A pretty and Merry new Interlude: called the Disobedient Child. Compiled by Thomas Ingelend late Student in Cambridge. ¶ Imprinted at London in Fleetstreet, beneath the Conduit by Thomas Colwell. First Edition. ¶ The Player's names. ¶ The Prologue speaker. ¶ The Bycheman. ¶ The B●chemans son. ¶ The mancook. ¶ The young woman. ¶ The Serving man. ¶ The Priest. ¶ The devil. ¶ The Perorator. ¶ The Prologue speaker. Now forasmuch as in these latter days, Throughout the whole world in every land Vice doth increase, and Virtue decays Iniquity having the upper hand. We therefore intend, good gentle Audience, A pretty short Interlude, to play at this present desiring your leave and quiet scisence To show the same, as is meet and expedient. The sum whereof, matter and argument, In two or three verses, briefly to declare, Since that it is for an honest intent, I will somewhat bestow my care. In the City of London, there was a rich man Who loving his son most tenderly, Moved him earnestly now and than, That he would give his mind to study. saying that by knowledge, science, and learning Is at the last gotten a pleasant life: But throng he the want, and lack of this thing Is purchased ponertie, sorrow, and strife. His Son notwithstanding, this gentle monition As one that was clean devoid of grace, Did turn to a mock, and open derision Most wickedly with an bushame fast face. In so much that contrary to his father's will Unto a young woman he did consent, Whereby of lust he might have his fill, And married the same in contynents. Not long after that, the child began To feel his wifes great frowardness, And called himself unhappy man, Oppressed with pains and heaviness. Who before that time, did live blessedly, Whilst he was under his father's wing But now being wedded, mourning and misery Did him torment without ending, But now it is time for me to be going, And hence to depart for a certain space, For I do hear the Rich man coming With the wanton boy into this place. ¶ Here the Prologue speaker goeth out, and in cometh the Rich man and his son. ¶ The Son. LAther I beseech you father, show me the way What thing I were best to take in hand, Whereby this short life so spend I may That all grief and trouble, I might withstand. ¶ The Father. ¶ What is the meaning (my child) I the pray This question to be mand of me? For that thing to so, I am glad alway Which should not be grievous to the. ¶ The Son. ¶ Marry but therefore, of you counsel I take, saying now my childhood, I am clean past, That unto me ye plainly do make, What to a youngman is best for to taste. ¶ The Father. ¶ I see nothing truly my Son so meet And to prove so profitable for the As unto the School to move thy feet, With studious Lads, there for to be. ¶ The Son. ¶ What the Scholeen aye father, nay, Go to the School is not the best way, ¶ The father. ¶ Say what thou list, for I can not invent A way more commodious in my judgement. ¶ The Son. ¶ It is well known how that ye have loved Me heretofore at all times most tenderly But now (me think) ye have plainly showed Certain tokens of hatred For if I should go to my Book after your advise Which have spent my childhood so pleasantly, I may then seem driven out of Paradyse To take pain and woe, grief and misery. All things I had rather sustain and abide The business of the School once cast aside, Therefore though ye cry till ye reave asunder I will not meddle with such a matter. ¶ The Father. ¶ Why can not I thee thus much persuade For that in my mind is the best trade. ¶ The Son. ¶ When all is said and all is done, Concerning all things both more and less Yet like to the School none under the Son Bringeth to children so much heaviness. ¶ The Father. ¶ What though it be painful, what thought it be griefs, For so be all things at the first learning, Yet marvelous pleasure it bringeth unto us As a reward for such pains taking. Wherefore come of and be of good cheer And go to thy Book without any fear For a man without knowledge (as I have read) May well be compared to one that is dead. ¶ The Son. ¶ Not more of the School, no more of the Book That woeful work is not for my purpose For upon those Books I may not look, If so I did, my labour I should loose. ¶ The Father. ¶ Why than to me thy fancy express That the School matters to the are counted weariness ¶ The Son. ¶ Even as to a great man, wealth and rich Service and bondage is a hard thing So to a Boy both dainty and nice Learning and study is greatly displeasing. ¶ The father. ¶ What my Child, displeasing I pray thee? That maketh a man live so happily. ¶ The Son. ¶ Yea by my truth, such kind of wisdom Is to my heart I tell you, very loathsome. ¶ The Father. ¶ What trial thereof hast thou taken That the Scole of thee is so ill bespoken? ¶ The Son. ¶ What trial thereof would ye fain know? Nothing more easy than this to show: At other boy's hands, I have it learned, And that of those truly most of all other Which for a certain time have remained In the house and prison of a schoolmaster ¶ The Father. ¶ I dare well say that there is no misery But rather joy, pastime, and pleasure Always with Scholars haping company, No life to this, I the wall assure. ¶ The Son. ¶ It is not true Father which you do say, The contrary thereof is proved alway, For as the Brutus goeth by many a one, Their tender bodies both night and day Are whipped and scourged, and beat like a stone That from top to toe, the say is away. ¶ The Father. ¶ Is there not (say they) for them in this case, Given other while for pardon some place? ¶ The Son. ¶ None truly none, but that alas, alas Diseases among them do grow apace. For out of their back and side doth flow, Of very goore blood marvelous abundance, And yet for all that is not suffered to go, Till death be almost seen in their countenance. Should I be content then thither to run, Where the blood from my breech thus should spuane, So long as my wits shall be mine own, The schoolhouse for me shall stand alone. ¶ The Father. ¶ But I am sure that this kind of fashion Is not showed to children of honest condition. ¶ The Son. ¶ Of troth with these Masters is no difference For alike towards all, is their wrath and violence. ¶ The Father. ¶ Son in this point, thou art quite deceived And without doubt falsely persuaded For it is not to be judged that any schoolmaster, Is of so great fierceness and cruelty And of young Infants so sore a tormenter That the breath should be about to leave the body. ¶ The Son. ¶ Father this thing I could not have believed But of late days I did behold In honest man's son hereby buried Which through many stripes was dead and cold. ¶ The Father. ¶ peradventure the Child of some disease did labour Which was the cause of his Sepulture. ¶ The Son. ¶ With no disease surely, was he disquieted, As unto me it was then reported. ¶ The Father. ¶ If that with no such thing he were infected What was the cause that he departed. ¶ The Son. ¶ Men say, that of this man, his bloody master Who like a Lion most commonly frowned, Being hanged up by the heels together▪ Was belly and buttock grievously whipped. And last of all (which to speak I trembled) That his head to the wall he had often crushed. ¶ The Father. ¶ Thus to think Son, thou art beguiled verily, And I would wish the to suppose the contrary. And not for such tales my counsel to forsake Which only do covet thee learned to make. ¶ The Son. ¶ If Demesthenes and Tully were present truly They could not print it within my head happily. ¶ The Father. ¶ Yet by thy father's will and intercession, Thou shalt be content that thing to pardon. ¶ The Son. ¶ Command what ye list, that only excepted, And I will by ready your mind to fulfil, But where as I should to the School have resorted My hand to the Palmer submitting still. I will not obey ye therein to be plain, Though with a thousand strokes I be slain. ¶ The Father. ¶ woe is me my Son, woe is me, This heavy and doleful day to see. ¶ The Son. ¶ I grant in deed, I am your Son, But you my Father shall not be, If that ye mill cast me into that prison, Where torn in pieces ye might me see. ¶ The Father. ¶ Where I might see the torn and rend? O Lord I could not such a deed invent. ¶ The Son. ¶ Nay by the Mass, I hold ye, a groat Those cruel tyrants cut not my throat: Better it were myself did fleye, Then they with the Rod my flesh should fleye. Well I would we did this talk omit, For it is loathsome to me every whit. ¶ The Father. ¶ What trade then (I pray thee) shall I devise Whereof thy living at length may arise? Wilt thou follow Warfare, and a Soldier be pointed, And so among Trojans and Romans be numbered, ¶ The Son. ¶ See ye not masters my Father's advise Haur ye the like at any time hard? To will me thereto he is not wise If my years and strength he did regard, You speak worse and worse, what soever ye say This manner of life is not a good way. For no kind of office can me please, Which is subject to wounds and strokes always. ¶ The Father. ¶ Somewhat to do, it is meet and conveniet, wilt thou then give thy diligent endenoure To let thy youth unhonestly be spent And do as poor knaves, which jares do scour? For I do not see that any good Art Or else any honest Science, or occupation Thou wilt be content to have a part After thy father's mind and exhortation. ¶ The Son. ¶ Ha', ha', ha', a labour in very deed, God sand him that life which stands in need. There be many fathers that children have And yet not make the worst of them a ●aue, Might not you of yourself be well a shamed Which would have your son thither constrained? ¶ The Father. ¶ I would not have the driven to that succour, Yet for because the Scriptures declare, That he should not ear, which will not labour Some work to do it must be thy ear. ¶ The Son. ¶ Father, it is but a folly with you to strive But yet notwithstanding I hope to thrive ¶ The Father. ¶ That this thine intent may take good success I pray God heartily of his goodness. ¶ The Son. ¶ Well, well, shall I in few words rehearse, What thing doth most my Conscience pierce? ¶ The Father. ¶ Therewith I am Son very well contented. ¶ The Son. ¶ Yea but I think that ye will not be pleased. ¶ The Father. ¶ In deed peradventure it may so chance. ¶ The Son. ¶ Nay but I pray ye without any perchance, Shall not my request turn to your grevannce. ¶ The Father. ¶ If it be just and lawful, which thou dost require, ¶ The Son. ¶ Both just and lawful have ye no fear. ¶ The Father. Now therefore ask, what is thy petition? ¶ The Son. ¶ Lo this it is without further Dilation, For so much as all youngmen for this my Beauty, As the Moon, the stars, I do far excel, Therefore out of m●de, with all speed posy●ly, To have a wife (me think) would do well, For now I am ●onge, lively, and lusty, And welcome besides to all men's company. ¶ The Father. ¶ Good Lord, good Lord, what do I here? ¶ The Son. ¶ Is this your beginning to perform my desire. ¶ The Father. ¶ It is my child, what meaneth thy doting? Why dost thou covet thy own un doing? ¶ The Son. ¶ I know not in the world how to do the thing That to his stomach, may be delighting. ¶ The Father. ¶ Why fooly she I deot, thou goest about a wife Which is a burden and yoke all thy life. ¶ The Son. ¶ Admit she shall as a burden with me remain, Yet ●oyll I take one, if your good will I attain. ¶ The Father. ¶ Son it shall not be thus by my counsel. ¶ The Son. ¶ I trust ye will not me otherwise compel. ¶ The Father. ¶ If thou were as wise, as I have judged thee Thou wouldest in this case be ruled by me. ¶ The Son. ¶ To follow the contrary I can not be turned My hat thereon is styflly fixed. ¶ The Father. ¶ What I say, about thine own destruction? ¶ The Son. ¶ Not, not, but about mine own salvation: For if I be helped, If were by the Mass, It is only Marriage that brings it to pass. It is not the School, it is not the Book, It is not Science or Occupation, It is not to be a harbour or Cook Wherein is now set my consolation. And since it is thus, be father content For to mary a wife, I am full bent. ¶ The Father. ¶ Well if thou wilt not my Son, be ruled But needs will follow thine own foolysshenes, Take heed hereafter if thou be troubled At me thou never seek redress. For I am certain thou canst not abide Any pain at all, grief, or vexation. Thy childhood with me so easily did slide Full of all pastime and delectation. And if thou wouldest follow the Book and learning, And with thyself also, take a wise way: Then thou mayst get a gentleman's lining And with many other bear a great sway. Besides this I would in time to come After my power, and small havylytie, Help the and further thee, as my wisdom, Should me most counsel for thy commodity. And such a wife I would prepare for the As should be virtuous, wise and honest, And give the with her after my degree, Whereby thou mightest always live in test. ¶ The Son. ¶ I cannot, I tell ye again, so much of my life Consume at my Book without a wife. ¶ The Father. ¶ I perceive therefore. I have done to well And showed over much favour to thee, That now against me thou dost rebel And for thine own furtherance wilt not agreed. Wherefore of my goods thou gettest not a penny Nor any succour else at my hands For such a child is most unworthy To have any part of his father's lands. ¶ The Son. ¶ I do not estéme father your goods or lands Or any part of all your treasure, For I judge it enough to be out of bands And from this day forward to take my pleasure. ¶ The Father. ¶ Well, if it shall chance the thy folly to repent As thou art like within short space, Think none but thyself worthy to be shent, Letting my council to take no place. ¶ The Son. ¶ As touching that matter, I will no man blame Now farewell father, most heartily for the same. ¶ The Father. ¶ Farewell my Son, depart in God's name. ¶ The Son. ¶ Rome I say room, let me be gone My father if he list, shall tarry alone. ¶ Here the Son goeth out and the Rich man tarrieth behind alone. ¶ The Father. Now at the last I do myself consider How great grief it is and heaviness, To every man, that is a Father. To suffer his child to follow wantonness, If I might live a hundred years longer And should have sons and daughters many Yet for this Boy's sake, I will not suffer, One of them all at home with me to tarry, They should not be kept thus under my wing And have all that which they desire, For why it is but their only undoing And after the Proverb, we put oil to the fire. Wherefore we Parents must have a regard, Our Children in time for to subdue Or else we shall have them ever untoward, Yea, spiteful, disdainful, naught, and untrue. And let us them chruste alway to the School Whereby at their Books they may be kept under: And so we shall shortly their courage cool, And bring them to honesty, virtue and Nurture. But alas now a days (the more is the pity) Science and learning is so little regarded, That none of us all doth muse or study To see our children well taught and instructed. We deck them, we trim them with gorgeous array We pampre and fede them, and keep them so gay That in the end of all this, they be out foes. We base them, kiss them, we look round about We marvel and wonder to see them so leave We ever anon do invent and seek out, To make them go tricksy, gallant, and clean. Which is nothing else, but the very provoking To all unthriftiness, vice, and Iniquity, It pucteth them up, it is an alluting Their fathers and mothers at length to defy. Which thing mine own Son doth plainly declare Whom I always entirely have loved, He was so my joy, he was so my care That now of the same I am despised. And now he is hence from me departed, He hath no delight with me to devil, He is not merry until he be married, He hath of knavetye took such a smell. But yet saying that he is my Son, He doth me constrain bitterly to weep, I am not (me think) well, till I be gone For this place I can no longer keep. ¶ Here the Rich man goeth out and the two Cooks cometh in first the one and then the other. ¶ The mancook. Take haste Blaunche Blab it out, & come a way For we have enough to do all this whole day, Why Blaunche blab it out, wilt thou not come And knowest what business there is to be done? If thou may be set with the pot at thy nose Thou carest not how other matters goes, Come a way I did thee, and tarry no longer To trust to thy help, I am much the better. ¶ The maidcook. ¶ What a Murryn I say, what a noise dost thou make I think that thou be not well in the wyrtes I never hard man on this sort to take With such angry words, and hasty fits. ¶ mancook. ¶ Why dost thou remember, what is to be bought For the great Bridal against to morrow? The market must be in every place sought For all kind of meats, God guye the sorrow. ¶ maidcook. ¶ What bamning? what cursing? Longtong is with the I made as much speed, as I could possibly, I wis thou mightest have tarried for me Until in all points I had been ready, I have for thee looked full often heretofore, And yet for all that said never the more. ¶ mancook. ¶ Well for this ones, I am with thee content So that hereafter thou make more haste, Or else I tell thee, thou wilt it repent, To loiter so long, till the Market be past. For there must be bought Byefe, Veal, and Mution, And that even such as is good and fat With Pig, Geese, conies and Capon, How sayest thou Blanch blab it out unto that? ¶ maidcook. ¶ I can not tell Lontonge, what I should say Of such good cheer I am so glad: That if I would not eat all that day My belly to fill, I were very made. ¶ mancook. There must be also Fesaunte and Swa●●e There must be Heronse●er, Particle and quail, And therefore I must do, what I can, That of none of all these the Gentleman fail. I dare say he looks for many things more, To be prepared against to worn, Wherefore I say, hence let us go, My feet do stand upon a thorn. ¶ maidcook. ¶ Nay good Long tongue, I pray the ones again To here yet of my mind, a word or twain. ¶ mancook. ¶ Come of them dispatch, and speak it quickly For what thing it is, thou causest me they. ¶ maidcook. ¶ Of whence is this Gentleman, that to morrow is matried Where doth his father and his mother devil? A 'bove forty miles be hath travailed As yester night his Servant did tell. mancook. ¶ In very deed, he comes a great way, With my Master he may not long abide, It hath cost him so much on costly array, That Money out of his purse apace doth slide. They say that his friends be rich and wealth And in the City of London have their dwelling, But yet of them all he hath no penny, To spends and bestow here at his weddynge. And if it be true that his Servant did say He hath utterly lost his friends good will Because he would not their counsel whey, And in his yvone Country tarry still. As for this woman, which he shall mary At Sainet Alban's always, hath spent her life I think she be a shrew, I tell thee plainly, And full of debate, malice and strife. ¶ maidcook. ¶ Though I never saw this woman before Which hither with him this Gentleman bo●ught, Yet nevertheless I have tokens in store, To judge of a woman that is froward and naught. The tip of her nose, is as sharp as mine Her tongue and her tune is very shrill I warrant her, she comes of an vng●acius kin, And loneth to much her pleasure and will, What though she be now so neat and so nice, And speaketh as gentle as ever I heard: Yet youngmen which be both witty and wise, Such looks, and such words, should not regard. ¶ mancook. ¶ Blanch blab it out, thou sayest very true I think thou beginnest at length to preach This thing to me is strange and new, To hear such a fool youngmen to teach. ¶ maidcook. ¶ A fool mine own Longtong, why call'st thou me fool Though now in the kitchen I waste the day, Yet in times paste I went to School, And of my latin primer I took assay, ¶ mancook. ¶ masters this woman did take such assay, And then in those days so applied her book, That one word thereof, she carried not away, But then of a Scholar was made a Cook. I dare say she knoweth not, how her Primer began, Which of her master she learned then. ¶ maidcook. ¶ I trow it began with Domine labia aperies. ¶ mancook. ¶ What did it begin with butterde peeas? ¶ maidcook. ¶ I tell the again, with Domine labia aperies, If now to hear, it be thine ease. ¶ mancook. ¶ How, how, with my Madaine lay in the peeas? ¶ I think thou art mad with Domine labia aperies. ¶ mancook. ¶ Yea marry, I judged it went such ways, It began with Dorothy lay up the keys. ¶ maidcook. ¶ Nay then God night, I perceive by this gear, That none is so deaf, as who will not hear, I spoke as plainly, as I could devise, Yet me understand, thou canst in no wise. ¶ mancook. ¶ Why yet once again, and I will better listen And look upon thee, how thy lips do open. ¶ maidcook. ¶ Well mark then, and hearken ones for all: Or else he are it again thou never shall, My Book I say, began with Domine labia aperies. ¶ mancook. ¶ Fie, fie, how slow am I of understanding▪ Was it all this while, Domine labia aperies? Belike I have lost my sense of hearing, With broiling and burning in the kitchen adyes. ¶ maidcook. ¶ I promise the thou seemest to have done little better For that I wot in my life I never saw, One like to thyself, in so easy a matter. Unless he were deaf, thus play the Daw. ¶ mancook. ¶ Come on, come on, we have almost forgotten Such plenty of victuals as we should buy It were alms by my troth, thou were well beaten Because so long thou hast made me tarry. ¶ maidcook. ¶ Tusshe tush, we shall come in very good season, If so be thou goest as fast as I, Take up thy basket and quickly have done We will be both there by and by. ¶ mancook. ¶ I for my part will never leave running until that I come to the Sign of the Whiting. ¶ Here the two Cooks run out and in cometh the Youngman and the Yongwoman his Lover. ¶ The Yongwoman. WHere is my sweating, whom I do seek He promised me to have met me here Till I speak with him, I think it a week For he is my joy, he is my cheer. There is no night, there is no day But that my thoughts be all of him I have no delight if he be away, Such toys in my head do everswym. But behold at the last, where he doth come For whom my heart desired long, Now shall I know all a● some, or else I would say, I had great wrong ¶ The youngman. ¶ My darling, my Conye, my Bird so bright of blee, Sweet heart I say, all hail to thee How do our Loves, be they fast a sleep Or the old lynelynes, do to they still keep? ¶ The yongewoman. ¶ Do ye ask and my Love be fast a sleep? O if a woman may utter her mind, My love had almost made me to weep Because that even now I did not you find I thought it surely a whole hundred year, Till in this place I saw you here. ¶ The youngman. ¶ Alack, alack, I am sorry for this, I had such business I might not come But ye may perceive what my wit is, How small regard I have and wisdom. ¶ The yongwoman. ¶ Whereas ye ask me concerning my love I well assure you, it doth daily augment: Nothing can make me start or move You only to love is mine intent. ¶ The youngman. ¶ And as for my love doth never relent, For of you I do dream, of you I do think: To dinner and supper, I never went, But of Beer and Wine to you I did drink. Now of such thynhes therefore to make an end Which pitiful lovees do cruelly torment, To Marriage in God's name, let us descend As unto this hour we have been bent. ¶ The yongwoman. ¶ Your will to accomplish I am as ready, As any woman, believe me truly. ¶ The youngman. ¶ This Ring than I gyne you as a token sure, Whereby our love shall always endure. ¶ The yongwoman. ¶ With a pure pretence your pledge I take gladly For a Sign of our love, faith and fidelity. ¶ The youngman. ¶ Now I am safe, now I am glad, Now I do live, now I do ra●g●●● Me thought till now I was to sad, Wherefore sadness fly hence again. I way with those words which my father brought out A way with his saigenes and exhortation He could not make me his fool or his lout, And put me vesydes this delectation. Did he judge that I would go to the School, And might my time spend after this sort▪ I am not his Calse, nor yet his fool, This Virgin I kiss, is my comfort. ¶ The yongwoman. ¶ Well than I pray you let us be married For me think from it we have long tarried. ¶ The youngman. ¶ Agreed my Sweating, it shalve then done, Since that thy good will I have gotten and won. ¶ The yongwoman. ¶ There would this day be very good there That every one his vealy may fill. And three or four Minstrels would be here That none in the house sit idle or still. ¶ The youngman. ¶ Take ye no thought for abundance of meat That should be spent at our Bridal, For there shallbe enough for all men to eat And Minstrels besides thereto shall not sail. The Cooks I dare say, a good while a gone With such kind of flesh as I did them tell Are from the market both come home Or else my own Conye they do not well. I knew before that I come to this place We should be married together this day Which caused me then forth with in this case To send for victuals or I came away. ¶ The yongwoman. Where fore then (I pray ye) shall we go to our Inn, And look that every thing be made ready, Or else all is not worth a Brass pin, Such haste is required in matry money. ¶ The youngman. ¶ I think six a clock it is, not much passed But yet to the priest we will make haste That according to custom we may be both coupled And with a strong knot for ever bound fast. Yet ere I depart, some song I will sing, To the intent to derlare my joy without fear And in the mean fyme you may my sweating, Rest yourself in this little chair. ¶ The Song. Spite of his spite, which that in vain. Doth seek to force my fantasy, I am professed for loss or gain, To be thine own assucedlye: Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy wyil never turn. ¶ Although my father of busy wit, Doth babble still. I care not tho, I have no fear, nor yet will flit, As doth the water to and fro, Wherefore let my father spite and spurur, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ For I am set and will not swerver, Whom spiteful speech removeth naught And since that I thy grace deserve, I count it is not dearly bought, Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ Who is afrayde●●let you him fly, For I shall well abide the brunt: Mangre to his lips that listeth to lie Of busy brains as is the wont. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ Who listeth thereat to laugh● or louvre I am not be that ought doth retch There is no pain that hath the power, Out of my orest your love to fetch, Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ for whereas he moved me to the School, And only to follow my Book and learnening: He could never make me such a fool, With all his soft words, and fair speaking. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ This Minion here, this myneing Trull, Both please me wore a thousand fold: Then all the earth that is so full. of precious stones, Soluer and Gold. Wherefore let my father spire and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ What soever I did, it was for her sak It was for her love, and only pleasure, I count it no labour, such labour to take, In getting to me so high a treasure. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ This day I intended for to be merry, Although my hard Father be far hence. I know no cause for to be bevye, For all this cost and great expense. Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, My fantasy will never turn. ¶ How like ye this song, my own sweet Rose, Is it well made for our purpose? ¶ The young woman. ¶ I never hard in all my life a better, Moore pleasmante, more meet for the matter, Now let us go then, the morning is nigh gone We can not any longer here remain: Farewell good Masters everyechone, Till from the Church we come again. ¶ Here they go out, and in cometh the Priest along. Sirs, by my truth it is a world to see, The exceeding negligence of every one. Even from the highest to the lowest degree, Both goodness and conscience is clean gone. There is a youge gentleman in this town, Who this same day now must be married: Yet though I would bestow a Crown, That knave the Clerk can not be spied. For he is safe if that in the Alehouse, He may sit typling of Nut brown Ale: That often be comes forth as drunk as Mouse, With a nose of his own not greatly pale, And this is not once, but every day, Almost of my faith, through out the whole year, That he these tricks doth use to play, Without all shame, dreable and fear. He knoweh himself that yester night, The said young gentleman came to me, And then desired, that he might This morning beiymes married be. But now I doubt it will be high noon, Ere that this bufynes be quite ended: Unless the knaves she fool come very soon, That this same thing may be dispatched, And therefore since that this naughty pache, Hath at this present me thus served. He is like hence forward my good will to lack or else b●wyss I might be judged. I am taught hereafter, how such a one to trust, In day matter concerning the Church, For if I should, I perceive that I must, Of mine own honesty lose very much. And yet for all this, from week to week, For his stipend and wages he never crieth, And for the same continually doth seek, As from time to time plainly appeareth, But whither his wages he hath deserved, Unto you all I do me report, Since that his duty he hath not fulfilled, Nor to the Church will scant resort. That many a time and often, I am fain To play the Priest, Clarke, and all Though thus to do, it is great pain, And mire ward but very small, Wherefore (God willing) I will such order take, Before thou I be many days elder, That he shallbe glad this town to forsake And learn evermore to please his better. And in such wise all they shall be used, Which in this pacysshe intend to be Clerks, Great pity it were, the Church should be disordered Because that such Swylbowles do not their work. And to say truth, in many a place, And other great towns beside this same, The Priests and Parishioners be in the like case, Which to the Church wardens may be a shame. Haw should the Priest his office fulfil, accordingly as in deed he aught? When that the Clerk will have a self will And always in Service time must be sought? Notwithstanding at this present there is no remedy But to take time, as it doth fall, Wherefore I will go hence and make me ready For it helpeth not to chafe or brawl. ¶ Here the Priest goeth out, and in cometh the rich man. ¶ The Rich man. LOmmynae this day forth of my Chambre, Even as for water to wash I did call, By chance I espied a certain stranger, Standing beneath within my Hall. Who in very deed came from the Inholder Whereas for a time my Son did lie, And said that his master had sent me a letter And bade him to bring it with all speed possibly. Wherein he did writ that as this day That vnthr●fre my Son to a certain Maid, Should then be wedded, without further delay, And bathe borrowed more than will be paid. And since that he hard, he was my Son, By a Gentleman or two, this other day: He thought that it should be very well done, To let me have knowledge thereof by the way. And willed me if that I would any thing Of him to be done of me in this matter: That then he his Servant such word should bring As at his coming he might do hereafter. I bade him thank his Master most hattelye And sent him, by him a piece of Venison: For that he vouchsafed to write so gently, Touching the marrying and state of my Son, But notwithstanding I sent him no Money, To pay such debts as my Son did own, Because he had me forsaken utterly, And me for his good Father would not know, And said that with him I would not make, From that day forward, buring my life But as he had brewed, that so be should bake, Since of l●ys own choosing, he got him a wife. Thus what his Servant from the departed Into my Chambre I went again, And there a great while I pitterly weeped, This news to me was so great pain: And thus with these words I began to moon, Lamenting and mourning myself all alone. O wadnes, O doting of those young folk O my ●●es without wit, advise, and discretion, With whom their parents can bear no stroke In th●se first Matrimonial conjunction They know not what misery grief and unquietness Will hereafter ensue, of their extreme foolysshenes, Of all such labours, they be clean ignorant, Which in the nourishing and keeping of Children 〈◊〉 their great charges, it is convenient Either of them henceforth to sustain: Concerning expenses bestowed in a house They perceive as little as doth the Mouse. On the one side, the wife will brawl and scold, On the other side the Infant will cry in the Cradle: Anon when the Child wareth somewhat old, For meat and drink, he begins to babbell. Hereupon cometh it, that at markets and fairs A Husband is forced to buy many wares. Yet for all this hath my foolish Son As wise a woodcock, without any wit, Despising his Father's mind and opinion, Married a wife for him most unfyete, Supposing that mirth to be eveciasting, Which then at the first was greatly pleasing. How they two will live, I can not tell, Whereto they may trust, they have nothing My mind ●yueth me, that they will come devil, At length by their father for want of livings, But my Son doubtless, for any thing that I know▪ Shall reap in such wise as he did sow, True he shall find, that Hippon●rtes did write Who said with a wife are two days of pleasure The first is the joy of the Marriage day and night The second to be at the wife's Sepulture: And this by experience he shall prove true, That of his Bridal great evyiles do ensue. And (as I suppose,) it will prove in his life, When he shall wish that to him it may chance, Which unto Eupolis and also his wife, The night they were wedded, fell for a vengeance Who with the heavy thine of the Gedde were slain, As the Poet Ovid in these two Verses makes plain, ¶ Si tibi coniugii nox prima, novissima vite, Eupolis, hoc periit, & nova nupta modo. ovidius writing against one Ibis his enemy That the first night of his Marriage did wish The last of his life might be certainly. For so (quoth he) did Eupolis and his wife perish. Yet to my Soon I pray God to send Because thereunto me Nature doth bind: Though he hath offended, a better end, Then Eupolis and his wife did find. And now I shall long ever anon, Till some of those quarters come riding hither, Unto the which my Son is gone, To know how they do live together. But I am fasting, and it is almost noon And more than time that I had dined: Wherefore from hence I will go soon, I think by this time, my meat is burned. ¶ Here the Rich man goeth out, and in cometh the youngman his son with the young woman, being both married. ¶ The Husband. O My sweet wife, my pretty Conye. ¶ The Wife. ¶ O my Husband, as pleasant as Honey. ¶ The Husband. ¶ O Lord wath pleasures and great commodity, Are heaped together in matrimony? ¶ The Wife. ¶ How vehement, how strong a thing love is? How many smyrkes, and dulsome kisses? ¶ The Husband. ¶ What smiling: what laughing? What sport, pastime, and playing? ¶ The Wife. ¶ What tickling: what toying, What dalyenge, what ioyenge? ¶ The Husband. ¶ The man with the wife is wholly delighted And with many causes to laughter enforced. ¶ The Wife. ¶ When they two drink, they drink together They never eat, but one with another. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Sometimes to their Garden forth they walk And into the fields sometimes they go, With merry tricks, and gestures they talk As they do move their feet to and fro. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Sometimes they ride into the Country Passing the time with mirth and sport, And when with their friends, they have been merry▪ Home to their own house they do resort. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Sometimes abroad they go, to see plays, And other trim sights, for to be hold: When often they meet in the high ways Much of their acquaintance they knew of old. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Sometimes to the Church, they do repair To here the Sermon that shallbe made: Though it to remember, they have small care, For why? they be now, but few of that trade. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Sometimes at home, at cards they play Sometimes at this game sometimes at that They need not with sadness to pass the day Nor yet to sit still, or stand in one plat. ¶ The Wife. ¶ And as for us wives, occasions do moan, Sometimes with our gossips to make good cheer Or else we did not, as did us behove, For certain days and weeks in the years. ¶ The Husband. ¶ I think that a man might spend a whole day Declaring the joys, and endless bliss: Which married persons receive alway, If they love faithfully, as meet it is. ¶ The Wife. ¶ wives can not choose, but love earnestly If that their Husbands do all things well Or eyes my sweet heart, we shall espy, That in quietness they can not devil. ¶ The Husband. ¶ If they do not, it may be a shame For I love you heartily I you assure: Or else I were truly greatly to blame You are so loving, so kind, and demure. ¶ The Wife. ¶ I trust that with neither hand or foot, You shall see any occasion by me: But that I love you even from the heart root And during my life so intend to be, ¶ The Husband. ¶ Who then merry Marriage can discommend And will not with Aristotle in his Ethics agreed▪ But will say, that misery is the end When otherwise I find it to be: A politic man will mary a wife As the Philosopher makes declaration, Not only to have children by his life, But also for living, help, & sustentation. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Who will not with Herocles playntly confess, That Mankind to Society is wholly adioynyng● And in this Society nevertheless: Of worthy Wedlock took the beginning. Without the which, no City can stand Nor Household be perfect in any land. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Pythagoras, Socrates, and Crates also Which truly were men of very small Substance As I hard my father tell long ago, Did take them wife's with a safe conscience: And dwelled together, supposing that they Were unto Philosophy, nother stop nor stay. ¶ The Wife. ¶ yea what can be more according to kind Then a man to a woman himself to bind? ¶ The Husband. ¶ Away with those therefore that Marriage despyst And of dangers thereof invent many lies. ¶ The Wife. ¶ But what is he that cometh yonder, Do ye not think it is our man? Somewhat there is that he hasteth hither, For he makes asmuch speed as he can. ¶ Here the Servant of the Kyche man's Son cometh in, with an errand to his Master. ¶ Servant. ¶ Master there is a Stranger at home He would very fain with you talk: For until that to him you do come Forth of the doors he will not walk. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Come on then my wife, if it be so, Let us depart hence for a season: For I am not well till I do know Of that man's coming the very reason. ¶ Here they both go out, and their Servant doth tarry behind alone. ¶ Servant. ¶ Let them go both, and do what they will And with communication fill their belly: For I by Saint George will tarry here still, In all my life I was never so weary. I have this day filled so many Pots With all manner wine, Ale, and Beer: That I wished their bellies full of bots Long of whom was made such cheer. What kinds of meat, both flesh and fish Have I poor knave to the table carried? From time to time dish after dish, My legs from going never ceased. What running had I for Apples and Nuts? What calling for Biskettes, Cumfettes and Caroweys? A vengeance said I, light on their guts That makes me to turn so many ways. What crying was there for Cards and Dice? What coysting, what ruffling made they within? I counted them all not greatly wife. For my head did almost ache with din. What babbling, what jangling was in the house? What quaffing, what bibbing with many a Cup? That some lay along as drunk as a Mouse Not able so much as their heads to hold up. What dancing, what leaping, what iumping about From bench to bench, and stool to stool? That I wondered their brains did not fall out When they so outrageously played the fool. What juggling was there upon the boards? What thrusting of knives through many a nose What bearing of Forms? what holding of sword? And putting of Botkyns through leg and hose? Yet for all that they called for drink, And said that they could not play for dry That many at me did nod and wink Because I should bring it by and by, How so ever they sported the pot did still walk If that were away, than all was lost: For ever anon the jug was their talk, They paste not who bore such charge and cost. Therefore let him look his Purse be right good, That it may discharge all that is spent, Or else it will make his hair grow through his hood There was such havoc made at this present, But I am afeard my master be angry That I did abide thus long behind: Yet for his anger I pass not greatly, His words they be but only wind, Now that I have rested so long in this place Home ward again. I will buy me apace. ¶ Here the Servant goeth out, and in cometh first the Wife, and shortly after the Husband. ¶ The Wife. WHere is my Husband, was he not here? I marvel much whither he is gone Than I perceive I am much the near, But lo●, where he cometh hither alone. Wots ye what Husband, from day to day, With dainty dishes, our bodies have been filled: What meat tomorrow next shall we assay? Whereby we may then be both refresihed. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Do ye now provide and give a regarve For Victuals hereafter to be prepared? ¶ The Wife. ¶ But that I know Husband, it lieth us in hand Of things to come to have a consideration I would not one's will you to understand About such business my careful provision: It is needful therefore to work we make haste That to get both our livings we may know the cast. ¶ The Husband. ¶ To trouble me now, and make me vexed, This mischievous mean hast thou invented. ¶ The Wife. ¶ What trouble for thee? what kind of vexation? Have I to disquiet thee, caused at this present? My only mind is, thou make expedition To seek for our profit as is convenient. Wherefore to thee I say once again, Because to take pains thou art so loath, By Christ it were best, with might and main To fall to some work, I swear a great oath. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Yet for a time, if it may thee please Let me be quit, and take mine ease. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Will't thou have us then through hunger he starved: ¶ The Husband. ¶ I would not we should for hungers be killed. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Then I say then, this gear go about, And look that thou labour diligently: Or else thou shalt shortly prove without doubt, Thy sluggysshnes will not please me greatly. ¶ The Husband. ¶ beginnest thou even now to be painful & grievous And to thy Husband, a woman so troublous? ¶ The Wife. ¶ What words have we here thou misbegotten, Is there not already enough to the spoken? ¶ The Husband. ¶ O mirth, O joy, O pastime and pleasure, How little a space, do you endure? ¶ The Wife. ¶ I see my commandment can take no place, Thou shalt abye therefore, I swear by the Mass. ¶ Here the Wife must strike her Husband handesomlye about the Shoulders with some thing. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Alas good wife, good wife, alas, alas, Strike not so hard, I pray thee heartily, Whatsoever thou wilt have brought to pass It shallbe done with all speed possibly. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Say these faggots man upon thy shoulder And carry this wood from street to street: To cell the same, that we both together, Our living may get, as is most meet. Hence Idiot hence, without more delay What meanest thou thus, to stagger and stay? ¶ The Husband. ¶ O Lord what how miserable men be those Which to their wives as wretches be wedded And have them continually their mort all foes Serving them thus, as Slaves that he hired. Now by experience true I do find, Which oftentimes unto me heretofore My father did say, declaring his mind That in matrimony was pain evermore, What shall I do most pitiful Creature? just cause I have alas to lament: That frantic woman my death will procure If so he this day without gain be spent For unless for my wood some Money be taken Like a dog, with a Cudgel I shallbe beaten. Ho thou good fellow which standest so nigh Of these heavy bundelles ease my sore back: And somewhat therefore give me by and by Or else I die, for Silver I do lack. Now that I have some Money received For this my burden home I will go: And jest that my wife be discontented, What I have take, I will her show. Wife I am come, I went a long way And here is the profit, and gains of this day. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Why thou lout, thou fool, thou whoreson folte, Is this thy wood money, thou peevish Dolt? Thou shalt smart for this gear, I make God a vow Thou knowest no more to cell wood, then doth the sow ¶ The Husband. ¶ By God's precious I will not unwisely suffes To do as I have done, any longer. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Why dost thou rise against me Villain? Take heed I scrache not out thy eyes twain. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Scratch and thou dare, for I have a knife, Perchance I will rid the of thy life. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Slay me with thy knife, thou shitten Dastard? Dost thou think to find me such a Dissarde? By Cox bones I will make thy skin to rattle, And the brains in thy S●ull more deeply to sattell. ¶ Here the wife must say on load upon her Husband. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Good wife be content, forgive my this fault I will never again do that which is nought. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Go to foolish Calf, go to, and upryse, And put up thy knife, I the advise. ¶ The Husband. ¶ I will do your commandments whatsoever. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Hence away then, and fill this with water. ¶ The Husband. O merciful God, in what lamentable state Is he, of whom the wife is the master? Would God I had been predestinate, On my Marriage day, to have died with a Fever. O wretched creature, what may I do? My grievous wife shall I return unto? Lo wife behold without further delay The water ye sent for, here I do bring. ¶ The Wife. ¶ What I said what meaneth this weeping? What aileth the to make all this crying? ¶ The Husband. ¶ I weep not forsooth, not cry not as yet. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Not, nor thou wilt not, if thou haste any weigh, It is not thy weeping, that can aught avail, And therefore this matter no longer be wail. Come of I say, and run to the river And wash these clotheses in the water. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Wife I will thither high me fast. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Yet I advise thee, thou Cullion make haste. ¶ The Husband. ¶ O how unhappy and eke unfortunate Is the most part of married men's condition? I would to death I had been agate When my Mother in be aring me made lamentation. What shall I do whither shall I turn, Most careful man now under the Sky? In the flaming fire, I had rather burn, Then with extreme pain, live so heavily, There is no wyfte, to my wife I must go Whom that I did wed, I am full●●o. Where are ye wife, your clotheses are washed clean Is white as a lily without spot or vein. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Thou thief, thou caitiff, why is not this place, washed as fair as all the rest, Thou shalt for this gear now smoke apace By gys I swear, thou brutysshe Beast. ¶ Here she must knock her Husband. ¶ The Husband. ¶ Alas, alas, I am almost quite dead, My wife so pytyfully hath broken my head. ¶ Here her Husband must lie alongs on the ground as though he were fore beaten and wounded. ¶ The Wife. ¶ Well I perceive, the rhyme will away And into the Country to go I have promised Look therefore thou go not from hence to days Till home again I am returned. Take heed I say, this House thee retain, And stir not for any thing out of my door: Until that I come hither again, As thou wilt be rewarded therefore. ¶ Here his Wife goeth out, and the Husband tarrieth behind alone. ¶ The Husband. ¶ The slyinge and fiend go with my wife And in her journey ill may she speed: I pray God almighty to shorten her life The earth at no time doth bear such a weed. Although that I be a Gentleman borne And come by my Ancestors of a good blood, Yet am I like to wear a Coat torn And hither and thither go catye wood. But rather than I this life will abide To morrow morning I do intend, Home to my Father again to ride, If some man to me his Horse will lend. She is to her gossips gone to make merry, And there she will be for three or four days: She cares not though I do now miscarye And suffer such pain and sorrow always. She leaveth to me neither Bread nor drink But such as I judged no body would eat: I might by the wails lie dead and stink For any great wholesomeness in my meat. She walketh a broad, and taketh her pleasure Herself to cherysshe is all her care: She passeth not what griefs I endure, Or how I can live with naughty fare: And since it is so, without further delay To my father to morrow I will away. ¶ Here he goeth out, and in cometh the devil. ¶ Satan the devil. HO, ho, ho, what a fellow am I? give row me I say both more and less: ⸬ ⸬ My strength and power hence to the Sky No eacthly tongue can well express. O what inventious, crafts and wiles, Is there contained within this head? I know that he is within few miles Which of the same is thoroughly sped. O, it was all my study day and night cunningly to bring this matter to pass: In all the earth, there is no wight But I can make to cry alas. This man and wife, that not long ago Fallen in this place together by the ears: It was only I that this strife did sow And have been about it certain years. For after that I had taken a small: Of their good will and fervent love, My thought I should not tarry in hell But unto debate them shortly move, O it was I that made him to despise All wisdom, goodness, virtue and learning That be afterward could in no wise One's in his heart fancy teaching. O it was I, that made him refuse The wholesome menytion of his Father dear And caused him still of a wife to muse As though she should be his joy and there. O it was I, that made him go hence, And suppose that his father was very unkind, It was I, that did oryve him to such expense, And made him as bore, as an ape is behind. And now that I have this business ended And joined him and his wise together: I think that I have my part well played, None of you all would do it better. Ho, ho, ho, this well favoured heads of mine What thing soever it hath in hand: Is never troubled with Ale or Wine, Neither by Sea, nor yet by land. I tell you I am a marvelous body, As any is at this day living: My head doth devise each thing so trimly, That all men may wonder of the ending, O I have such fetches, such toys in this head Such crafty devices and subtle train: That whom so ever of you I do wed, ye are like at my hands to take small gain. There is no gentleman, knight, or Lord: There is no Duke, Earl, or king: But if I list, I can with one word, Shortly send unto their lodging. Some I disquiet with Coveitousnes, Some with wrath, pride and lechery, And some I do thrust into such distress That he feeleth only pain and misery. Some I allure to have their delight Always in gluttony, Envy and murdre: And those things to pracise with all their might Either by land, or else by water. Ho, ho, ho, there is none to be compared, To me I tell you, in any point: With a great sort myself I have tried, That boldly ventured many a joint. And when for a long time we had wrestled And showed our strength on either side, Yet often times a fall they received, When through my policy their feefe did slide. Wherefore (my dear children) I warn ye all, Take heed, take heed of my temptation: For commonly at the last ye have the fall And also brought to Desperation. O it is a forye for many to strive And think of me to get the upper hand: For unless that God make them to thrive They can not against me stick or stand. And though that God on hy● have his dominion And ruleth the world every where: Yet by your leave, I have a portion, Of this same earth that standeth here. The kingdom of God is above in Heaven And mine is I tell you beneath in Hell: But yet a greater place if he had dealt even He should have given me and mine to devil, For to my Palace of every Nation Of what degree or birth so ever they be. Come running in with such festination, That other whiles they amazed me, O all the jews, and all the Turks, Yea and a great part of Christian doom When they have done my will, and my works In the end they fly hither all and some. There is no miunte of the day There is no minute of the night: But that in my Palace there is alway Crowding together a marvelous sight, They come on thicker, than swarms of Bees, And make such a noise and crying out: That many a one lieth on his knees, With thousands kept under, and closed about Not so much as my parlours, halls, and every chamber By Porches, my galeryes, and my court: My entries, my kitchen, and my Larder, But with all manner people be filled throughout. What shall I say more, I can not tell, But of this (my children) I am certain, There comes more in one hour unto Hell, Then unto Heaven, in a month or twain. And yet for all this, my Nature is such That I am not pleased with this company, But out of my kingdom I must walk much That one or other I may take tardy, Ho, ho, ho, I am never once afraid With these my Claws you for to touch, For I will not leave till you be paid, Such treasure, as is within my Pouche. The world is my Son, and I am his Father And also the flesh, is a daughter of mine It is I alone, that taught them to gather, Both Gold and Silver that is so fine. Wherefore I suppose that they love me well And my Commandments gladly obey, That at the last then unto Hell, They may come all the ready way. But now (I know) since I came hither There is such a multitude at my gate, ¶ That I must again repair down thither After mine old manner and rate. ¶ Here the devil goeth out, and in cometh the Rychmans' Son alone. ¶ The Son. How glad am I, that my journey is ended, Which I was about this whole dare? ⸬ ⸬ My Horse to stand still I never suffered, Because I would come to the end of my way, But yet I am sorry that I can not find, My loving Father at home at his place: That unto him I may break my mind, And let him know my miserable case. ¶ Here he confesseth his naughtiness vitring the same with a pitiful voi●●. ¶ I have been wild, I have been wanton, I have ever followed my fancy and will: I have been to my Father a froward Son And from day to day continued still. I have always proudly disdained those That in my madness gave me good counsel I counted them most my mortal foes, And stoutly against them did rebel. The thing that was good, I greatly hated As one which lacked both wit and reason, The thing that was evil I ever loved Which now I see is my confusion. I could not abide of the School to hear Masters and teachers my heart abhorred, We thought the Book was not fit gear, For my tender fingers to have handled, I counted it a pleasure to be daintily fed And to be clothed to costly artaye: I would most commonly slug in my bed, Until it were very far forth day. And to be short, anon after this, There came such fancies in my brain: That to have a wife whom I might kiss I reckoned to be the greatest gain. But yet alas I was quite deceived The thing itself doth easily appear: I would alas I had been buryeb, When to my Father, I gave not ear. That which I had, I have clean spent, And kept so much riot with the same: That now I am fain, a Coat that is rend At as to wear for very shame. I have not a cross left in my purse, To help myself now in my need: That well I am worthy of God's curse, And of my Father to have small meed. THere the Rich man must be as it were coming in. But except m●●e eyes do we beguile, That man is my Father, whom I do see: And now that he comes, without craft or wile, To him I will hende on either knee. Ah Father, Father, my Father most dear, ¶ The father. ¶ Ah mine own child, with the what there? ¶ The Sun. ¶ All such sayings as in my mind, At the first time ye studied to sattell, Most true alas, I do them find, As though they were written in the Gospel. ¶ The Father. ¶ Those words my Son, I have almost forgotten, Stand up therefore, and kneel no longer: And what it was I spoke so often, At two or there words, recite to thy Father. ¶ The Son. ¶ If that ye be Father well remembered As the same I believe ye can not forget: You said that so soon as I were married, Much pain and trouble thereby I should get. ¶ The Father. ¶ Haste thou by proof soon, this thing tried? ¶ The Son. ¶ Yea, alas to much I have experyenced: My wife, I did wed, all full of frenzy, My silly poor shoulders, hath now so bruised, That like to a cripple, I moon me weakly, Being full often with the staff thwacked: She spareth no more my flesh and bone, Than if my body were made of Stone, Her will, her mind, and her Commandment, From that day hither, I have fulfilled: Which if I did not, I was bitterly shent, And with many strokes grievously punished: That would God the hour when I was married, In the midst of the Church I might have fynked. I think there is no man under the Son That here on the earth beareth life: Which would do such drudgery, as I have done, At the unkind words of such a wife, For how I was used, and in what wise A day to declare will not suffice. If this be not true, as I have spoken To my good neighbours I me report, Who either whiles when I was smitten My wife to be gentle, did then exhort: For glad I was to abide all labour Whereby the less might be my dolour. Wherefore good Father I you humbly desire To have pity of me and some compassion? Or else I am like to lie fast in the mire, Without any succour or consolation: For at this hour I have not a penny, Myself to help in this great misery. ¶ The Father. ¶ For so much as by my advise and counsel In no manner wise thou wouldest be ruled: Therefore to the I can not do well, But let the still suffer, as thou haste deserved For that thou hast suffered, is yet nothing To that tribulation which is behind coming. ¶ The Son. ¶ Alas Father, what shall I do? My wits of themselves can not devise, What thing I were best to go unto, Whereof an honest living may arise: Wherefore gentle Father in this distress, Somewhat assuage mine heaviness. ¶ The Father. ¶ What should I do I can not tell, For now that thou hast taken a wife With me thy father thou mayst not devil, But always with her spend thy life. Thou mayst not again thy wife forsake, Which during life to the thou didst take. ¶ The Son. ¶ Alas I am not able thus to endure Though thereunto I were never so willing: For my wife is of such a crooked nature As no woman else, is this day living, And if the very truth I shall confess She is to me an evil that is endless. ¶ The Father. ¶ If that thou thinkest thyself alone Only to lead this irksome life. Thou mayest learn what grief, sorrow and moan, Socrates had with Xantippa his wife. Her Husband full oft she taunted and checked And as the Book saith unhonestly mocked. ¶ The Son. ¶ I can not tell, what was Socrates wife But mine I do know alas to well, She is one that is evermore full of strife And of all Scolders beareth the Bell. When she speaketh best, then brawleth her tongue When she is still she fighteth apace: She is an old Witch though she be young, No mirth with her, no joy or solace. ¶ The Father. ¶ I can not my Son thy state redress, Me thy Father thou didst refuse: Wherefore now help thy own, And of thy wife no longer muse. ¶ The Son. ¶ My wife went forth no to the Country With certain gossips to make good cheer, And bade me at home still to be, That at her return, she might find me there: And if that she do take me from home, My bones alas she will make to crackell: And me her Husband as a stark mome, With knocking and mocking she will handle. And therefore if I may not here remain, Yet loving Father, give me your reward, That I may with speed ride have again, That to my wife's words, have some regard. ¶ The Father. ¶ If that at the first thou wouldest have been ordered. And done as thy Father counseled thee: So wretched a life had never chanced Whereof at this present thou complainest to me. But yet come on, to my house we will be going And there thou shalt see, what I will give: A little to help thy needy living: Since that in such penury thou dost live, And that once done, thou must hence again For I am not he, that will the retain. ¶ Here the Rich man and his Son go out, and in cometh the Peroratour. ¶ The Peroratour. THis Interlude here good gentle audience, Which presently before you we have played: ⸬ ⸬ Was set forth with such care and diligence, As by us truly might well be showed. Short it is I deny not, and full of brevity But if ye mark thereof the matter, Then choose ye can not, but see plainly How pain and pleasure be knit together. By this little play, the Father is taught, After what manner his Child to use: Lest that through cockering at length he be brought His Father's Commandment to refuse, Here ye may learn a witty lesson, Betimes to correct his Son being tender: And not let him be lost and undone, With wantonness of mischief the Mother, For as long as the twig is gentle and plyent (Every man knoweth this by experience:) With small force and strength it may be bend Putting thereto but little diligence. But after that it waxeth somewhat digger And to east his branches largely beginneth, It is scant the might of all thy power, That one kowghe thereof▪ easily bendeth, This twig to a child may well be applied Which in his childhood, and age of Infancy: With small correction may be amended, Emoracing the School with heart and body. Who afterward with over much liberty, And ranging abrobe with the Bridle of will. despiseth all virtue, searnyuge and honesties, And also his Father's mind to fulfil. Whereby at the length it so falleth out That this the young stripling after that day: Runs into confusion without any doubt And like for evermore quite to decay. Wherefore take heed all ye that be parents And follow a part after my counsel, Instruct your Children and make them students That unto all goodness they do not rebel Remember what writeth Solomon the wise, Oui parcit Virgae, odith filium. ¶ Therefore for asmuch as ye can devise Spare not the Rod, but follow wisdom. Further ye young men and Children also listen to me and hearken a while, What in few words for you I will show, Without any slatterye, fraud, or guile. This Richemans' Son whom we did set forth, Here evidently before your eyes: Was (as it chanced) nothing worth, Given to all naughtiness, vice, and lies. The cause whereof was this for a truth His time full idly he did spend, And would not study in his youth, Which might have brought him to a good end. His father's commandment he would not obey, But wantouly followed his fantasy: For nothing that he could do or say, Would bring this Child to honesty. And at the last (as here ye might see:) Upon a wife he fired his mind, Thinking the same to be felicity, When in deed misery came bebind. For by this wife be carefully lived, Who under his Father did want nothing: And in such sort was hereby tormented That ever a none, he went lamenting. His Father did will him lightness to leave And only to give himself unto study: But yet unto virtue he would dot cleave, Which is commodious for soul and body. You heard that by Sentences ancient and old He stirred his Son as he best thought: But he as an unthryfe stout and bold, His bolsome counsel did set at naught. And since that he despised his Father God unto him did suddenly then send: Such poverty with a wife, and grief together That shame and sorrow was his end. Wherefore to conclude, I warn you all By your loving parents, always be ruled: Or else be well assured of such a fall? As unto this youngman worthily channced. Worship God daily which is the chief thing And his holy laws do not offend: Look that ye truly serve the king, And all your faults be glad to amend. Moreover, be true of hand and tongue, And learn to do all things that be honest, For no time so fit, as when ye be young, Because that age only is the aptest. I have no more, to speak at this season, F●●●●●ye good will these things I did say. Because I do see that virtue is geason, With most men and children, at this day. ¶ Here the rest of the Players come in and knelt down all together, each of them saying one of these Verses. And last of all, to make an end, O God to the we most humbly pray: That to Queen Elizabeth thou do send Thy lively path, and perfect way, Grant her in health to reign. With us many years most prosperoustye: And after this life for to attain, The eternal bliss, joy, and felicity. Our bishops, pastors, and ministers also The true understanding of thy word, Both night and day, now mercifully show, That their life and preaching may godly accord, The Lords of the Counsel, and the Nobility, Most heavenly Father, we thee desire: With grace, wisdom, and godly policy, Their hearts and minds, always inspire. And that we thy people duly considering The power of our Queen and great authority, May please thee and serve her without feigning, living in peace, rest, and tranquilytie. ¶ God save the Queen. ¶ A Song. WHy doth the world study vainglory to aff●yne The prosperity whereof is short and transitory Whose mighty power, doth fall down again, Like earthen ports, that breaketh suddenly. ¶ Believe rather words that be written in Ice Then the wretched world with his subtylytie: deceitful in Gi●ces, men only to entice, destitute of measure credence and fidelity. ¶ give credit more to men of true judgements Then to the worldly renown and joys: Replenys shed with dreams and vain intentes, in wicked and naughty toys. ¶ Where is now Solomon in wisdom so excellence Where is now Samyson, in battle so strong? Where is now A●solo●● in beauty resplendent? Where is now good jousthas hid so long? ¶ Where is now Cesar in victory triumphing? Where is now Tines, in dishes so dainty? Where is now Tully in Gloquence exceeding? Where is now Ar●●●le, learned so deeply? ¶ What Emperoves, kings, and Dukes in times past? What Earies and Lords, and Captains of war? What Popes and bishops, all at the last, In the twy●●kynge of an eye are fled so far? ¶ How short a Feast is this worldly ioyenge? Even as it shadewe 〈◊〉 passeth away, Depry●●ge a 〈◊〉 of by●tes everlasting Leading to da●●ed 〈◊〉 not to day. ¶ O meat of worms, O heap of dust, O like to dew climb not to high: To live to morrow, thou canst not trust, Therefore now betime help the needy ¶ The fles shely Beauty, whereat thou dost wondre, In holy Scripture is likened to Hay: And as a Leaf in a stormy weather, So is man's life blown clean a way, ¶ call nothing thine that may be lost, The world doth give and take again: But set thy mind on the holy Ghost, Despise the world that is so vain. ¶ Finis. S. john Evangelist.