shall not haue to deale either with Priors or Fry­ars. At this they all laught, but the Prior not willing to giue ouer the chase, thus made this answere. Why Smith (quoth he) thou art a foole, thou maist haue a pro­uiso for that, for though shée wash our clothes, yet shée shall neither fetch them nor bring them home, neither shall there euer a Fryar come at thy house, onely the Scull of the kitchin, and I hope thou fearest not him. No quoth the Smith, they bee these bréechlesse yeomen that I stand so much in doubt of: but vpon these condi­tions aforesaide, that shée shall neither fetch them nor carry them home, shée shalbe your Landresse, vpon this [Page 6] they agréed, and the Smith went to his house and tolde his wife all. Shée that was a wily wench thought with hir selfe that whatsoeuer hir husband fisht for he would catch a frog; and that dealt hee neuer so warily, yet shée woulde make him one of the head men of the parish as well as his neighbours. Shée coniecturing thus with hir selfe, the next morning came the Scull early (by that the Smith was vp and at his worke) with foule clothes, God spéede syr quoth he. I haue brought your wife the Priors linnen; ah welcome good fellow quoth he, goe thy waies vp the Chamber to my wife, shée is aboue, and I thinke a bed: the Scul trotted vp the staires & saluted the woman: Mistres quoth he, the Prior hath sent you his cloathes & praies you they may bee done on wednesday next: they shall be done quoth shée with all spéede: and quoth the Scull, his worship wild me in secrete to giue you a Ring for a token, and to desire you to thinke that he loues you as heartily as any woman in the worlde: the poore wo­man séeing a gold Ring, and hauing neuer had any be­fore in hir life, helde hir selfe a proude woman, and be­thought her what good gifts shée should daily haue if shée had such a louer as the Prior: wherefore shée returned him this answere by the Scull, y ^t shée had euer thought well of him, but hir husband was a iealous foole & watcht hir narrowly wheresoeuer shée went, but as far as shée might, shée was his at command. Home went the Scul, and the Prior was risen by that hee returned, and askt him what newes: what newes quoth the Scull, marry thus syr, assoone as I came to the doore I founde the Smith hard at his worke, and I saluted him by the time of the day, and asked him where his wife was, saying, I had brought the Priors linnen. Goe vp the staires, good fellow quoth he, for I thinke my wife is in bed, and Syr there indéede I found hir, and truely Syr if you will be­leeue me, me thought shée lay to louely in hir bed to lie with a Smith, so syr I gaue hir your token and tolde hir [Page 7] what you bad me: and she made answere that your wor­ship was the man whom shée had euer thought well of, but hir husband was a iealous foole, yet as farre as shée could shée was at his commaund. This satisfied the Pri­ors expectation, and on wednesday morning when the Scull shoulde goe for his cleane linnen, the Prior com­pounded with him and gaue him a brase of Angels to kéepe his counsaile: saying, Tom (for so was the Sculs name) thou knowest al flesh is fraile, and we are men as well as others, though our profession be more holy, ther­fore Tom so it is, y ^t I haue loued the Smiths wife a long time, & now may I haue opportunity to fill my desires, I wil this morning take thy clothes on, & besméere my face and with the basket hie for the cleane clothes, onely I care for nothing if thou kéepe my counsaile. Feare not that syr, quoth the Scull, but I will bee so secrete as you can desire: with that the Prior was briefe for because he longd to be there, and on with the Sculs rags, and taking his basket on his necke, hied him very orderly to the Smiths house by that time day did appeare, where he found him hard at worke: God morrow syr quoth the Prior, I am come for the linnen, goe vp the staires fel­low quoth the Smith, thou commest very early, my wife is yet in bed. Vp trudgd the Prior, and there he founde his Paramour in a swéete sléepe, the Prior stept to hir and kist hir, and with that shée wakte, and seeing the Scull, why how now syr sauce, quoth shée, can you not speake before you come vp? my husband is a wise man to send such companions vp into the Chamber where I am in bedde, twere no matter and the match were equall, to make him weare the horne for it. Oh bee con­tent good loue quoth the Prior, for knowe I am not Tom the Scull, but the Prior himselfe that sent thée the Ring, who for thy sake is come thus disguised: with that he discouered him selfe, and shée perceiued it was he and blusht: hee kist hir, and so coniured hir, that while the [Page 8] poore Smith was knocking at the Smithy he had dudeb him knight of the forked order, and for feare of suspition putting his linnen in the basket away he went, bidding the Smith farewell. Thus the Prior and the Smiths wife contented and inioying their hearts desire, the poore Smith loued hir not a whit the worse, neither did he sus­pect any thing, for the blind eates many a flie, and much water runs by the mill that the miller wottes not on: so plaid it with this Smith, for twise a wéeke came the Prior in his Sculs apparrell to his lemmon, thus it continued till on one morning the Prior was not well, so that he could not goe; but Tom Scul after his woon­ted manner went to carry foorth the linnen, and as hee went by the way, he began to thinke with himselfe what a faire woman the Smiths wife was, and how faine he would be partaker with his Maister, hammering this in his head, on hee went to the Smiths house: Nowe Smith quoth he good morrow, is thy wife vp. No quoth the Smith but shée is awake, goe vp and carry your lin­nen a Gods name: Vp came the Scull, and rushing in at the Chamber doore threw downe his basket, and séeing the Chamber darke that he could not be discouered, slipt to bed and entred Commens with the Prior, and with that got him away without saying one worde: The Smiths wife maruailed at this, and supposing that hee had heard some ruffling, and for feare of hir husband had gone away so hastily. Well within two daies after came the Prior againe, and after his accustomed maner went vp with his basket and saluted hir after the old fashion: I pray you tell me maister Prior quoth shée, what meant you yesterday morning that you came so quiet, and slipt away with such silence after you got out of bed: by this the Prior perceiued that the Scull had cut a shiue on his loaf, and so thought to dissemble the matter. Faith swéet heart quoth he, I heard a noise, and thought it had béene thy husband that had come vp so I coniectured quoth [Page 9] the Smiths wife, and therefore after you were gone, séeing you were freighted with your owne shadowe I laught hartily: thus as long as they durst they chatted, but at last the Prior vp with his basket and away. When he came home, in a great chafe hee sent for the Scull and made inquiry of the matter, the poore fellow afraide of sore threatninges, confessed the matter and craude pardon: but the Prior forgetting his patience fell vpon poore Tom the Scull and beate him so sore, that he had almost kild him: afterwards swearing him on a booke, if euer after hee went with any clothes, hee should go no further then the Chamber doore. The Scul agréed to this, and confirmd it with a solemne oath: but the remembrance of his sore blowes, bred him a minde to reuenge: wherevpon resoluing to doe any mischiefe to the Prior that he might, one day he went very order­ly to his Smith and carried him to the Alehouse, and there after a long protestation of silence, reuealed the whole matter vnto him, how the Prior euery day came in his apparrell to his wife, and so made him weare the horns whiles he was busie about his hammers: at this the Smith fetcht a great sigh; alas quoth he, and am I a Cuckolde? why not you quoth the Scul, as well as your betters? Indéede quoth the Smith, that is all the com­fort that I haue, that my betters haue had as hard hap: for the Abbot of saint Peters that is an holy man, had but one Lemman, and yet shée was not content with twenty morsels: and I am a poore Smith & a lay man, no maruaile then if my fortune be as forked as the rest: but by the holy Roode of Rochester quoth he, I will bee so reuengd on the Prior, that after I haue taken him, he shall hate Lechery the worse while he liues. I but quoth the Scul, take héede thou plagust not me in stéede of the Prior. To auoid therefore all insuing danger, if I come to morrow thou shalt knowe mee by this token, I will aske thée whether thou hast drunke this morning or no: [Page 10] if thou hearest no such watchword, then knowe it is the Prior. So bee it quoth the Smith, and vpon this they drunke their drinke and departed. The next morning the Smith was early at his worke, and the Prior that longde to be with his Lemmon was assoone awake, and vp hee got, and on with the Sculs apparrell, and to the Smiths house, and after his accustomed maner bad him good morrow and vp the staires. The Smith perceiuing it was the Prior, because hee wanted his watchworde, hied vp presently after him, and tooke the Prior in bed with his wife: why how nowe Scull quoth hee? will no worse meate go downe with you then my wife? Before you and I part, I will learne you howe you make Vul­can of mee without you were more like Mars then you be. Whereupon his man and he (two lusty knaues) stept to him and puld him out of bed, and thrust him in a great sacke wherein he was woont to put chaffe: when he had done, carried him into the stréet, and laid him downe be­fore his doore, and then made his wife take a flaile in hir hand, and thresh as hard as shée coulde: but because hee perceiued hir stroakes were laide on with fauour, him­selfe stoode behind hir with a great Carters whip, and e­uery time shée fainted in hir blowes hee lent hir a lash, that he fetcht the bloud through hir petticoate: the peo­ple that came by maruailed at this Antick, and askt the Smith, what he was a doing? killing of fleas quoth the Smith, that I found this morning in my bedde, and be­cause my wife is so idle and will not strike home, I stand with my whip to whet hir on. Neighbours there­fore giue good eare, and marke the end, and sée when my wife hath beaten them enough what foul fleas they be, and by my example learne whensoeuer you take such great fleas in your wiues bedde, to put them to the like punishment. The people flocked together to see this sport, and although the Prior was almost bruised to death (though for fauouring of him the Smiths wife [Page 11] bore many a lash) yet he durst not cry for feare of further discredit, but lay still and suffered all with patience. At last a multitude of people flocking together, it chaunced that vppon serious businesse the Abbot of saint Peters came by, who séeing such a throng, sent one of his men to knowe what the matter meant. Oh may it please your Lordship quoth the Smith, such a sight as you neuer saw! wherfore for Christs sake I aske it, that you would take so much paines as to come ouer the way and sée: the Abbot stept ouer the Channell, and when hee came and saw the Smiths wife with hir flaile, and him with his whip, he woondred, & the Smith told him as the rest, that it was a flea that he tooke in his wiues bed: all this while lay the Prior with a heauy heart, for feare the Smith shoulde shake him out of the sacke: wishing to a­bide twise as much torment, so hee might escape vn­knowne. As the Abbot about this matter stoode questio­ning with the Smith, the Scull that mist the Prior that past his howre, thought the Smith had plaid some mad prancke with him, went and put on the Priors appar­rell, and his Coole ouer his heade that hee might not be knowen, and went downe to the Smiths house ward, where séeing a concourse of people hee hasted him thi­ther. At last the Smith spied him and cryed, Oh my Lord Abbot yonder comes the Prior of saint Austins, it was one of his fleas. Wel knew the Smith it was Tom Scull, but his wife supposing it to be the Prior, and that he in the sacke was the Scul that had deceiued hir, in de­spight for reuenge laid on such blows, that shée néeded no whipping to mend hir strokes. When the Prior came, & after most humble maner had saluted the Abbot, he de­sired to knowe the cause of this strange sight: marry quoth the smith, Maister Prior, I may thanke you for this, for a flea of your Priory hath leapt from the Dor­ter to my wiues bed, and finding it there this morning, I put it in a sacke and caused my wife to thresh it, and for [Page 12] that both you & Master Abbot, & al my neighbors shall sée what parlous fleas oft happen into womens beds; I will shake him out before you all, & with that he vnbound the sacke, and he threwe out the Prior, who beeing in the sculs apparrell, was so besmiered and so bloudy, that he could not be knowen: Looke here Maister Prior quoth the smith, here is the scull of your Priory. Oh notable knaue knaue quoth Tom scull, so to discredit our house, what thinke you of this my Lorde Abbot? is this a sufficient punishment or no, considering by this fault he shal giue occasion of slaunder to the whole Priory? He is quoth the Abbot, within the iurisdiction of your censure, and therefore deale with him as you list. Marry quoth the scul then thus: because it is an open fault, it shal haue a more open punishment; for if it be smothered vp thus, they wil say that I am a fauourer of sinne: with that he cald to certaine of his couent, for most of the Monkes of the Priory were come thither, howe say you brethren quoth he, is it not best that he stand all this forenoone on the Pillory, and haue a paper written on his heade con­taining the whole matter of his offence? and the smiths wife shall stand vnder him with hir flaile, and the smith with his whip: and so quoth the smith shall all Caunter­burie laugh at me that come into the market place to proue my selfe a Cuckolde. No goodman scull quoth he, it shal not be so, and with that he puld of his Coole and said, Masters and neighbours, sée here is the scul of the house, and this beaten in the sacke is the Prior himselfe that came to my wife in the sculs apparrell: at this all the people clapt their hands, laught & made good game, to sée howe simply the Prior stood and in what a maiestie the scull was in the Priors abiliments. At this sight the Ab­bot abasht, and the Friars were ashamde: but the scull nothing amased, began afore all the people to say thus: my Maisters quoth hee, I was once a scholler, though I am now a scul, and then I learned this old saying in La­tin; [Page 13] Caute, si non Caste: Liue charily, if not chastly: Bee not so forwarde in your follies that you discouer your faults to the whole worlde, and especially was this spo­ken to men of the Churche, for in that they knowe much, and doe dehort others from vice, the people looke their liues and their learning shoulde agrée: but when they offend so grossly as Maister Prior through his ill example, to bring a whole house in slaunder, then are they worthy of double punishment: for we know Friars are men, and I warrant you, there is a great many in Englād haue done as much to others as he hath done to y ^e smiths wife, & yet haue scapt without discredit: I hope my Lord Abbot, if you enter into your owne conscience, you can verifie as much, and therefore séeing hee was so carelesse of his credit, let him for euer after (to auoid per­petuall infamie of the house) be banisht out of the Prio­rie. To this they agréed, and the people that heard this collation said, Tom scull was worthy to be Prior: wher­upon the Abbot and the Fryars consenting, and séeing he had good learning, turned away the old Prior and made Tom scull Prior in his roome: thus was the Prior pu­nisht for his Lechery, the Smith reuengde for his Cuc­koldry, and the scull for his blowes stumbled on a good promotion.

The Smiths tale, Conteining a pleasant iest of a iealous Cobler, and how for all his suspition, he was cunningly made Cuckold.

IN Rumney Marshe by the sea coast, there dwelled a Cobler, a merry fellow, and of his middle age: who was woont on working-dayes to chaunt it out at his worke, and on holy-dayes to besturre his stumpes in the Churchyard so merrily after a crowd, that he was wel-beloued of all the countrey wenches, and noted for the flower of good fellowship throughout all the parish. This Cobler kéeping shop for himselfe, had in house with him an old mother of his, who being as it were his seruant, desirous to liue more at ease, wisht him to take a wife: the Cobler was loth to be perswaded to marriage, and the reason was, for that he feared to be a Cuckold: yet at last he cast his eye on a countrie lasse, that was a blythe and bonny wench, and the chéefe of all the maides of old Rumney: to hir was this iolly Cobler a suter, and after a little wooing (as women must be got with prai­ses and promises) the Cobler caught her, and married they must be in all haste, which doone, they liued plea­santly together, as fools do presētly after their wedding: but after the honnie moone was past, she like a good hus­wife fell to her worke, to spin and carde, and such other déedes of huswiferie as belonged to the profite of her house: the Cobler loued hir well, and shee wanted [Page 18] nothing that might satisfie hir humor, onelye she was charged by hir husband, not to goe abroad a gossipping with hir neighbours: insomuch that either on work­ing-dayes or on holy-dayes, when all the wiues in Romney went to bee merry, shee was faine as a poore prisoner to kéepe home: which although she passed ouer with sylence and patience, so yet séeing his iealousie was without cause, she vowed with hir selfe if euer a fréend and oportunitie serued to hir minde, to make him weare a horne an inch longer then all his neighbours: but he kept hir short from that, for euery day when shee was at home, she sat by him in the shop, where he soong like an Nightingale, hauing his eye neuer of his wiues face; or if she sat within, hir mother in law an olde iea­lous woman bore hir company; if she went to fetch wa­ter, hir mother was at hir elbow; whatsoeuer she did, or whether so euer she went, to be bréefe, hir husband, or hir mother was at one end, which gréeued the yoong wo­man. So suspitious and iealous was this Cobler, that all Romney talked of his folly: and to vexe him as they passed by, would say to him; ah neighbour good morrow, now that you haue gotten a faire wife, we hope to haue you one of the brotherhood, and that the Cuckow in A­prill may sit and sing in your house as well as with your poore neighbours. I feare not that quoth the Cobler, let hir doo hir woorst, I will giue hir leaue, meaning that he kept such narrow watch ouer hir, as he could neuer be deceiued, and therefore euery day his wife sitting by him when he was yerking of his shooes, and she at hir whéele, then he would chat out this song.

Euery day did the Cobler vse to sing this song, and there dwelled next vnto him a Smith that was a tall and a yoong lusty fellow, proper of personage, of a comely visage, curteous, gentle, and debonaire, such a one as this Coblers wife could haue wished to hir Paramour, if time and oportunity would haue fauoured hir fancie: and the Smith séeing what a smocker wench the Cob­lers wife was, and what a iealous foole shée had to hir husband, sorrowed at the good fortune of the Cobler, that hee had so faire a wife, and wished that hee coulde finde meanes to haue such a one to his friend: vpon this, being next neighbours, and their houses ioining together, the Smith woulde oftentimes when his leisure serued him come to the Coblers shop and talke with him; where be­twéen the Smith & the Coblers wife passed such glaun­ces, that he perceiued there was no want, but place and oportunity to fulfill their desires. One day amongst the rest, Fortune so fauored this yoong couple, that the Cob­ler went foorth to buy Leather, and left his mother and his wife in the shop: the old woman not hauing slept the last night was heauy and fell a sléepe, and the young wo­man sate singing at hir worke. The Smith perceiuing this, laid by his hammers and went to the stal, where he saluted his neighbour, and she returned him the like cur­tesie.

At last séeing the olde beldame was sure, he began to [Page 21] reueale vnto hir how long hee had loued hir, and how hee was sorry that shée was combred with such a one as for his iealousie, aboue all other men deserued to be made a Cuckolde: sundry spéeches past betwéene the Smith and the Coblers wife, till at last shée rose, and gaue him hir hād, that shée loued him better then any man in y ^e world, and woulde if any occasion woulde serue, euer striue to content him. Then swéete heart quoth he, doe mee but this fauour, faine to morrow some occasion to go to your Mothers, and come on the further side of the way fast by such a doore, and then let mee alone for oportunity to sa­tisfie both our desires: To this shee agréed, and the Smith went to his Shoppe: presently the olde wo­man wakte, the Cobler came home, and all was well.

At night when they were in bed, taking him about the necke shée kist him, and tolde him that certaine of hir friendes met to morrowe at hir Mothers, and that shée woulde faine goe and sée them, I pray you good husband quoth shée, let your mother and I goe thither, I will not part out of hir sight, neither will we make any long tar­riance: y ^e husband for shame could not deny this request, but granted it: whereupon the next morning shée got hir vp, and on with hir holyday apparrell, and made hir as sine as sine might bee: the Cobler séeing his wife so trickt vp in hir cleane Linnen, beganne to bee iealous, and calde his Mother aside, and charged hir by that loue shée bare him, not to let his wife part out of hir company till shée came home againe, which shée promised with an oath: so away they went, & the Cobler he set him downe and began to sing.

The Smith that all this day was not idle, had compounded with an olde woman by whose house shée must passe, to fauour them with house roome, and re­uealed vnto hir all the matter: whose wife it was, and howe hee woulde haue his purpose brought [Page 22] to passe: by my troth sonne quoth she, I haue hard much talke of that iealous Cobler, and I would do my inde­uour to make the Asse were a horne: vpon this they re­solued, & she likt well of his policie, & said loue had many shiftes, at last the Smith spied his mistresse all in her brauerie, comming with her mother in law: the old wife was readye, as shee past by the doore, threw a great bowle full of bloudy water right vpon hir head, that all her cloathes, and cleane lynnen was marred, be­ing so berayde that shee could goe no further: alas mistresse quoth the old woman, I crie you mercie, what haue I done? full sore it was against my will: but for Gods sake come into the house, and shift you with cleane linnen: if you haue none at home, I will lend you of the best that I haue, goe in daughter, quoth hir olde mother in law, it is a chance, and against an ill turne sometime no man may be: ile goe home as fast as I can, and goe fetch you cleane linnen, the whiles drie your gowne, and make all things els ready. I pray you do good mo­ther (quoth she) and next way goes hir mother in lawe: and assoone as she was out of doores, the old woman led hir into an inwarde Parlour where the Smith was, and there these two louers by this policie made the iea­lous Cobler were the horne.

Whiles thus they were solacing themselues, the old wife she came stumbling home, and for haste had like to breake hir necke ouer the threshould, her fall made the Cobler start, and when he saw it was his mother, and that he mist his wife, he was halfe mad, and askt his mo­ther hastily where she was: the old woman short win­ded was almost out of breath, and for a good space sat puffing and blowing to fetch winde; at last she cryed out: alas deare sonne, such a chaunce as neuer was hard of: as we went through old Romney, hard by the church, a woman threw out a bowle of bloudie water right vp­on your wiues head, which hath so berayed hir linnen [Page 23] and hir gowne, that she could go no further, and so I as fast as I could came running home for clean clothes: oh for the passion of God mother quoth he, hie to hir chest, and get hir cloathes ready, for it may be a fetch to make the poore Cobler a Cuckhold; a horne mother is soone grafted: with that the old woman got all in a readines, and away ran the Cobler & his mother together. Well the two louers out at a little hole kept good watch and warde, that anon they spied where the Cobler and his mother came trudging: in went his wife, and sat hir downe by the fier, where the Cobler found her onely sit­ting with the old woman in hir petticoate, drying hir gowne, assoone as she saw him she wept: and he although he gréeued at the mischance, yet for that hee spied hir in no companie, he was satisfied, and wisht hir to be con­tent, & sent for a pot of béere or two to make hir drinke: and after he had séene all well, and his wife in hir cleane apparell, setting them a little on the way; home he went againe to his shop, and his wife went to hir mothers, where an houre or two she past away the time in chat, and then returned home with hir mother in law. Thus the Cobler was not suspitious of his wiues being a­broad, but tooke hir misfortune for a chaunce, and the Smith euery day according to his woonted custome, would come and chat with his neighbour the Cobler, and sometimes found opportunitie to talke with the wife, but neuer out of the shop: on a day the Cobler be­ing from home, and the old woman within péecing of hir hose, the Smith came to the shop, and finding hir alone, began to lay a plot, how to make hir husband a Cuckold, while he held the doore: she promist if he would deuise it, she would put it in practise, and so agréed they concluded betwéene themselues, and they brought it cunningly to passe, thus.

It chaunced within a fortnight after, that as the Cob­ler and his wife lay in bed, she fell on a great laughter, [Page 24] hir husband demaunding the cause, she made him this answer. I will tell you husband a strange thing, so it is, that this other day when you went to buie Lether, my mother and I sat in the shop, and she fel fast a sléepe, your neighbour the Smith, he, as his custome is, came to the window, and séeing my mother a sléepe, began to court me with faire words and large promises, and told me, that if I would find the meanes that when you were out, I would let him lie with me, he would giue me for­tie shillings. I shakt him off as well as I could, but he would haue no nay at all, but threw foure Angels into my lap: wherevpon I tooke the golde, for me thought they were foure fayre péeces, and promised him that to morrow you went foorth, and my mother to, and then he should finde me alone in the chamber. Vpon this hee went away, and left me the gold, and therfore if it please you, to morrow I thinke good you should faine your selfe to go abroad, and my mother to, and then hide you in a chamber bard by, and assoone as he is come in, you may stand at the doore and heare all our talke: when you heare me consent, then break in, and take the Cob­ler, and swindge him well, and I warrant you husband there will diuerse commodities rise of it: for not onely we shall haue this gold, and get more for amends, but euer after be rid of such a knaue.

This motion pleased the Cobler well, & the rather be­cause the Smith profest to be his great fréend, and yet would séeke to doo him such disgrace: vpon this conclu­sion they resolued, and so fel a sléepe. The next day in the afternoone, the Cobler fained himselfe to go out, and his mother with him, and after comming home at a backe doore went vp into the next chamber, & hid themselues, by and by according vnto promise came the Smith, and went roundly vp to the chamber, where hee found the Coblers wife: wherefore straight shutting the doore with a boult in the inside, he fell to set vp plumes on the [Page 25] Coblers head-péece, the Cobler he very eastlie got to the doore with a great pollax in his hand, and began to li­sten: with that he hard the smith offer faire to his wife: nay (quoth she) I haue kept promise with you, for I one­ly promised to let you vp into my Chamber: tush quoth he, this is but a cauill? and many words past betwéene them: the Cobler and his mother standing at the doore, with her naye and his yea, till the Cobler had a new browantler growne out of his old hornes; and then shee answered him, séeing nothing would content him, hee should haue his pleasure: with that the Cobler was rea­die to rush in, but that his mother staid him, and bid him harke further: and doost thou meane good faith, quoth the Smith? I wherefore else (quoth the Coblers wife) came we into this place? why then (quoth the Smith) heare what I will say to thée: Doost thou thinke, though we be héere in secret, that our faults will not be séene open­ly? that though thy husband knowes not of, and that it is kept close from the world, that there is not one aboue that sées all, & wil reuenge it? yes vilde strumpet as thou art, & for this cause came I to trie thée: thou hast an ho­nest man to thy husband, who loues thée more déerly thē himselfe, who works hard, to suffer thée y ^t thou shalt not want, and wilt thou in his absence wrong him? thinke if euer thou doost it, it will come out, & thou shalt be re­uenged with opē shame: I am thy husbāds déerest friend, with whom I am daily conuersant, and doost thou thinke I could find in my hart, to offer him such iniury? no: & thē art not thou more to blame, that being y ^e wife of his bo­some, wilt betray thy husband, who is déerer to thée then all friends? fie vpō thée vild woman, fare thée wel & amēd: I wil not yet tell thy husband, vnlesse I spie thée prooue light, but I shall neuer thinke well of thée while I liue: & with y ^t he opened y ^e chamber doore, & the cobler chopt in, & taking y ^e smith by y ^e hand, said, neighbor, I thank you for your good coūsel, I haue hard al the cōmunication y ^t past [Page 26] betwéene you and my wife, and truelie: and with that the Cobler wept, I am heartily glad I haue such a trus­tie friend, to whom in my absence at any time, because my mother is an old woman, I commit the ouersight of my wife: and truely neighbour quoth hee, I pray you thinke neuer the worse of hir, for she told me the whole matter, & appointed me to stand at the doore, that when you should haue offered hir any discurtesie, I might haue rusht in and haue taken you: so that I perceiue you are as honest as she, and she as honest as you, and that your meanings were both a like. I am glad of that quoth the Smith, that you haue so vertuous a wife, I hope I haue done the part of a fréend, to pleasure my neighbour: you haue doone so quoth the Cobler, and therefore ere we part, wéele drinke a quart of wine. So the Cobler be­stowed good chéere on the Smith, and euer after accomp­ted him for his friend, and whensoeuer he went out of towne, committed the charge of his wife to the Smith, who at all times had frée egresse and regresse to the Cob­lers house without suspition.

¶The Gentlemans tale. Conteining the contrarie fortunes that a Scholler of Cambridge had in his Loues.

IN the Vniuersitie of Cambridge, in Peters Hostell, there liued a Scholler famous for his learning, called Rowland, who beeing placst there by his friends, so profited, that he grew to be one of y ^e felowes of the house, being in great estimation for the honesty of his life, and the excellencie of his learning: he was a mā as well pro­portioned as he was qualified: and had as well bona corporis, as he had bona animi, and could as well play the wag and the wanton abroad, as he could applie his Bookes and studie at home: amorous he was, and one that delighted to féede his eye with euery faire face, which after returned to his great preiudice, thus. It for­tuned one day in the Summer season, that for recreation he walked as farre as Cherryhinton, to eate a messe of Creame, where being very pleasant, as hee sat iesting with his Hostesse; there came in a Gentlemans daugh­ter in the towne, a maide of excéeding beautie, so well proportioned in the lineaments of hir face, that nature séemed to try in hir an experiment of hir cunning. This girle, as wise as she was faire, and as wanton as shee was wittie, came in and questioned with the hostesse about some businesse: Rowland séeing such a Nymphe come swéeping in, thought eyther Venus or Diana had [Page 29] come in their Country wéedes to bewitch mens fancies: he cast his eie vpon the excellencie of hir phisnomy with such a piercing looke, that Loue entring by the eie, so wroong him at the heart, that forsooth fancie hir of force he must.

Nowe my young Scholler coulde doe nothing but gaze vppon hir, for Court hir hee coulde not, vnlesse hee should haue begun to wooe hir with some wordes of Art, or some Axiomes of Philosophie. The young Gentle­woman seeing the Scholler looke so earnestly vppon hir, beganne to blush, and so taking hir leaue of the Hostesse went hir way. The Scholler séeing hir going out of doores, thought of the old prouerbe: Faint heart neuer woone faire Lady. And therefore called to hir thus: Faire Gentlewoman quoth he, you may sée we Schollers haue litle maners, that holding the pot in our hands will not make such a swéete saint as you drinke: howe say you Gentlewoman, will it please you to pledge mee? The wily wench hearing such a Schollerlike gratulation, séeing by this salute, that Schollers had read of Loue, more then they coulde say of Loue: and though they coulde tell what was Latine for a faire woman, yet could neither woe hir, nor winne hir, turned backe a­gaine, and with a lowe curtesie thanked him. Hee off with his corner Cappe (for hee was a Batcheler in Artes) and with a glauncing looke drunke to hir: Shée like a wanton, pledgde him with a smile. Row­land at this taking heart at grasse, stept to hir, and tooke hir by the hande: beginning thus to holde hir in chat.

Your Towne here (forsooth) of Cherryhinton, hath made me oft play the trewāt to come hither for cherries: and as mine Hostes can tel, full many a messe of creame haue I eaten in hir house: for we schollers are good cōpa­nions, & loue to be pleasant: especially if we might haue the company of such faire Gentlewomen as your selfe: [Page 30] Therefore Mistres, if I chaunce to come to towne to eat a pound of cherries (if I may be so bold) I would trouble you to take part with mee; and if I méete you at Cam­bridge, the best wine in the Towne shall bee your wel­come: the wench (that had much adooe to kéepe hir counte­nance) thought to féede him vp with faire spéeches, till shée made him as fatte as a foole, and therefore made him this reply. Truely syr indéede many schollers come to Cherryhinton to eate cherries: but syr, you are the first man that euer I dranke withall, for schollers bee so full of their learning, and fine tearmes, that Country wen­ches cannot vnderstande them, but I for my part at the first sight like of you so well, that if my leisure serue, whensoeuer you come and please to send for mee, I will as long as I dare beare you company, but nowe forsooth time cals mee away and I must bee gone. With all my heart quoth Rowland, but truely wee must not part without a kisse, which shée willingly tooke at his hands, and went home: where assoone as shée came, shee reuealed all to a young gentleman that lay in hir Fathers house, who was sure to hir: they laughing heartily at the schol­lers Courting, and resoluing to make good sport with him ere they had done. But Rowland he that thought e­uery smile was a fancie, and euery maide that laught on him, loued him, coniectured assuredly by the familiar curtesie of the gentlewoman, that shée was greatly affe­ctionate towards him: whereupon he began to inquire of his Hostesse whose daughter shée was, of what wealth hir Father was, what children he had, and what Dow­rie the maide was like to haue to hir portion, as a man resolued the woman was already woone, because shée had giuen him such gracious fauours. The Hostesse as well as shée could tolde him all: which done, he paide his shot, and went to Cambridge, where he began altogether to muse on the beauty of his Mistres, and to lay an hun­dreth plots in his head what were best to be done: at last [Page 31] he resolued to send a letter to hir, to signifie his loue: or else to go himselfe, & to carry two or thrée of his fellows with him, and so to discourse vnto hir howe he loued hir; but at last hee fully determined with himselfe to write vnto hir: wherefore taking pen and inke in hande, hee wrote a letter to hir to this effect.

When hee had thus finished his letter, hee thought to shew him selfe somewhat poeticall, and thought a letter was not worth a rush, vnlesse there were some verses at the latter end, and there he affixed as a postscript this a­marousditty.

THus hauing both finished his letter and his verses, he sent them by a conuenient messenger the next Sat­terday to Cherryhinton, and that forsooth was his Ho­stesse: who very orderly sent for the gentlewoman to hir house, and deliuered the letters to hir, with earnest com­mendations from syr Rowland. The gentlewoman in outward shewe séemed to accept them as gratefully, as he sent them louingly, and so hied hir home: where pre­sently shée called for hir newe betrothed husband, and o­ther gentlemen hir friends, and reuealed vnto them how shée had receiued letters from hir newe louer the Schol­ler. All they flocked about hir, to heare what excellent stuffe was conteined in so learned a mans letters: but when they heard him howe like a Philosophicall foole he writ: they all in a synode peremptorily concluded, that the greatest Clarkes were not the wisest men: and I maruaile of that quoth one of the company, for two rea­sons: forthe one I haue heard this old said saw, that Loue makes men Oratours and affection whetteth on elo­quence: Secondly, there was none more amorous then Ouid (yet a profound scholler) insomuch that he writ thrée bookes De Arte Amandi, and so did Anacreon Tibullus, & Propertius. I but quoth an other, as they were schol­lers, so were they well brought vp in the Court, and knew as many externall manners, as they did inwarde principles: but ware my Maisters, when a scholler is once brought vp in the Vniuersities, and hath no other bringing vp but plaine Ergo to plod in, nor conuerseth with none but his bookes, and then hap to fall in Loue: trust me he will bee as ignorant to wooe, as the plough­man to dispute, thinking that womens fancies are woon with Figures, and their thoughts ouerreacht with the quiddities of Art: but of all that euer I heard write, this setteth downe his minde the most simply: and therefore quoth Marian shall hee be answerd as foolishly, for I my selfe will be Secretary. Nay quoth diuers of the gentle­men, [Page 34] wee will put in our verdict with you: No quoth shée, trie but a womans witte: thats knauish enough quoth one of them: and so stepping to hir standish shée wrote thus.

After shée had done hir letter, that shée might séeme to be no whit behinde him in any good will: shée leaned hir head on hir hand, and in a Poeticall furie writ hir Louer these verses.

HAuing thus ended hir song and the Letter, shée calde the Conuocation of the merry gentlemen, & shewed them hir humour in prose, and hir vaine in verse: asking if shée had done it knauishly enough? I quoth hir betro­thed husband, and so excéedingly well, that you shall stand for foure and twenty knaues till Christmas next. Tush quoth an other, womens wittes are like Shef­fielde kniues, for they are sometimes so kéene as they will cutte a haire, and sometimes so blunt that they must goe to the grindstone: That is (quoth the second) when you perswade them to silence or obedience, talke with them but in that doctrine, and they are méere dun­ces.

Thus they began to descant of womens wit, but the gentlewomā wily enough, left them all, & went & laid vp hir letters till Saterday market: Then shée went to his Hostes, & deliuered thē to hir, earnestly intreating hir, if shée saw syr Rowland, to conuey that packet vnto him. The Hostesse promised hir to doe it faithfully, and effe­ctually: and away to Cambridge shée went, where scarse shée was set with hir butter and hir milke, but shée spied syr Rowland come flinging downe the Market hill, in his wide sléeude Gowne, and his corner Cap: shée néede not to call him, for hee straight found hir out, and shée as soone deliuered him the packet: syr Rowland thankt hir, and away hee went to his studie to reade the contents: but it was too farre to Peters Hostell, and therefore hee calde in at a Tauerne by the way for a pint of wine, and there he opened the letter, which when hee had read, hee perceiued by the contents shée loued him: for hee be­ing simple, perceiued not howe shée bobde foole with him: but taking euery iest for a sentence, hee thought himselfe the Maister of all worldly content, and that Fortune coulde not aduaunce him higher on hir whéele, then to haue so faire a Maide to his Para­mour. Then he viewed ouer hir verses, & in a great passi­on [Page 37] praised hir Poetry, commended hir wit, saying: for stature she was Iuno, for beautie Venus, for learning and qualities Pallas: thus in meditation of his letter and his loue, sat poore sir Rowland, from eight a clocke till eleauen, and then hearing the Hostell Bell ring to din­ner, for feare he should loase his halfepenny chops, he put his letter into his pocket, and went his way. After dinner, he fell to his old vaine: got alone to be solitarie, & then sat ruminating on the good successe of his loues, ac­compting it rather to his profession, then his fortune, for he thought none so faire, chaste, nor riche, but a Scholler might win with his Logick. Thus he passed ouer day by day in sending of letters to his loue, and diuers times resorting thither, but seldome could he speake with hir, for that she fained some excuse; onely when she ment to laugh, then she was for his company. But it fell out that one Satterday aboue the rest, that sir Rowland met hir in Cambridge, and finding hir with other hir neigh­bours, saluted hir, and would néedes welcome hir to the towne with a pinte of Wine, which she tooke very kind­ly, that she might sooth him vp still in his vaine hope, and forsooth to the Tauerne shée and her companions went with him, where they had good game at our Cambridge wooer: but Marian taking him aside, told him that hir fa­ther and hir mother had intelligence of their loues, and as farre as she could coniecture, it was by his hostesse: therefore she wild him not to make her priuie to his se­crets any more, nor to come to Cherryhinton but when she sent for him, which should be as oftē as opportunity would serue, hoping though hir father now were not for­ward, yet in time he would consent, & especially, if he saw him Maister of Arts: with this the Scholler rested satis­fied, and they dranke their wine and departed. Thus be­twéene them passed on all the Summer, till the déepe of winter, about Christmas, when shée on a time & the rest of the Gentlemen, desirous to be pleasant, determined to [Page 38] haue some sport with the Scholler, and so caused Marian to send a Letter for him, that he should come that night and speake with her: which she did; and he poore soule no sooner receiued it, but in all hast hied him in the fros­tie euening to Cherryhinton: where when he came, hee straight spoke with Marian, & she wisht him to stay in an old Barne while her Father was at supper, and then she would conuey him into a base court, where he should walke hard vnder her chamber doore, and then when her father were to bed, she would let him in. The Scholler stood there a while, and Marian came straight & conduc­ted him into a square court, where Rowland rested him till hir father should go to bed. The night grew darke, and with that passing colde, so that Rowland waxed we­ry of his standing, and wisht that her father were in bed: there stood the poore Scholler shaking and trembling in his ioynts, till it was eleuen of the clocke: then saw he a light at the doore, and he heard Marian cal him: oh bles­sed houre thought he, that now I shall both go to a good fier, and to my Louer. Sir Rowland (quoth she) be still a while, my father and mother is gone to bed, but my bro­ther and two Gentlemen more are vp at Cardes, & they haue but a set to play, and then they will to their rest: alas swéete heart (quoth he) I am almost sterued for cold, yet the hope that I haue to enioy thy presence, doth com­fort me, that I take all things with patience. The Gen­tlemen that stood hard by and hard all this, laught at the scholler, and vp they went againe to their chamber to be merry: but still walkt poore Rowland, beating his hāds about him for cold, and expecting still when his Louer should cal him: wel there he trauerst his ground stil like a pery-patetian, and only had the sight of the heauens to contemplate, till it was about one of the clock, and then came they all downe againe to laugh: & assoone as he saw the candle at the chinke of the doore, he began to be com­forted, & came thither, shaking & beating of his téeth so [Page 39] sore, that he could not speake. Where are you swéet hart (quoth she) alas how sorry am I for thy distresse, thinke that the heart in my belly is as colde for gréefe as thy ioints are with the frost, faine would I haue thée come in, but the loosers will not part play, and so they sit still, therefore I hope thou wilt weigh my credit. Oh Marian (quoth he) & his téeth so iarred one against another, that they could scarse vnderstand him, I am like to perish with cold, yet were it twise as frostie, & the night thrise as long, I would walke héere, rather then procure thy disparagement: gramercie swéet loue (quoth she) & with that she bid him be still a while, & the Gentlemen all fell a laughing to heare how kinde a foole the Scholler was, and with what patience, he bid his pennance: oh, quoth the one of them, this is but an experiment of his Philo­sophicall principles, for he reades in Tully: ‘Non oportet sapientem in aduersis dolore concidere.’

I (quoth the second) and Mimus Publius giues him this counsell: ‘Aduersis te proba, vt fortunam, cum necesse fuerit, patienter insultantem feras.’

You say well (quoth the third,) but let him for mee make an instance of himselfe for such axiomes, I wil ra­ther be a warme foole, then so colde a Philosopher. This they gan descant vppon the poore Schollers myserie, till the clock stroake thrée, and then as they were comming downe, they heard a noise at the doore, which was this poore Rowland créeping vnder y ^e shade for warmth, his téeth beating so lowd, that they might heare them ease­ly vp the staires, all this mooued not my yoong Mis­tresse to pittie, but increast their laughter. Assoone as hee heard them come downe the staires, almost dead, [Page 40] he cald out, who is there: oh swéet heart, it is thy Mar­rian, quoth shée? Then for Gods sake quoth Rowland, take pittie of my life, for I am almost dead, doo but open the doore, and let me sit héere vpon the staires, that I may haue some shelter from the cold. Alas quoth she swéete loue, thou shalt and thou wilt: but when the dore is opened, it makes such a noyse, that it wakens the whole house. Rather, quoth he, let me suffer death, then you be discredited, for if I were to abide the stone of Sisi­phus, the whéele of Ixion, the gripe of Prometheus, & the hunger of Tantalus, yet had I rather pocket vp all these tortures with patience, then bring thy credit within the compasse of the least preiudice: at this period she left him, and vp they went, smiling at the constancie of Rowland. The Gentlemen they were sléepie, and went to bed, and Marian, as far as I can coniecture, though it were som­what before the mariage, that night made triall of hir new betrothed husband, where from thrée, she lay with him till six, and then it waxed day light, and she rose; and remembring her louer went downe, opened the doore, and found him almost sencelesse: there wiping hir eyes, as though shee had wept, shee perswaded him that shee was the most sorrowfull woman in the world for his sharpe frostie night he had suffered, protesting she was falne into an ague, for very feare & gréefe she had taken to sée him in such distresse, & could by no meanes redresse it: but good Rowland (quoth shee) be content, hie thée to Cambridge, and take some hot broaths, least by this meanes thou fall into a sicknesse, & then for very sorrow I dye: no quoth Rowland, & he could scarse speake or go, feare not me, for the hope of thy after fauours, will be a sufficient comfort for me: and with that taking his leaue for his cold nights worke he had a kisse, and so departed. Wel as weak as he was, home he scambled, & got to his chamber, & discouered to a friend of his, how he was like to perish of an extreame cold he had takē, if he did not so [Page 41] much for him as to get him a Phisitiō: who straight wēt and brought him a Doctor, that with inward potions and outward oyles and vnguents so wrought him, that hee recouered him to his former health, although verie hardly: for he was so frosen in his loines, and so nipped in the muskells and synewes, that if his Physition had not bene good, he had perished. It was almost a quarter of a yeare before Rowland was frolick againe: in which time Marian thinking she had lost hir louer with a nut, sent him a present of apples to winne him againe, which he receiued so gratefullie that he valewed the worst of them worth a felowship, eating them with such an ex­traordinarie tast, that hee imagined them as sweet as Ambrosia, and all for that they came from his Marian. Thus continued Rowland in his amorous humour vn­till such time as Marian forsooth must be maried: and for that it was aduent, there was no asking in the church, but they procured a license the day before. As shee and the rest of hir friends which were inuited to the nupti­als were merilie iesting, oh Lord (quoth shee) I had al­most forgot my selfe, to morrow must be the wedding, and the bride is at Cambridge: why gentlemen it were no bargaine if Rowland were not here: therefore quoth she, I will send for him, and lay such a plotte that hee shall be with vs all dinner, & yet tast none of our meat. I pray you quoth her husband, let vs sée your cūning in that. Alas quoth one of the gentlemen, poore Rowland is credulous, and whatsoeuer mistres Marian saith, hée thinks it is Gospel: but if he wil be so simple as to think that his last nights worke is not a sufficient warning, hée is worthie of what so euer befalles. Well, vpon this Marian sent for him, and come hée did in the euening, where, to make my tale short, she made him walk in his wonted statie till one of the clocke: then she let him into a good fire, where he well warmed him selfe, and she lo­uingly sate by him, discoursing of the last nightes worke [Page 42] that he abode so patientlie: at last she commaunded the maide to lay the cloth that they might haue some quel­que chose for a readie supper, which they went busilie about: for Rowland said he was verie hungrie. As the cloth was laid, and they readie to sit downe the wench came running in, and said, that hir Maister was rising, and séeing the light of the fier was comming into the Parlor. Alas what shal I do quoth Mariā? hide me some where quoth Rowland whiles he be gone to bed. Come quoth she, here stands a new truncke and a large, come, skippe into it, and I will for a while rake vp the fire and goe to bed while the old man be fallen a sléepe: with that Rowland whipt into the truncke, and she lockt him in, & straight in a pleasant humor went to hir new husband, where shee lay al night, and left Rowland safe shut vp for starting. Still laie hée expecting when she should come, but hearing nothing, extremely wearie for verie griefe hee fell a sléepe till the next morning. When the poore scholler awakt and entred into conside­ration where he was, he began to be halfe in suspition that he was mockt and abused, still he lay patiently till hee heard them of the house say, God morrow mistres Marian, God send you a good day, to day the Sun shines faire, you shal haue a cléere daie to your wedding. This word went as cold to his hart as a knife, that Marian should be maried, he made a foole to suffer such disparag­ment of his credit: yet as before he was patient in ex­treames, and so resolued with content to see the successe of his abuse. Well to Church goe the bridegrome and the bride with all their friendes attendants, and ma­ried they were with great solemnitie: this done, home they came to dinner, and after they were set and placed in the parlor where this truncke stoode, they fell to their viads which were verie sumptuous. The gentlemen bidding reach downe the pigge, the capen, goose, swan, turkey, phesant, biter, venison, and such daintie cates: [Page 43] all this hard Rowland, and being passing hungrie, wished he had a legge of the worst of them in his hand; still hée stoode almost famished and smothered till the tables were taken vp, and the boards shifted, and they fell to dauncing. All this heard Rowland, and hearing the musicke fell a sléepe vntill supper time, and then hee awakt, and heard how they laid the tables and went to supper where they were passing pleasant, and the more for that they ment to make sport with Rowland after supper was done, which con­tinued not long, for they made the more hast for that they ment to be merrie. When the cloth was taken vp the Bride fetcht a great sigh: what wife quoth y ^e Bride­grome, why sigh you? in a dumpe? repent you of the match? no quoth shée, but I haue a blot in my conscience, and now before you all I meane to reueale it. I was once beloued of a Cambridge scholler, who loued me in­tierlie and suffred much for my sake: then from point to point shee recompted vnto them the whole discourse of the loues and fortunes passed betweene Row­land and hir, whereat the companie had good sport.

A man hee was quoth shée, wise, proper, and well proportioned: and for proofe hould the key, open the truncke quoth shée, and I will shew you his picture. Rowland hearing this, armd himselfe to suffer al: and so the truncke was opened & he rose out like Lazarus from his graue. Good Lord quoth the companie, what is this a spirit? In nomine Iesus vnde venis? E purgatorio quoth Rowland. And with that all the companie laught while they could sit. At last when they were wearie with laughing Rowland had silence, hee boldlie said: thus I am glad gentlemen that my mishap hath made you so merrie, and that mistres bride hath so large a plaine song to runne descant on; Caueat Emptor: this is but a comedie, but looke for a tragedie when soeuer it falles. And so he went out of the doore sore ashamed that hee [Page 44] had such a kindlie scoffe. The companie laught well, and hee patientlie went home thinking how fortunate a man hee should be, if he might liue to reuenge. Row­land at this misfortune had an insight into the world and began to waxe wiser, that in short time he became to haue as much knowledge in worldlie affaires as in his booke, and was for his good behauiour and pleasant witte highlie had in estimation, not onelie amongest schollers, but amongest townesmen, that in all the v­niuersitie he was called the gentlemanlike scholler. Li­uing thus in good credit, and yet discontented, because Fortune fauoured him with no oportunitie to reuenge: it so fell out at length that Marian comming euerie wéeke to Cambridge, espied among the schollers one whom she cast hir eie on, and thought him the properest man in the whole Vniuersitie: Well, shée counted it but a glaunce, and thought as lightly to passe it ouer as it sleightly entred: for shée found loue, that though he en­tred in by graunt of courtesie, yet hee would not bee thrust out by force of extremitie, in so much that shee could not content hirselfe without, but with the fight of hir new friend, which was done so manifestlie that the scholler perceiued it, and aiming at the fairest, one Satterday séeing hir in the market offred hir a quart of wine, which she tooke verie gratefully, and began to bee verie familiar with him, in so much that before they past, force of loue made her so shamelesse, that she was content to yéeld to his request, so that time and place would serue without the disparagment of hir credite.

Vpon this they concluded, that maister Awdrey (for so wee wil call him) should grow familiar with hir hus­band, and by that meanes should hee haue a better meanes to the quieting of his minde. Vpon this deter­mination they departed, and hee so brought it to passe, that not onlie he was acquainted with hir husband but verie familiar, that he would carrie maister Awdrey [Page 45] often from Cambridge with him to Cherryhinton, and I hope you do imagin hee was no little welcome guest to his wife. Being thus fitted in their passions onely watching for place, lingring off the time at last it was concluded, that she should come on a Satterday to Cam­bridge, and faine to stay with a kinswoman of hirs that dwelt in the towne, and so lie with hir all night: this stood for a sentence, and so the next weeke was decreed. In the mean time it so fel out, that maister Awdrey and sir Rowland being of great acquaintance, and such pri­uate familiars that nothing was holden too secret be­twéene them, maister Awdrey smothering this ioy in himselfe, thought to partake it with his friend: and so as he and sir Rowland were walking reuealed vnto him the loue that had past betwéene him and Marian, and on satterday was y ^e night when his posse should come into esse, desiring him to tel him wher he might haue a house fit for such a purpose. Sir Rowlād hearing this smylde, which made M. Awdrey to inquire y ^e cause of his laugh­ter: wherupon sitting down vpon y ^e grasse he begā to re­count vnto him the whole discourse of his loues with Marian, & what sundry abuses he suffered at hir hand, to y ^e great & vtter infamy of schollers. M. Audrey hearing this, sat a great while in a muse, at last he said, and wil women be Crocodiles? to wéepe rose water & vineger at one time, still to dally in extremes, to loue without rea-, son & hate without cause? oh the folly of mē to be such to such painted sepulchers, whose painted sheaths hold lea­den blades, whose skins are glorious like pāthers, but haue deuouring pāches. By that God that drew that in­fortunate femal frō that forefortunat Adā, I hate hir as extremely as I loued her earnestly: and I wil not onely yéeld y ^e oportunity to reuēge, but I wil ioyne issue with thee to perform it to y ^e vttermost. At this Rowlād was tickled with inward ioy, & taking Awdrey in his arms protested such hūble seruice for that friendlie promise, [Page 47] as euer should lye in his abilitie to execute. Thus in this determination of reuenge they crost the fieldes to Trumpington, and there they eate a messe of Creame, whither by chaunce came one of the Procters, with whom both Rowland and Audrey were verie familiar: him they had in and made him as good chéere as such a simple alehouse could afoord, and there in priuate re­uealed to him all their practise, desiring his furtherance in the matter. The Procter promised to do what in him lay for the execution of this merrie action: and there amongst them they laying and confirming the plot, they went all together home to Cambridge, where they past away the time pleasantly til Satterday came: and then according to promise was Marian there and met with Awdrey, who interteined hir with all the courtesie that he could, spending the day at the Tauerne whiles night came, and then he caried hir to the house appoin­ted such a subaudi Domus as was fit for such a pur­pose: and there they supt. In the meane time Rowland had sent a letter to hir husband in Audreies name, that his wife being not wel was faine to stay at hir kinswo­man all night, and desired him to come to hir the next morning, and that her father and the rest of the gentle­mē would come with him, for that they should sée Row­land taken in bed with a prettie wench. This letter in all hast was conueied to Cherryhinton to hir husband, who reading the contentes waxed somewhat iealous, because he had séene verie familiar courtesies betweene Awdrey and his wife, and thought schollers were slie fellows, and could deuise many such Sophistications to make a man a cuckold: but hee conceald his suspicion to himselfe, and shewed the letter to his Father in law and the rest of the Gentlemen, who as they sorrowed his wife was not well, so they were all glad to sée such a comicall fortune of Rowland: hir husband taking e­uerie word for his aduantage, said he would be there by [Page 46] foure of the clocke to sée Rowland taken vp. Thus they all agreed, and were gone by two of the clocke, where we leaue them comming to Cambridge: and againe to Marian, who after supper sat vp late, but Awdrey fild hir full of Wine till shée was almost droncke, that shée was verie heauie, and desired to goe to bed, which she did, and was no sooner laid but she fell a sléepe, and Awdrey slipping out, put out the candle and sent in Rowland, and bad him now goe to his mistres: hée went into the chamber and lockt the dore, and maister Audrey stole out of the howse and went to his chamber, leauing Row­land with his paramour, where I thinke more for en­uie of the man then for loue of the woman perhaps hée dubde him one of Paris priesthood, howsoeuer it was she descried not how it was, but both fell a sléepe: on the morrow by foure of the clock was Marians husband, hir father and the rest of the gentlemen at Peters hostell, where finding the gate open they went to maister Aw­dreys chamber and raised him vp, who quickly slipping on his cloathes, welcomed them, and went with them to finde out the Proctor, who watching for their com­ming was already with a dosen maisters of Art wel ap­pointed walking in the court yard, & presentlie went his way with them & came to the house where Rowlād lay: the Proctor knockt and bade open the dore: who is that quoth the good wife? the Proctor quoth he; open y ^e doore & that quicklie, or I wil beat it down: the good man came stumbling downe in his shirt, and the good wife was so amased that shee could not remember to tel hir guestes. The Proctor came in, and by the direction of Awdrey went straight to the Chamber: who be here quoth the Proctor? none sir quoth he, but a stranger and his wife: beat it open with a halbert quoth the Proctor: and with that for hast Marians husband ran against it, & the dore fell downe and hée into the chamber: with that Rowland couered hir close, and stepping out of the bed in his shirt [Page 48] asked what they ment. Ah syr Rowland quoth the Pro­ctor, I am sorie wee haue diseased you this morne, I thought ful litle to haue found you here, what is y ^e cause you lie out of y ^e hostel to night? Truly sir quoth he, I was late abroad this night making merrie with my friends, & so I was faine to take vp my lodging here. How do you syr Rowland quoth Marians husbād & hir father, I mar­uel we sée you not at Cherryhinton. Oh maisters quoth he, whē there is another comedie to play looke for me: but if you remēber I promised you a tragedy first, when y ^t is studied, I warrant I wil visit you. Poore Mariā lying in bed & hearing al this, how she was betrayed and had laid with Rowland all night, & how hir father & hir husband were there present, thought surely now Rouland to the vttermost would be reuenged vpon hir, so y ^t she fel into a great sweat for feare. The Proctor that had his lesson taught him said, wel sir Rowland, had it bene any other but you that had bin taken abroad and in such a suspected house, he should haue gone to the Toule booth: but since you haue no other company fare wel. Awdrey iogd vpon Mariās husband, & as they were ready to go out of doore, tush M. Proctor quoth he, but I maruel you examin not who it is that lies with him, it may bee a pretie wench. What? is there one lies with him? I marie is there sir quoth he, and with that stepping to the bed he threw off all the clothes, and there lay his wife in hir smocke.

At this all the Schollers fell a laughing, and syr Row­land sate him downe in his shirt, and (to make the mat­ter vp, that it might be a right blacke Santus) while they laught, cried Cuckowe. The Gentleman séeing his wife, and the father the daughter, they were in such a mase, that they stoode as men senselesse: they fell out a wée­ping, the Schollers a laughing, the gentlemen a sighing, and still Rowland kept his wench, and cried Cuckowe: at last Rowland began thus. Why you my Maisters and friends of Cherryhinton, did I not promise you a Tra­gedie, and haue I not nowe brought if to passe? I hope this Dame, and you all remember my frosty night, and how I was brought out of the trunck: now am I not re­uenged well? haue I not had my penyworts? Yes Vil­leine (quoth the gentleman) and first the whore shall die: and with that drawing out his Rapier, hee woulde haue kild hir: but the Proctor staide him, and shée protested shée knew not how shée came there, but thought shée had béene at home in hir bedde. Vpon this all the Schollers persuaded the gentleman that Rowland did it by Negro­mancie, and that if shée were the honestest woman in the world, Magicke were able to doe as much: Rowland for very pitty affirmde it: and so they perswaded him not to wade further in the matter for his owne credit, but to clappe it vp with silence. Shée wept and wroong hir hands, and hir father fate and shed teares: but at last by the persuasion of the Proctor and the other Schollers, Rowland and hee for all this were made friendes: his wife and he agréed, as a man perswaded shée was sacke­lesse, and that it was done by Negromancy: and so all merrily went to the Tauerne and drunke, they going to the Colledge, and he to Cherryhinton, with full resoluti­on neuer more to let his wife come to Cambridge, for feare of the Schollers Art Magicke.

The Schollers tale. Conteining the sundrie misfortunes that two Sicilian Louers had, and how at the ende their passionate sor­rowes came to a pleasing successe.

WHen the king of Tunise was beaten out of his kingdome, & sought to enter againe by force, Iacomin Pierro, and Alexander Bar­tolo, two Noble men of Sicilia, and both of Palermo, for the good will they bare to the king, made certaine tall barkes, and with their aide maugre his enemies, placed the king a­gaine safe in his kingdome: which done they returned a­gaine to Palermo. This Iacomin Pierro had a sonne cal­led also Iacomin, and this Alexander had a daughter cal­led Katherine, these two being neighbours children fell in loue together, insomuch that Iacomin noting the beautie of Katherine, seeing with his eie hir outward ex­cellencie, and hearing with his eares hir inward vertues and perfection, entred with such déepe insight into hir qualities, that hee resolued in himselfe shée and none but shée should be the goddesse of his affections: & of the other side, Katherine féeding hir eie with the desired obiect of [Page 52] his person, and with delight pleasing hir eare with the generall fame that ran through all Sicilia of his curte­sie, affability, and valor: determined that none but Iaco­min should enioy the floure of hir beauty. These two lo­uers being in such a sympathie of agréeing passions, li­ued a long while with lookes, bashfull both to discouer the essence of their loues: yet at last Iacomin taking hart at grasse, finding one day fit place and oportunity, dis­coursed vnto hir, how euer since his yeares coulde enter­taine any amorous thought, the Idea of hir beautie and vertues remained imprinted in his heart so déepely, that none but shée could satisfie the end of his incessant desire: which was no other, then the honest and honorable con­tent of marriage. Katherine who was as willing as hee was desirous, told him that vpon that condition, when­soeuer their Parents should agrée, shée was ready to bee at his commaund. Thus they wooed and ended, and all in a short space, for that time parting with a kisse. This swéete consent of thoughtes, continued a long time be­twéene these two Louers, insomuch that Iacomin resol­ued shortly to breake the matter to his father, to whome he knew the match would bee most pleasing, for that olde Iacomin and Alexander loued together as Brothers. Whiles thus these two Louers held their demaunde in suspence, there fell a deadly iarre betwéene the house of the Iacomins and the family of the Bartolos: insomuch that not onely all Palemo, but almost all Sicilia was in an vproare, for each tooke Armes against other, and be­ing men of great Parentage, friendes tooke partes, and they began to bandy, that they fell to a flatte ciuill dis­sention. This disagreement betweene the Pa­rents, although it was a heart breake to the two Lo­uers, yet could it not at all disparage their affection, but the greater the Mutinie the deeper was the impres­sion of their mindes. But by this meanes their mee­ting was hindered: yet Loue being a priuie searcher of [Page 53] secrets, found them out a creuise betwéene two walles, which parted their houses, and there oft times they met and parled, hoping stil some end would grow to this dis­mall dissention: but as the fier increaseth with the wind, so this iar grew greater by time, that the louers lost all hope euer to haue consent of parents: insomuch, that wholy in dispaire of an vnitie, they concluded to forsake Sicilia, and to goe into Spaine, where they had both friends, and there to remaine til their families were ac­corded. Vpon this resolution, Iacomine prouides him a Barke, and laide it readie in the hauen, and when the winde and weather was faire, gaue a watchword to Katherine, and so got hir a boord, hoist sailes and away they made towards Spaine: they were not long gon, but they were mist, and by all possible coniectures knowne to be slipt away together, for diuers manifest instancies were reported of their loues. The fathers fell both into déepe passions, Iacomyn hauing but one Sonne, and Bartolo but one Daughter: yea the gréefe of their vnkind departure, did so worke in their Fathers mindes, that each intended more mischéefe to other, as it were in re­uenge, that the broils grew hotter. But as they dissēted, so these two Louers accorded euery way, looking for no other Hauen but the coast of Spaine: but fortune that delights to sport hir selfe in the variable accidents of loue, brought it thus to passe. They had not sailde thrée daies from Sicilia, but that there fell a great calme, and certaine Gallies that were Rouers vnder the king of Tmisa, espied this Sicilian ship: and thinking to haue some rich prise, made out and gaue onset, commaunding them to yéeld: the Sicilians, being calme, could not make way from them, but yet although too weake, stoutly de­nied to be bourded, and fought it out to the vttermost, chéefelie Iacomine, who was sore wounded: but at last, they of the Gallies entered, and bestowed the Mariners vnder hatches, and then went to rifle the Ship, where [Page 53] they found Katherine al blubbered with teares, & almost dead for feare, hir they tooke for all hir pittifull shrikes and cries, conueyed hir into the Gallies: which Iacomin séeing, tooke so heauily, that hee was readie to die for gréefe: but so sore he was hurt, that stir he could not, but was faine to suffer hir to be carried away, whether the mercie of the slaues pleased to transport hir: when they had rifeled the ship, and found nothing but passengers, away they wēt with faire Katherine, determining with themselues to giue hir for a present to the king of Tunise whom they knew did loue a faire woman, more then halfe his kingdome, and so faire a creature as Katherine they were sure he neuer saw before. Vpon this they made saile towards Tunise, and when they were arriued, the captaine of the Gallies, causing hir to dresse hir in hir richest attire, wēt with hir to the Kings Palace, where when he was admitted to his Highnesse presence, hum­bly on his knées he craued pardon, as one that contrarie to his Maiesties lawes had bin a Rouer and a Pirate on the seas: but now loathing that course of life, was come to submit himselfe, & hauing taken that Gentlewoman as a prise at sea, desired his Maiestie to accept hir as a present. The king whiles the Pirate told his tale, kept his eye still on the Gentlewoman, whose beautie he foūd such, that he thought her some heauenly creature, shrow­ded in some mortall carcasse. The king not only thanked the Pirat for his present, but gaue him frée pardon, and a letter of mart, with many other rich gifts, so that he returned richly rewarded: and then turning him to Ka­therine, he tooke hir in his armes, kist her, and gaue hir such enterteinement as in all roialtie he could. But no­thing could make hir cease off from teares, hauing still hir Iacomin in remembrance, whom she held for dead: which the King perceiuing, commaunded that she should be carried to a place of his, standing fast by the Cittie wall, and there placed and attended vpon with all dili­gence, [Page 54] vntill she might be comforted, and thither when it pleased him hee would haue recourse. Seated in that house, there she led a solitarie life, washing hir chéekes euery day with teares for hir poore Iacomin: who like­wise wounded as he was, was brought to Tunise, and there left in the Surgions hand, where he was healed: assoone as he might well goe, he went as a man forlorne vp and downe the Cittie, looking euery where if hee might sée his Katherine: wherevpon he resolued to passe from place to place, and so to end his daies in trauell, if he did not by narrow inquisition finde hir out: getting therefore his bag and baggage in a readinesse, he was going out of Tunise; and as he passing out the gates, cast­ing his eie vp to the house where Katherine was, who at that time was looking out of a casement, hee espied her, and thinking it should be she, stood in a mase: Katherine séeing him, and thinking him to be her Iacomin, was al­most ready to fall downe in a sounde: thus stood the two Louers at gase; at last Iacomin cald Katherine: Iaco­min (quoth she) and with that she clapt hir finger on hir mouth, and made a signe, that for that time he should depart. Backe againe went Iacomin to his Hostesse, as merry a man as might be, & there staid till it was some­thing late in the euening, and then going to the place, sought round about the house, and there found a backe window into a Garden, where they might conueniently talke: he had not stayed there long, but Katherine came to the window, and there after a volly of sighes, quencht with teares, they began to discourse their fortunes since their departure: Katherine told Iacomin how she was giuen by the Pirates to the King for a present, and how he had placst hir there, reseruing hir for one of his Concubines, and that shee looked euery hower, when he should come to defloure hir. Therefore quoth she, since wee are man and wife, as wee haue liued to­gether, so let vs dye together, and enioye thou the [Page 56] chastitie of that body, whose soule hath béene euer thine in all amitie: I respect not the King, nor what his tor­tures can doo, therefore at night come hither to this place when it is darke, climbe vp on the wall, and so on this trée, and thou maist easilie come into the casement, which for the same purpose thou shalt find open. At this motion Iacomin was glad, and so departed, and at the time appointed came: and being made more nimble by loue and desire, he lept vp the wall lightly, and so into the trée, and from thence into the casement, where hee found his Katherine ready to receiue him, banquet him she could not, least any might heare, but feast he did with kisses, or whatsoeuer she might affoord to his amorous desires, so that in the end, to bed they went, and there with pleasure recompensed their former misfortunes. Loue hauing thus aduanced hir champion; Fortune enuying their happinesse, ment to haue one fling more at them, and brought it so to passe, that the King that night resolued to haue the companie of Katherine, and therefore after all his Lordes were at rest, tooke with him his Chamberlaine, and certaine of his Garde, and went to his place where she lay, comming in by a backe gate, hauing keyes for euery doore, at last opened the Chamber where she was, and there drawing the cur­tens to behold his Goddesse, he saw where she lay with a yoongman in hir armes fast a sléepe: the king for anger was ready to haue kild them, but yet he did qualifie his furie with a royall patience: and called his Chamber­laine, and the rest of his Garde, and shewed them this sight, demanding of them if any of them knew the yong man: they all answered, no, but supposed he was some stranger. The King straight commaunded, that certaine of his Garde should watch them, and assoone as they a­wakt, carry them to prison, and let there in the midst of the market place be erected a great stake, and in the af­terne one, there let them be both consumed with fier: the [Page 57] gard obeied the Kings commaundement, & hee went a­way in great choller, and highlie discontented. The King departed, these louers slept swéetelie till the mor­ning, and then they awooke, where present they heard a rustling of men, who straight tould them how y ^e King was there, what had hapned, and what hee had com­maunded: therefore they made them rise, & then bound them and carried them away. The two louers were no whit dismaied at this newes, but imbracing & kissing each other, comforted themselues in this, y ^t they should, as they liued together so die together, and y ^t their soules nor bodies should neuer part. Straight were they ca­ried to prison, & the stake was on prouiding, wherupon the rumour of their burning came about the cittie, that against the hower appointed all the cittie were gathe­red together, and forth at last was Iacomine and Ca­therin brought, and bound to the stake backe to backe: They earnestlie desired y ^t they might be bound face to face, but it could not be granted, which gréeued thē: but they cōforted themselues with chéerful woords, resolued to suffer death with patience. Al the cittie was gathered together, & stood gasing on them, & pittying them, that so swéete a couple should fall in such fatal extremitie: the poore soules ashamed, and hanging downe their heads expecting euerie minute the beginning of their martir­dome: As thus the fire was readie to be brought came the Lord high Admirall of Tunyse bye, and seeing such a concourse, demaunded the cause: The people tould him as much as they knew. He on his footcloth came to the stake, and looking vpon them séeing them so louely, asked of them of what Countrey they were. Of Sycilia sir quoth Iacomine. With that y ^e Admiral staring him ear­nestlie in the face called to his remembrance the fauour of old Iacomine his father. Of what place in Sicilia? my friend quoth he: of Palermo: thy name quoth the Ad­miral: Iacomin quoth he: why thou art not (answered the Lord) the sonne of Iacomin Pierro? yes quoth he, and [Page 58] this the daughter of Alexander Bartolo: And if quoth Iacomine you knew those families, do but so much for vs as speake to the king, that wee may be bound face to face, & so die, for life that we hold in skorne. Although the tormētors were appointed to dispatch thē by an hower, yet the L. Admirall chargd them not to put any fire to y ^e wood til his return; which they promisd: & away gallops y ^e Admiral as a mad man through y ^e streetes to y ^e Kings palace, where when he came, he found y ^e king in a great rage, discoursing to his Lords the villany of Catherin, y ^t admitted a stranger into her. The Admiral without any great reuerence, as a man ful of choller began thus roughlie and brieflie. Can they which place kinges pull down kings? Then looke thou once againe to be beaten out of Tunyse: did Iacomine Pierro & Alexander Bartolo the two valiāt Lords of Sicilia by their force seat thée in thy kingdome? and now in reuenge dost thou burne the onelie issue of them both? for that two louers seeke the fruition of their loues, so shal wee haue Sicilia our enemies, and thou séeke a new kingdome. What mea­nest thou to vse these railing spéeches quoth the King? Marie quoth the Admiral, yonder yong gentleman that is at the stake is y ^e son of Iacomin, & she the daughter of Bartolo. At this the king stood in amaze, & was halfe a­fraid, so that he cryed out to his Lords, y ^t they should rū & bring the couple as they were to him: which they per­formed with all diligence. When Iacomine and Cathe­rin saw the nobles come, then they lookt for the fire: but when they heard how they must bee vnloosed, and how curteouslie they were intreated, hope of better fortune gaue them some comfort. Well, away they were caried to the king, who graciouslie interteining them, demaū ­ded the cause of their bould enterprise, and what for­tune brought them into such a far countrey. Iacomine straight began and discourst their particular hap, and what accident [...] they had, whose sonnes they were, and what was their contrarie fortunes. The king at this [Page 59] embracst them both, welcomd them, and craued pardon of his rash censure, cladding them in roial apparel, and inryching them with manie costlie giftes, after so­lemplie married them in Tunise, and kept a great feast with turney and triumphes fitting their de­grees, and after preparing a prettie Fleet, sent them home to their parentes by the Lord Admiral: whose arriual in Palermo was wonderful strange, in that all thought they were dead. But when they recounted to their parents their misfortunes, and last the gracious fauoures of the King of Tunise, by the helpe and good perswasion of the Lord Admirall; the instance of their true loue reconciled their fathers and families, that not onelie the two louers agréed, but the two houses euer after continued in peace and concord.

The old wiues tale, Conteining the wilie sleightes of a wanton wife, and how both cunninglie and craftilie to the safety of her owne honestie and hir husbandes discredite, shee shifted hir louer.

IN a farre countrey there dwelled some­time a gentleman of good parētage, called signior Myzaldo, who had to his wife a verie faire and beautifull gentlewoman. And as the beastes most gréedilie gase at y ^e Panthers skin, & the birdes at the Peacocks plumes: so euery fair feminine face is an adamant to draw y ^e obiect of mens eies to behold the beauties of women: experi­ence prooued it true in the wife of Myzaldo, for she being a woman of singular perfection and proportion, was generallie looked on and liked of al, but fauoured and loued especiallie of a yong gentleman called Peter, dea­ling with such secrecie, that they continuallie satisfied their desires without giuing signior Myzaldo the least occasion of suspition; and the meanes that they perfor­med it with such secrecie was this. Euerie wéeke twise hir husband rid from home about certaine his affaires, and she very artificially néere to the high way that leads to the towne where Peter lay, had placed an asses head vpon a tree, and when hir husband was gone forth, she tourned y ^e head towards the town; but when he was at home, then she alwaies had it looking to hir own house: vsing herein as some thought, an Embleame, saying, when she turnd the Asses head forth, that the Asse hir husbande with the long horning eares was gone from home; and when it stood towards the howse, that the Asse kept his chamber: but what soeuer in this hir conceit was, Peter alwaies knew when to come, and euer when Myzaldo was from home resorted to his house. Now it chanced that certaine boyes comming by and séeing the Asses head stand there, threw stones [Page 62] at it, & hit it so often, y ^t at last they turned the Asses head towards y ^e town: which Peter walking abroad & spying, thought y ^t Myzaldo had bin gone from home: & therfore at night walked towards his louers house, & comming to the dore finding it shut, according to his accustomed maner, knockt: y ^e good wife awakt, heard him & was sore afraid y ^t hir husband should heare him, and so lay still: by and by he knockt again mor lowd: Myzaldo awoke, & hearing this, asked of his wife who it was that rapt at the doore, or what y ^t knocking meant? Oh husband quoth she, be stil, it is a foule spirit y ^t hauntes this house, & yet hetherto we neuer durst reueale it, and it hath, thanks be to God, bin your good fortune neuer to hear it before: Myzaldo rycher by far then he was wise, beléeued his wife, & askt hir if it had done any harme: no quoth shee, for I had learnd a charm to send it hence: frier Rowlād learnd me it, and if it knocke againe, you and I wil goe down together, & I wil say my charme, & so we shal liue at rest. Peter y ^t thought som other frend had bin with his Lēman, taking it in scorn y ^t hir husband (as he thought) being frō home he should not be let in, knockt againe a­maine. With y ^t Myzaldo & his wife arose, lighted a can­dle, & went downe to the dore where Peter was: Then she wisht hir husband to knéele downe vpon his knées while she said the charme. With that she began thus.

Now husband quoth she, spit: & with that he spit, and Peter laught hartily, and wisht he might spit out his teeth for being at home. This charme said shee thrise o­uer, [Page 63] and euery time made him spit, that Peter might be as­suredly perswaded that hir husband was at home. Vpon this Myzaldo and his wife went to bed, and heard the spirit no more: for Peter wēt laughing home to his lodging. Myzaldo could not sléepe this night, nor many nights after, but still maruelling what this spirit should be, lay a woke. Peter that once or twise thus was deceiued of the asse head, because by som cōtrary mishap it was turnd, deuised thus: y ^t euery night when Myzaldos wife wēt to bed she should tie a string to hir toe, & then leaue the ende of it at the dore, so that when Peter came he might wake hir, & then if she puld the string againe & tied it fast, hir husband was from home: if she let it slip, then he was in bed. Thus by the means of this string Myzaldo was oft made cuckold, and sometimes when hir husband was at home & in his sound sléepe, if Peter puld the string, she would rise & go down to him to the dore. At last so thus this game continued, that Myzaldos wife being fast a sléepe, and he rising to find y ^e chamber pot stum­bled vpon y ^e string, and wondring what it ment, or to what end groped easilie & found it tied to his wiues toe, and from thence reacht to the dore. He, as simple as he was, coniectu­red, that this was done to make him cuckold, and therefore for that night said nothing: but against the next night had prouided a great Partisan by his beds side: and when his wife was fast a sléepe he vntied the string, and ty­ed it to his owne toe; hee had not stumbred a little, but hee felt the string pull easilie, whereupon hee puld againe, and then Peter thought assuredlie that hee was gone from home, whereupon he knockt. Then did Myzaldo rise, put on his cloathes, and tooke the partizan in his hand, and downe hee went rustling that his wife wakt, and hearing him go down so hastilie felt for the string that was at hir toe, & mist it: wherupon she perceiued hir husband had found out the deceipt, and whipping out of the bed ran down the staires: with that Mizaldo opened the dore and thought to haue taken Peter, but hee hauing a glaunce of him being in a dark night came away, & Mizaldo after him, and raised [Page 64] the watch, yet was Peter so light of foot, that he out rā them al, & escapt. Mizaldoes wife fearing the worst ran vp againe to hir maid, & wild hir to goe to hir bed, and lie there, & to a­bide whatsoeuer hir husband should do to hir, & shee would giue hir a new gowne & a new petticote. The wench was content and went to her maisters bed: scarse was she warm there, but vp came Mizaldo in a great rage, & straight lay­ing down his partizan fel to beating of his wife, and with a whipcord all to lasht hir bodie, that the blood ran downe the shéetes: and when he had done, in the darke groped, & found a paire of shears & clipt off all the haire of hir head: and that done, opened the dore and went his way. The wench almost kild with blowes, and sore pained with smart lay stil as one in a traunce: but assoon as euer Mizaldo was gone, his wife arose and shut the dore, and came to the wench, where shee comforted and washt hir, & annointed her, putting on cleane linnen vpon hir, & laid cleane shéetes on the bed, and so sate downe discontented at hir work. No sooner did the day break but signior Mizaldo went with all spéed to his mother in lawe, and there reuealed to hir and to his wiues brethren how his wife had delt with him, and how he had reuenged hir, yet not sufficientlie, but was fullie resolued to bring hir this day before the Magistrate, & so absolutely to make a diuorce: the mother fel to wéeping, and knowing hir own fault when shee was young, intreated hir sonnes that they would make a peace & attonemēt betwéeene their sister and hir husband: they fell to exclaime against hir, and said, séeing she was by hir lightnes the discredit of hir house, they would be the first and the formost in punishing such grosse offences. Vpon this they went home with Myzaldo to his house, and there comming vp the staires they found their daughter sit­ting verie sad: the husband fround and bretheren scoulded, but y ^e mother whom nature more néerely toucht, said, what chéere daughter? what stir is this betwéene your husband & you? what stir quoth hir daughter? marrie I would you & my brethren had gone to my burying whē you went to my mariage to wed mee to a dronckard, that all day goes out [Page 65] about whores and curtisans, and at night comes home late, and perhaps not all night, as he hath doone now, and so doo I sit all day comfortlesse, and lie in the night like a widow while he is abroad with his strumpets. And quoth the mo­ther he is this morning come to your brethren and me, with an outcrie against you, that this night he tooke you with a Lemman at the doore, and how he found it out by a string tied to your toe. Fie vpon him dronkard (quoth she) these are his dreames, when he lies tipled in the Tauerne: but I maruell where he hath béene to night: marry Dame quoth he, I feare me your flesh and your bones knowe too well, for I thinke you haue not one frée spot on your body, I so whipt you for your whoredome, and I thinke the shéetes in the bed can witnesse, and the haire that I cut off your head can testifie. Now mother (quoth she) and good brethren, sée whether this is an arrand droonkard or not, that tels these fables, saying, he beat me thus to night, when he toucht me not, nor before this time since yesterday morning, came within these doores: where he saies the shéetes are bloudie, sée brethren sée, they are cleane: for my skin, take view of it, if it be any way toucht: and for my haire, sée how faire and long it is: how hath he then done these prankes? alas, alas, he hath falne amongst his whores in his droonkennesse, and hath vsed them so, and now to the slander of me, to the disho­nour of my fréends, and the perpetuall infamie of our house, he hath thus without cause reuiled me, where yée sée his owne lying toong condemnes him. Mizaldo, séeing neither his wiues haire cut, nor hir bodie any way brused, fell into a great dumpe, woondering whether he drempt it or no, in so much, that at last he askt: whie Wife? was I not this night at home? at home, in faith sir no, but with some of your brabs, & I thinke thou camest home dronke. At this doubtful demaund, hir brethren began to take hir part, & seeing what he said was false, & al hir spéeches probable, they raild on him in most bitter termes, & told him in that he had maried their sister who was an honest womā, & he by all means sought to depriue hir of hir good name without cause, who should be y ^e [Page 67] protector of hir honor, they would not put it vp vnreuenged, but would to the vttermost do him what iniurie the extre­mitie of the law would affoord. Vpon this, the man séeing how in all things his wife had disprooued him, thought as­suredly that he was not at home the last night, and therfore desired hir to pardon him, and he would neuer after be takē in the like offence, and so vpon that, by hir mother and hir brethren they were made friends, and euer after Peter and she with lesse suspition enioyed their loues.

¶The Somners tale, Conteining the shifts that the Abbot made to haue his loue, and how he raisd a man from death.

IN Wickham there was an Abbot, that was a man of a middle age, lustie and frolike, and coueted to [Page 68] acquaint himselfe with all the faire Wiues of the Towne, insomuch that euery man doubted of this iolly Clarke: yet he made himselfe holy, but doo what he could, it might not cléere the suspition that the men of the towne had of him: Amongst the rest, hee was acquainted with a Farmars Wife, that was none of the wisest, and yet he had witte e­nough to beware of the Abbot. This Farmar excéeded all the rest, not onely of the Towne, but of all the whole coun­trie about for iealousie, being so suspitious of his Wife, that he would brooke none of his neighbours to come into his house, and if she glauncst hir lookes neuer so little awry, he would straight beate hir while he could stand ouer hir, in so much, that the woman was wearie of hir life, and looked as a creature forlorne.

As shée was one daye walking into the fields to doe hir businesse, the Abbot met hir, who tooke hir by the hand, and began to make loue to hir: she was both coie and fearefull: yet at last the Abbot gan so prattle, that shee began to tell him how iealous hir husband was, and how wearie shée was of hir life. Tushe (quoth the Abbot) care not for that, referre that matter to mee, I will straight cure him of his iealousie, if then thou wilt bee my paramour. So sore was the poore woman troubled with a iealous foole, that shee was glad to graunt whatsoeuer the Abbot would aske, so hir husband might bee mended of his fault: make some excuse quoth the Abbot, send him to me to mor­row, and then let me alone: but whatsoeuer thou hearest is befallen him, feare not, all shall be well. Vpon that the Farmars Wife and the Abbot parted, shee to hir house, he to his cloister, where hee called one of his Monkes, in whome he did repose all his trust, and reuealed vnto him the whole matter, and what plot hee had laid to bring his purpose to passe: the Moonke condiscended to doe what­soeuer the Abbot should commaund, and so vpon this re­solution they laught, and the next day came the Farmar to the Abbot to haue a hie masse said for one of his Children that was sick: the Abbot made much of him, and bad him to [Page 69] dinner, and subtilly at his last draught conueied a dormatiue potion into the cup, that presently after dinner he fell into a dead sléepe; that his senses being gone all men thought he was deade: wherefore presently one of the Monkes ran to the good wife, and tolde hir what had happened to hir hus­band: shée cried out and wrung hir hands, and tolde it to hir neighbours: whereupon shée and a great company both of men and women went to the Abbey, and there was hee knit vp in his winding shéete, the wife pittifully lamented, and the neighbours comforted hir: the Abbot he saide he should be buried in their Abbey because he died there, and therefore in presence of them all solemnely buried him: which done, his wife like a sorrowfull woman departed home to hir house with hir neighbours.

Assoone as night came, the Abbot and the Monke, (whom hee had made priuy to this practise) went and cun­ningly tooke him out of his graue, and carried him into a déepe dungeon, where he could sée no light, and there let him lie starke naked, till such time as the potion had ended the o­peration, and that hee should wake. At length the Farmar a­woke, and stretching himselfe, finding that he was naked, and in a place lothsome, darke, and fearefull, he could not tel what to thinke, but blest himselfe, and said, Lord haue mercie vpon me, where am I? The Monke that was by attired like a spi­rite, saide, thou art deade and in purgatory. Deade quoth the Farmer: can dead men speak? Yea quoth the Monke, and eat too, such meate and drinke as is appointed for the dead: This day in the morning thou didst die, and thy wife did bury thée in the Abbey, accompanied with all hir neighbours: and I wretch a spirite of purgatorie, am appointed to torment thée without ceasing, for that in thy life time thou wert iealous, and didst misuse thy wife without cause, therefore am I ap­pointed to vexe thée thréescore and tenne yeares without cea­sing: and with that hauing a whippe in his hande, the Monke laide it on, and gaue him many a shrewde blowe: At last he left him and went his way, and told the Abbot what he had done.

The Abbot as soone as conuenient leysure woulde serue, stole secretly to the Farmers house, and there got to bed to the goodwife, and euery night lay with hir while hir hus­band was in purgatorie: and euery day the Monke went down and allowed him a little pittance of meat and drinke: but whipt him most miserably. At last the Farmer grew to be maruellous penitent and repentant for his faults, swea­ring that if he were aliue againe, he would neuer be iealous nor suspitious: earnestly praying his wife that shée woulde forgiue him. While thus the poore Farmer was in his pur­gatory almost whipt to death, and famisht, the Abbot and his wife liued in all pleasure and iolity, laughing when they heard the Monke report what the poore man said in his pur­gatory: At last shée perceiued that shée was with child, & ther­fore they must néeds haue a father for it, wherupon they de­uised to haue him out of purgatorie, and to bring him home with a miracle. The next day the Monke came to him accor­ding to his accustomed manner, and whipt him not, but told him that his wife euery day offred a Taper for him, and said so many good praiers, that his sinnes were remitted, and his punishment forgiuen: whereupon hee thankt his wife and made a vow, if God should restore him to life (as it was im­possible) he would not onely leaue to be iealous himselfe, but warne all other men to take héede of the like fault. Thus continued hee without whipping by the space of fiue or sixe daies, and at last the Monke in stead of drinke, gaue him an other dormatiue potion, so that he fell a sléepe.

Then the Abbot and the Monke in the night conueied him into the place where hee was buried, and so let him lie. About the houre when hee knewe hee would wake, was the Monke there, faining himselfe at praier: and assoone as euer he saw him stir, he ranne away and cried out: vpon this all the Monkes of the Cloister rose, and askt what the matter was. Oh quoth hee, as I was in praier by the Farmers graue, I heard a tumbling and a voice there either of him or of a spirite? with that the Monkes went downe and found that there was one aliue within the Tombe: then they [Page 71] called the Abbot and tolde him, who slipping on his night gowne, ran apace to see the miracle: when he came there, and they were all gathered together, they lifted vp the stone, and there lay he tumbling in his shéete: so they tooke him out and vndid him, and he looked wan and gash, but spake to them and tolde them, that the Lorde at the praiers of his wife had restored him to life, and that hee had béene in purgatory, and what punishment hee had abidden for his iealousie. The Monkes were proude of this miracle, and knewe that their Abbey should bee more famous for this strange wonder, and straight sent for his wife and his neighbours: who when they came, first the Abbot reuealed vnto them, howe that hee and his Monkes hearing the continuall plaintes and praiers the poore widow made for hir husband; he did likewise with ear­nest Orisons intreat of God, that if it were his wil, he would shew a miracle in him, and restore him to life: and nowe my Maisters and friendes quoth hee, sée the difference betwéene the praiers of an Abbot, and the praiers of a lay man: for fol­low me and you shall sée what effect they haue taken. With that he carried them into the parlor where the Farmer was, assoone as they sawe him, they were all amazed, and his wife fel down in a sound: wherupon reuiuing hir he began to say, feare not wife, nor you gentle neighbours, & doubt not of me▪ for I am by this holy man and my wiues praiers restor ⟨ed to⟩ life hauing béene in that most vile place of purgato ⟨ry where⟩ there is nothing but darkenes and Deuils: th ⟨ere I have tor­⟩mented for all my sinnes, but especially for ⟨my Jealousy be­⟩ing euery day punisht till my wiues praie ⟨rs deliverd me; ma­⟩ny a fable beside of his owne inuention d ⟨eclared to them⟩ he had séene in purgatory. At last as he v ⟨owed to reform his⟩ wife fell about his necke and kist him, ⟨every one pleas'd &⟩ all the neighbours reioiced, and di ⟨vers praisd the Abot⟩ for his holines. Vpon this he and ⟨his wife reconciled, walk­⟩ed him home to his house solem ⟨ly proclaming thanks &⟩ there left him. This newes ⟨was cause of great⟩ gaine by the Abbot of Wickam ⟨who grew famous in that⟩ country, that al men had him ⟨in reverance as very⟩ [Page 72] holy and vertuous, and diuers came to sée the Farmer from farre: all which he did certifie what he had séen in purgatory, what great punishment for sundry sinnes but especially for iealousie. Thus he not onely exhorted all men from suspition of their wiues, but euer after gaue his wife such libertie, that shée might at hir owne pleasure be familiar with the Abbot.

The Somner hauing told his tale, the people commended the great deuotion of the Abbot, wishing all iealous fooles to passe the like purgatory. The Cobler hee commended all, and said, that they were now welcome to Grauesend: euery man to his purse & lookt in it for his two pence to pay his fare: and when they had done, they rose and went into the towne to drinke: and because they went most of them to Caunterburie, they went all to one Inne, where they beganne to descant and discourse of the tales that had past: I can quoth the Cobler re­member them all, & very néere verbatim collect & gather them together: which by the grace of God gentlemen, I meane to doe, and then to set them out in a pamphlet vnder mine owne name, as an inuectiue against Tarltons newes out of Purga­torie: and then if you please to send to the Printer, I wil leaue a token, that euery one of you that tolde a tale, shall haue a ⟨Bok⟩e for his labour. In the meane time till I haue perfected ⟨it I'll la⟩ye my Coblers stoole aside, and my selfe become an ⟨Author⟩. I hope you shall finde mee so fichent in mine En­ ⟨glish, if I⟩ would study you would report I might for my ⟨wit vie a⟩ ⟨Lil⟩ly, Greene, or any other in excellency of ⟨stile. T⟩hey all laught, paid their shot, and ⟨went with⟩the merry Cobler towards Caunterburie.