HERE beginneth a merry jest of a shrewd and cursed Wife, lapped in Morrelles Skin, for her good behaviour.  
¶ IMPRINTED AT London in Fleetestrete, beneath the Conduit, at the sign of Saint john Evangelist, by H. jackson.   

  


listen friends, and hold you still,  
Abide a while and dwell:  
A merry jest tell you I will,  
And how that it befell.  
As I went walking upon a day,  
Among my friends to sport:  
To an house I took the way,  
To rest me for my comfort.   

¶ A great feast was kept there than,  
And many one, was thereat:  
With wives and maidens and many a good man,  
That made good game and chat.  
It befell then at that tide,  
An honest man was there:  
A cursed Dame sat by his side,  
That often did him dear.   

¶ His wife she was I tell you plain,  
This dame ye may me trow:  
To play the master she would not lain,  
And make her husband bow.  
At every word that she did speak,  
To be peace he was full fain:  
Or else she would take him on the cheek,  
Or put him to other pain.   

¶ When she did wink, he durst not steer,  
Nor play where ever he went:  
With friend or neighbour to make good cheer,  
When she her brows bent.  
These folk had two maidens fair and free,  
Which were their Daughters dear:  
This is true, believe you me,  
Of conditions, was none their peer.   

¶ The youngest was meek, and gentle iwis,  
Her Father's condition she had:  
The eldest her mothers withouten miss,  
Sometime frantic and sometime mad.  
The father had his pleasure in the one always,  
And glad he was her to behold:  
The mother in the other this is no nay,  
For in all her cursedness, she made her bold.   

¶ And at the last she was in faith,  
As cursed as her mother in word and deed:  
Her mischievous pageants sometime to play,  
Which caused her father's heart to bleed.  
For he was woe and nothing glad,  
And of her would fain be rid:  
He wished to God that some man her had,  
But yet to marriage he durst her not bid.   

¶ Full many there came the youngest to have,  
But her father was loath her to forego:  
None there came the eldest to crave,  
For fear it should turn them to woe.  
The Father was loath any man to beguile,  
For he was true and just withal:  
Yet there came one within a while,  
That her demanded in the Hall.   

¶ Another there came right soon also,  
The youngest to have he would be fain:  
Which made the father's heart full woe,  
That he and the youngest, should part in twain.  
But the mother was fell, and might her not see,  
Wherefore of her she would have been rid:  
The young man full soon she granted pardy,  
Great Gold and silver, with her she bid.   

¶ Saying full soon, he would her have,  
And wedded they were short tale to make:  
The Father said so god me save,  
For heaviness and sorrow, I tremble and quake.  
Also his heart was in great care,  
How he should bestow the eldest iwis:  
Which should make his purse full bare,  
Of her he would be rid by heavens bliss.   

¶ As hap was that this young man should,  
Desire the eldest withouten fail:  
To marriage he said full fain he would,  
That he might her have for his avail.  
The Father said with words anon,  
Gold and silver I would thee give:  
If thou her marry by sweet saint john,  
But thou shouldest repent it all thy live.   

¶ She is conditioned I tell thee plain,  
Most like a Fiend, this is no nay:  
Her Mother doth teach her, withouten lain,  
To be master of her husband another day.  
If thou shouldest her marry, and with her not 'gree,  
Her mother thou shouldest, have always in thy top:  
By night and day, that shouldest vex thee,  
Which sore would stick, then in thy crop.   

¶ And I could not amend it by God of might,  
For I dare not speak myself for my life:  
Sometime among be it wrong or right,  
I let her have all for fear of strife.  
If I ought say, she doth me treat,  
Except I let her have her will:  
As a child that should be beat,  
She will me charm the Devil her kill.   

¶ Another thing thou must understand,  
Her mother's good will thou must have also:  
If she be thy friend, by sea or by land,  
Amiss with thee, then can it not go.  
For she doth her love with all her mind,  
And would not see her far amiss:  
If thou to her darling could be kind,  
Thou couldst not want by heavens bliss.   

¶ If thou to the mother, now wilt seek,  
Behave thyself then like a man:  
And show thyself both humble and meek,  
But when thou haste her do what thou can.  
Thou wottest what I said to thee before,  
I counsel thee mark my words well:  
It were great pity, thou wert forlorn,  
With such a devilish Fende of Hell.   

¶ I care not for that the young man said,  
If I can get her mother's good will:  
I would be glad to have that maid,  
Me thinketh she is withouten evil.  
Alas good man I am sorry for thee,  
That thou wilt cast thyself away,  
Thou art so gentle and so free:  
Thou shalt never tame he I dare well say.   

But I have done I will say no more,  
Therefore farewell and go thy way:  
Remember what I said to thee before,  
And beware of repentance another day.    

¶ How the young man departed from the Father, and sought to the Mother, for to have the Maid to marriage.  

Youngman.   

Mother.   

Daughter.   

NOw is the young man come to the Dame,  
With countenance glad, and manners demure:  
Saying to her God keep you from blame,  
With your dear daughter so fair and pure.  
She welcometh again the fair young man,  
And bid him come near gentle friend:  
Full courteously he thanked the good dame than  
And thought her words full good and kind.   

¶ Then he began I shall you tell,  
Unto the Mother thus to say,  
With words fair that become him well,  
For her dear daughter thus to pray.  
Saying good Dame now by your leave,  
Take it for none eveli though I come here:  
If you to me good leave would give,  
With you right fain would I make good cheer.   

¶ The dame said sit down a while abide,  
Good cheer anon then will we make:  
My daughter shall sit down by thy side,  
I know well thou comest only for her sake.  
You say full true forsooth said he,  
My mind is steadfastly on her set:  
To have that maiden fair and free,  
I would be fain if I could her get,   

¶ The Mother thanked him for his good will,  
That he her daughter so did desire:  
Saying I hope you come for none evil.  
But in good honesty, her to require.  
For if ye did, I will be plain,  
Right soon it should turn you unto grief:  
And also your coming I would disdain,  
And bid you walk with a wild mischief.   

But surely I take you for none of those,  
Your condistions show it in no wise:  
Wherefore me think you do not gloze,  
Nor I will not counsel you, by mine advise.  
For I love my Daughter as my heart,  
And loath I were, I will be plain:  
To see her suffer pain and smart,  
For if I did my heart were slain.   

¶ If that thou shouldest another day,  
My daughter have and her good will:  
Order her then unto her pay,  
As reason requireth it is good skill.  
In women sometime great wisdom is,  
And in men full little it is often seen:  
But she is wise withouten miss,  
From a young child by she hath so been.   

¶ Therefore to her thou must audience give,  
For thine own profit when she doth speak:  
And than shalt thou in quiet live,  
And much strife, thus shalt thou break.  
How sayest thou young man what is thy mind,  
wouldst thou her have my daughter dear,  
Than to her thou must be kind,  
And always ready to make her good cheer.   

¶ For an. C.li of money have thau shalt,  
Of Silver and eke of Gold so round:  
With an. C. quarters of Come and malt,  
And xl acres of good ground.  
If thou wilt live with her like a man,  
Thou shalt her have, and this will I give:  
And ever after while I can,  
Be thy good Mother as long as I live.   

¶ And I will speak to my daughter for thee,  
To know if it be her will also:  
If she be content, my daughter free,  
Then together may ye go.  
The mother demanded, her daughter than,  
If that she could find in her mind:  
With all her heart to love that young man,  
So that he to her would be kind.   

¶ She said yea mother as you will,  
So will I do in word and deed:  
I trust he cometh for none ill,  
Therefore the better may we speed.  
But I would have one that hath some good,  
As well as I good reason is:  
Me think he is a lusty blood,  
But goods there must be withouten miss.   

¶ The young man was glad these words to here,  
And thanked the mother of her good will:  
Beholding the Maiden with right mild cheer,  
And prayed her heartily to be still.  
Saying to her then in this wise,  
Mine heart, my love, my darling dear:  
Take no displeasure of my enterprise,  
That I desire to be your pear.   

¶ I am not rich of Gold nor fee,  
Nor of great merchandise ye shall understand:  
But a good Craft I have pardee,  
To get our living in any land.  
And in my heart I can well find,  
You for to love above all other:  
For evermore to you to be kind,  
And never forsake you for none other.   

¶ Like a woman I will you use,  
And do you honour, as ye should do me:  
And for your sake all other refuse,  
As good reason is, it should so be.  
By my troth, but well you say,  
And me think by your countenance iwis:  
That ye should not another day,  
For no cause deal with me amiss.   

¶ And in you I hope pleasure to take,  
If ye would be gentle as ye should:  
And never none other for your sake.  
To marry for a. M. pound of gold.  
But sometime ye must me a little forbear,  
For I am hasty but it is soon done:  
In my fume I do nothing fear,  
Whatsoever thereof to me become.   

¶ And I cannot refrain me in no wise,  
For I have it by nature a part iwis:  
It was wont to be my mother's guise,  
Sometime to be master withouten miss.  
And so must I by God now and than,  
Or else I would think it should not be well,  
For though ye were never so good a man,  
Sometime among I will bear the bell.   

¶ And therefore tell me with words plain,  
If ye can be patient what time it is:  
To suffer with me a little pain,  
Though that you think I do amiss.  
Or else say nay, and make a short end,  
And soon we shall asunder depart:  
Then at your liberty you may hence wend,  
Yet I do love you with all my heart.   

¶ The youngman was glad of her love in faith,  
But loath he was master her for to make:  
And bethought him what her father before did say,  
When he on wooing his journey did take.  
And so cousented to all her will,  
When he advised him what he should do:  
He said ye may me save or spill,  
For ye have my love sweet heart and no more.   

The mother hearing this, for the father sent,  
Showing to him what was befall:  
Where with he was right well content,  
Of all their promises in general.  
Upon this greement they departed then,  
To prepare all things for the feast:  
Glad was the bride and her spouse then,  
That they were come to this behest.    

¶ How the Bride was married with her Father and Mothers. good will.  
 

THe day approached, the time drew near,  
That they should be wedded withouten misset  
The Bride was glad and made good cheer,  
For she thought to make great joy and bliss.  
As that day to triumph with games and sport,  
Among her friends a rule to bear:  
And eke with his friends that thither should resort,  
Thinking that no body might be her pear.   

¶ The Bridegroom was glad also in say,  
As man might be upon the mould:  
And to himself thus 'gan he say,  
Now shall I receive an heap of gold.  
Of pounds many one, and much goods beside,  
To rejoice my sorrows, and also my smart:  
I know not her pear in this country so wide,  
But yet I fear always her proud heart.   

¶ She is so syb to the mother withouten fail,  
Which hath no pear that I know:  
In all mischief she dare assail,  
The boldest Archer that shooteth in a bow.  
But no force I care not, I wot what I think,  
When we be wed and keep house alone,  
For a small storm I may not shrink,  
To run to my neighbour, to make my moan.   

¶ Soon to the church now were they brought  
With all their friends them about:  
There to be married as they ought,  
And after them followed a full great rout.  
With them to offer as custom is,  
Among good neighbours it is always seen:  
Full richly decked withouten miss,  
And she thought herself, most likest a Queen.   

¶ Incontinent when the Mass was done,  
Homeward forsooth they took the way:  
There followeth after them right soon,  
Many a tall man and woman full gay.  
The fathers and mothers next of all,  
Unto the Bridegroom and Bride also:  
As to them then, it did befall,  
With them that tide, so for to go.    

¶ How the Bride and her friends came from the Church, and were of the bridegroom at their feast honestly served.  
 

WHen they came home the boards were spread,  
The Bride was set at the high dysse:  
Every one said, she had well sped,  
Of such a fair husband as served her miss.  
The friends sat about her on every side,  
Each in their order, a good sight to see,  
The Bride in the midst, with much pride,  
Full richly beseen, she was pardy.   

¶ The mother was right glad of this sight,  
And fast she did her daughter behold:  
Thinking it was a pleasant wight,  
But always her Father's heart was cold.  
When he remembered what might befall,  
Of this young Daughter, that was so bold:  
He could nothing be merry at all,  
But moaned the young man full many a fold.   

¶ Behold how often with countenance sad,  
Saying to himself alas this day:  
This young man proveth much worse than mad,  
That he hath married this cursed may.  
Where I have counseled him by heavens bliss  
That he should not meddle in no wise:  
Lest he repented withouten miss,  
That ever he made this enterprise.   

¶ But seeing it is thus, self do self have,  
He is worse than mad that will him moon:  
For I will no more so God me save,  
But God send him joy, with my daughter jone.  
She is as cursed I dare well swear,  
And as angry iwis as ever was wasp:  
If he her anger she will him tere,  
And with her nails also him clasp.   

¶ What availeth it to say aught now,  
The deed is done, no remedy there is:  
Good cheer to make I make God avow,  
Is now the best withouten miss.  
For now is the time it should so be,  
To make good game and sport in faith:  
In comforting all this company,  
That be assembled here this day.   

¶ The father and mother, were diligent still,  
To welcome the friends both more and less:  
The youngman did also his good will,  
To serve them well at every mess.  
Wherein the mother great pleasure took,  
And so did the father eke truly,  
The Bride gave a friendly look,  
Casting on him a wanton eye.   

¶ Then was the Bridegroom rejoiced sore,  
Always our Lord thanking of his great grace:  
Having in mind times many a score,  
That his Bride showed him such a fair place.  
The minstrels played at every board,  
The people therewith rejoiced right well:  
giving the Bridegroom their good word,  
And the bride also that in beauty did excel.   

¶ The time past forth the dinner was done,  
The tables were taken up all:  
The bridegroom welcomed them every eachone,  
That were there in the hall.  
They thanked him then and the Bride also,  
Of their great cheer they had:  
And swore great oaths so moat I go,  
They were never at feast so glad.   

¶ Now we will remember you or we depart,  
As use and custom doth require:  
He thanked them with all his heart,  
So did both dame and sire.  
The Bride to the Table again was set,  
To keep countenance than in deed:  
The friends that were together met,  
Be gyfted them richly with right good speed.   

¶ The father and the mother first began,  
To order them in this wise:  
The Bridegroom was set by the bride's side than,  
After the country guise.  
Then the father the first present brought,  
And presented them there richly in faith,  
With deeds of his land in a box well wrought,  
And made them his heirs for aye.   

¶ He gave them also of malt and corn,  
An hundred quarters and more:  
With sheep and oxen, that bare large horn,  
To keep for household store.  
And then came the mother as quick as a be,  
To the Bridegroom with words smart:  
Saying son so moat I thee,  
I must open to thee my heart.   

¶ She gave them also both cart and plough,  
And bid them always to do well:  
And God should send them good enough,  
If they did mark, what she did tell.  
Before the people in this Hall,  
I will say and to thee rehearse:  
An hundred pound now give thee I shall,  
But hearken first unto my verse.   

¶ Thou haste here my daughter dear,  
A pleasant thing it is:  
In all the country I know not her pear,  
So have I part of bliss.  
For she is wise and fair with all,  
And will nothing cast away:  
I trow there be now none in this hall,  
That better can save all thing in faith.   

¶ Nor better doth know what doth behove,  
Unto an house or housewifery:  
Then she doth, which causeth me to move,  
This matter to thee so busily.  
She can card, she can spin,  
She can thrash, and she can fan:  
She can help thee good to win,  
For to keep thee like a man.   

¶ And here is an hundred pound in Gold,  
To set thee up, thy craft to use:  
Wherefore I am plain I would thou should,  
In no manner of wise thyself abuse.  
To strive with my daughter or her to entreat,  
For any thing that she shall do:  
Here after my child, therefore to beat,  
It should turn plainly, to thy great woe.   

¶ O my dear mother take no displeasure,  
Till you have cause what so befall,  
But use yourself alway by measure,  
For other cause none have you shall.  
My wife and I full well shall 'gree,  
I trust to God in throne:  
She is my love and ever shall be,  
And none but she alone.   

¶ O my dear son thou makest me glad,  
Which before was full of sorrow:  
For my dear daughter, I was full sad,  
But now I say our Lord to borrow.  
Thou givest me good comfort now farewell care  
Here is thy hundred pound,  
I pray God give thee well to far,  
And keep thee whole and sound.   

¶ I thank you dear mother the young man said  
Of your good gift and daughter dear:  
methinks she is the worthiest maid,  
In all this Land withouten pear.  
I hope to live with her always,  
So gently that she shall find:  
And you her mother I dare well say,  
In every season gentle and kind.   

¶ The people standing them to behold,  
Regarded the words of the Bridegroom than,  
And said he answered with words cold,  
Which become full well the good young man.  
And then they priest forth each after other,  
With gold and silver, and rich gifts eke:  
And many a scorn they gave the mother,  
But ever they praised the young man meek.   

¶ To whom he gave thanks with all his might,  
As honesty requireth him to do:  
He ordered himself always aright,  
Yet they thought all he should have woe.  
For he was matched so iwis,  
That he could not want for sorrow in faith,  
But always hampered withouten miss,  
Of mother and daughter, forever and aye.   

¶ When all was done they 'gan departed,  
And took their leave full friendly thoe:  
Thanking each other with all their heart,  
And on their way home they 'gan go.  
The Father and mother thanked them all,  
The Bride and Bridegroom, also without miss,  
Did thank the company in general,  
Departing from them with joy and bliss.   

¶ Then they went home while it was day,  
And left the Bride and Bridegroom there,  
And they that did abide there in good faith,  
They made at even again good cheer.  
And after supper they did make good sport,  
With dancing and springing as was the use:  
Young people by other there did resort,  
To no man's hinder nor confuse.  
After that all sports were ended and done,  
And that the bride should go to bed:  
About the hall they danced soon.  
And suddenly away the bride was led.  
To take her rest with her dear spouse,  
As reason would it should so be:  
Even as the cat, was wont with the mouse,  
To play forsooth even so did he.   

¶ The next morning if that ye will hear,  
The mother did come to their bedside:  
Demanding them what was their cheer,  
And the Bride began her head to hide.  
Saying to her as one ashamed,  
iwis dear mother I would ye were gone:  
Or ye came hear I was not blamed,  
For being in his arms hear all alone.   

¶ Mine own dear daughter, be not displeased  
Though I do let you of your disport:  
I would be loath ye were diseased,  
But you shall have a Cawdell for your comfort.  
A while I will go and let you alone,  
Till ye be ready for to rise:  
And suddenly the mother was from them gone  
To make the Cawdell after the best wise.   

¶ When that the mother departed was,  
The dallied together and had good game,  
He hit her awry, she cried alas,  
What do ye man, hold up for shame.  
I will sweet wife than 'gan he say,  
Fulfil your mind, both loud and still:  
But ye be able I swear in fay,  
In all sports to abide my will.   

¶ And they wrestled, so long before,  
That this they had, for their great mead:  
Both shirt and smock was all to torn,  
That their uprising had no speed.  
But yet the mother came again,  
And said to her daughter how dost thou now,  
Marry mother between us twain,  
Our shirts be torn, I make God avow.   

¶ By God's dear mother, she swore than,  
This order with us may not continue:  
I will no more lie by this man,  
For he doth me braced both vain and sinew.  
Nay nay dear mother this world goeth on wheels,  
By sweet saint George ye may me trow:  
He lieth kicking with his heels,  
That he is like to bear me a blow.   

¶ My own dear daughter if thy smock be asunder,  
Another thou shalt have then by this light:  
I pray thee heartily do thou not wonder,  
For so was I dealt with the first night.  
That I by thy father lay by the rood,  
And I do thee, with words plain:  
Me thought never night to me so good,  
As that same was, when I took such pain.   

¶ Why mother were ye then glad,  
To be thus dealt with as I am now:  
Me think my husband worse than mad,  
For he doth exceed I make God avow,  
I could not lie still nor no rest take,  
Of all this night believe ye me:  
Sometime on my side, and sometime on my back,  
He rolled and laid me so moat I thee.   

¶ And from the bed's head unto the bed's feet,  
A cloth we had not us for to deck,  
Neither our coverlet nor yet our sheet,  
That I pray God the devil him check.  
For I am ashamed my mother dear,  
Of this nights rest by God in throne:  
Before our friends I dare not appear,  
Would to God's passion, I had lain alone.   

¶ Nay nay dear daughter be not ashamed,  
For here is nothing done amiss:  
They be more worthy to be blamed,  
That hereof thinketh shame iwis.  
For this is honesty for thee and us all,  
And a new smock I will thee fet:  
And eke for thee my son I shall,  
For thy true labour, a new shirt get.   

¶ And soon of these, they were both sped,  
The daughter and eke the son also:  
Full quickly they rose out of their bed,  
And with their mother, they 'gan go.  
Abroad among, their friends all,  
Which bid them good luck, and eke good grace,  
The cawdell was ready there in the Hall,  
With mirth and glee for their solace.   

¶ Thus ended the feast with sport and play,  
And all their friends each with other:  
Did take their leave and went their way,  
From bride, and Bridegroom, with father and mother.  
Which right heartily did thank them tho,  
So did the Bride, and Bridegroom eke:  
Yet when the friends were all ago,  
This young folk abode with the mother all the week.   

¶ The father was glad to see them agree,  
So was the mother by heaven queen:  
And said each to other so moat I thee,  
I thought not so well it should have been.  
Between them twain as it is now,  
And therefore alone here shall they bide:  
We will leave them all I make God avow,  
And go to dwell in our house hard beside.   

¶ At short conclusion they went their way,  
Leving their children all that was there:  
And come not again of many a day,  
For their dear daughter to inquire.  
Thus they bode together than,  
He set up his shop with haberdash ware:  
As one that would be a thriving man,  
To get great goods for his welfare.   

¶ And after that he took great pain,  
To order his ploughs and cattle also:  
He kept both boy and also swain,  
That to the cart and plough did go.  
And some kept neat, and some kept sheep,  
Some did one thing, some did another,  
But when they came home to have their meat,  
The wife played the devil then, like her mother.   

¶ With countenance grun and words smart,  
She gave them meat and bad them braced:  
The poor folk that come from plough and cart,  
Of her lewd words they were aghast.  
Saying each to other what dame is this,  
The devil I trow hath brought us here:  
Our master shall know it by heavens bliss,  
That we will not serve him another year.   

¶ The good man was fourth in the town abroad,  
About other things I you say,  
When he came homeward he met with a goad,  
One of his carters was going away.  
To whom he said Lob whether goest thou,  
The carter spied his master than:  
And said to him I make God avow,  
No longer with thy wife abide I can.   

¶ Master he said by Gods blessed,  
Our dame is the devil thou mayst me believe:  
If thou have sought her thou haste not mist,  
Of one that full often thee shall grieve.  
By God a man, thou canst not have,  
To go to carce, ne yet to blow:  
Neither boy, nor yet knave,  
By God's dear mother I make God avow.   

¶ That will bide with thee day or night,  
Our Dame is not for us for she doth curse:  
When we shall eat or drink with right,  
She bannes and frowns, that we be all the worse.  
We be not used where ever we wend,  
To be sorely looked on, for eating of our meat,  
The devil I trow us to thee send,  
God help us a better may●●res to get.   

¶ Come on thy way Job, and turn again,  
Go home with me and all shall be well:  
An Ox for my meinie shall be slain,  
And the hide at the market I will sell.  
Upon this together, home they went,  
The good man was angry in his mind:  
But yet to his wife with good intent,  
He said sweet heart you be unkind.   

¶ Entreat our meinie well always,  
And give them meat and drink enough:  
For they get our living every day,  
And theirs also, at cart and plough.  
Therefore I would that they should have,  
Meat and drink to their behove:  
For my sweet wife, so god me save,  
Ye will do so, if ye me love.   

¶ give them what thou wilt I do not care,  
By day nor night man believe thou me:  
What ever they have or how they far,  
I pray God evil might they thee.  
And specially that whoreson that doth eomplayne,  
I will quite him once if ever I live,  
I will dash the knave upon the brain,  
That ever after it shall him grieve.   

¶ What my dear wife for shame be still,  
This is a pain such words to hear:  
We can not always have our will,  
Though that we were a kings peer.  
For to shame a Knave what can they get,  
Thou art as lewd for God as they:  
And therefore shalt thou serve them of meat,  
And drink also, from hence always.   

¶ What wife ye be to blame,  
To speak to me thus in this wise:  
If we should strive folk would speak shame,  
Therefore be still in mine advise.  
I am loath with you to strive,  
For aught that you shall do or say:  
I swear to Christ wife by my live,  
I had rather take morel and ride my way.   

To seek mine adventure till your mood be past  
I say to you these manners be not good:  
Therefore I pray you that this be the last,  
Of your furious anger that seemeth so wood.  
What can it avail you me for to grieve,  
That loveth you so well as I do mine heart:  
By my troth wife you may me believe,  
Such toys as these be, would make us both smart,   

¶ Smart in the twenty feigning devils name,  
That list me once well for to see:  
I pray God give the evil shame,  
What shouldest thou be wert not for me.  
A rag on thine arse thou shouldest not have,  
Except my friends had given it thee:  
Therefore I tell thee well thou drunken knave,  
Thou art not he that shall rule me.   

¶ O good wife cease and let this overpass,  
For all your great anger and high words eke:  
I am mine own self even as I was,  
And to you will be loving, and also meek.  
But if ye should do thus, as ye do begin,  
It may not continue no time iwis:  
I would not let for kith nor kin,  
To make you mend, all things that is amiss.   

¶ Make me, marry out upon the drevill,  
Sayest thou that, wilt thou begin:  
I pray God and our Lady that a foul evil,  
lighten upon thee and all thy kin.  
By God's dear blessed vex me no more,  
For if thou do thou shalt repent:  
I ●aue yet so 〈◊〉, ●t for thee in st●re,  
And with that a staff in her hand ●he hent.   

¶ At him full soon then she let flee,  
And wholled about her as it had been a man:  
Her husband then was fain pardie,  
To void her stroke and go his way than.  
By God's dear mother than 'gan she swear,  
From henceforth I will make thee bow:  
For I will trim thee in thy gear,  
Or else I would I were called a Sow.   

¶ Fie on all wretches that be like thee,  
In word or work both loud and still,  
I swear by him that made man free,  
Of me thou shalt not have thy will.  
Now nor never I tell thee plain,  
For I will have Gold and riches enough:  
When thou shalt go jagged as a simple swain  
With whip in hand at cart and plough.   

¶ Of that my dear wife I take no scorn,  
For many a good man with mind and heart:  
Hath gone to plough and cart before,  
My time iwis with pain and smart.  
Which now be rich and have good at will,  
Being at home and make good cheer:  
And there they intent to lead their life still,  
Till our Lord do send for them hear.   

¶ But now I must ride a little way,  
Dear wife I will come right soon again:  
Appoint our dinner I you pray,  
For I do take on me great pain.  
I do my best I swear by my life,  
To order you like a woman iwis:  
And yet it cannot be withouten strife,  
Through your lewd tongue by heavens bliss.   

¶ Ride to the Devil and to his dame,  
I would I should thee never see:  
I pray God send thee much shame,  
In any place, where ever thou be.  
Thou wouldst fayne, the master play,  
But thou shalt not by God I make thee sure▪  
I swear I will thy Petticoat pay,  
That long with me thou shalt not endure.    

¶ How the good man road his way till he thought her anger was past, and then he returned home again.  
 

THe good man was sorry and went his way,  
About his business, as he was used:  
And to himself thus 'gan he say,  
Lord God, how was I thus abused.  
When I took this wife I was worse than mad  
And yet can I blame myself and none other,  
Which maketh me sigh and often be sad,  
Repenting full sore by God's dear Mother.   

¶ Fie upon goods withouten pleasure,  
Between man and wife that cannot agree:  
It is a pain far passing measure,  
Such strife to see where as love should be.  
For there was never man iwis,  
So hampered with one wife as I am now,  
Wherefore I think withouten miss,  
She shall repent it I make God avow.   

¶ Except she turn and change her mind,  
And eke her conditions everyone:  
She shall find me to her so unkind,  
That I shall her coil both back and bone.  
And make her blue and also black,  
That she shall groan again for woe:  
I will make her bones all to crack,  
Without that she her conditions forego,   

¶ I was never so vexed this time before,  
As I am now of this wife alone:  
A vengeance on her that ever she was borne,  
For she maketh me often full woe begun.  
And I cannot tell, where me to turn  
Nor me to wend, by God in faith  
Which cause me often for to mourn  
Or yet to know what for to say.   

¶ I am worse, then mad or wood,  
And yet I am loath with her to begin,  
I fear me I shall never make her good  
Except I do wrap her in black Morels skin,  
That can no more draw at plough ne cart,  
It shall be to late to call for her kin,  
When she beginneth once for to smart,  
For little ease thereby she shall win.   

¶ morel is old, he can labour no more,  
Nor do no good but always eat,  
I trow I have kept him thus long in store,  
To work a charm that shall be feat.  
The whoreson is blind and lame also  
Behind and before, he cannot steer,  
When he from the stable to the steeetes should go,  
He falleth down, right than in the mire.   

¶ Yet I am loath him for to kill  
For he hath done me good service or now,  
But if my wife fulfil not my will  
I must him slay by God I trow  
But at this point now will I be,  
I will be master as it is reason,  
And make her subject unto me  
For she must learn a new lesson.   

¶ Her father did warn me of this before,  
How I should it find in every degree:  
But I did take it for half a scorn,  
And would not believe him then pardie.  
But now I perceive it very well,  
He did it for good will iwis:  
Wherefore I think that Morels fell,  
Must mend all thing that is amiss.   

¶ Thus he that will not believe his friend,  
As her dear father was unto me:  
He is worthy for to find,  
Always great pain and misery.  
But I may not choose him to believe,  
For the deed doth prove himself in faith:  
Ever she is ready me for to grieve,  
And thinks to continue so always.   

¶ But now I will home to prove her mind,  
And see what welcome I shall have:  
She may be to me, so unkind,  
That she shall repent it, so God me save.  
For if I should of her complain,  
folk would me mock, and give me scorn:  
And say I were worthy of this pain,  
Because it was showed me so well before.    

¶ How the goodman was welcomed, when he returned home again.  
 

THe good man came riding to the gate,  
And knocked as he had been wode:  
His servant right soon did meet him thereat,  
And bid him welcome with right mild mood.  
The master said what doth my dame now,  
Is she as frantic yet as she was:  
Than will I tame her I make God avow,  
And make her sing full loud alas.   

¶ Where art thou wife shall I have any meat,  
Or am I not so welcome unto thee:  
That at my commandment I shall aught get,  
I pray thee heartily soon tell thou me.  
If thou do not serve me and that anon,  
I shall thee show mine anger iwis:  
I swear by God and by saint john,  
Thy bones will I swaddle so have I bliss.   

¶ Forth she came, as brim a bore  
And like a dog she rated him than:  
Saying thus I set no store,  
By thee thou wretch thou art no man.  
Get thee hence out of my sight,  
For meat nor drink thou gettest none hear:  
I swear to thee by Mary bright,  
Of me thou gettest, here no good cheer.   

¶ Well wife he said thou dost me compel,  
To do that thing, that I were loath:  
If I bereave morel of his old fell:  
Thou shalt repent it by the faith now goath.  
For I see well that it will no better be,  
But in it thou must, after the new guise:  
It had been better so moat I thee,  
That thou hadst not begun this enterprise.    

¶ How the good man caused morel to be slain▪ and the hide salted, to lay his wife therein to sleep.  
 

NOw will I begin, my wife to tame,  
That all the world shall it know:  
I would be loath her for to shame,  
Though she do not care, ye may me trow.  
Yet will I her honesty regard,  
And it preserve where ever ye may,  
But morel that is in yonder yard,  
His hide therefore he must lose in faith.   

¶ And so he commanded anon,  
To slay old morel his great Horse:  
And flay him then, the skin from the bone,  
To wrap it about his wives white coarse.  
Also he commanded of a birchen tree,  
Rods to be made a good great heap:  
And swore by dear God in Trinity,  
His wife in his seller should skip and leap.   

¶ The hide must be salted than he said cake,  
Because I would not have it stink:  
I hope herewith she will be meek,  
For this I trow will make her shrink.  
And bow at my pleasure, when I her bed,  
And obey my commandments both loud and still,  
Or else I will make her body bleed,  
And with sharp rods beat her my fill.   

¶ Anon with that to her he 'gan to call,  
She bid abide in the devils name:  
I will not come what so befall,  
Sat still with sorrow and much shame.  
Thou shalt not rule me as pleaseth thee,  
I will well thou know by God's dear Mother,  
But thou shalt be ruled always by me,  
And I will be master and none other.   

¶ Wilt thou be master dear wife in faith,  
Then must we wrestle for the best game:  
If thou it win then may I say,  
That I have done myself great shame.  
But first I will make thee sweat good jone,  
Red blood even to the heels adown,  
And lap thee in Morels skin alone,  
That the blood shall be seen even from the crown.   

¶ Sayest thou me that thou wretched knave,  
It were better thou hadst me never seen:  
I swear to thee so God me save,  
With my nails I will scratch out both thine eyen,  
And therefore think not to touch me once,  
For by the mass if thou begin that,  
Thou shalt be handled for the nonce,  
That all thy brains on the ground shall squat.   

¶ Why then there is no remedy I see,  
But needs I must do even as I thought:  
Seing it will none otherwise be,  
I will thee not spare by God that me bought.  
For now I am set thee for to charm,  
And make thee meek by God's might,  
Or else with rods while thou art warm,  
I shall thee securge with reason and right.    


¶ Now good Morels skin,  
Receive my cur●t wife in.   
 
¶ How the cursed wife in Morels skin lay,  
Because she would not her husband obey.  

NOw will I my sweet wife trim,  
According as she deserveth to me:  
I swear by God and by saint Sim,  
With birchen rods well beat shall she be.  
And after that in Morels salt skin,  
I will her lay and full fast bind,  
That all her friends, and eke her kin,  
Shall her long seek or they her find,   

¶ Then he her met, and to her 'gan say,  
How sayest thou wife wilt thou be master yet:  
She swore by God's body, and by that day,  
And suddenly with her fist she did him hit.  
And defied him drevill at every word,  
Saying precious horsesone what dost thou think  
I set not by thee a stinking turd  
Thou shalt get of me neither meat nor drink.   

¶ Sayest thou me that wife quoth he than  
With that in his arms he 'gan her catch  
Straight to the seller with her he ran  
And fastened the door with lock and latch  
And threw the key down him beside,  
asking her than if she would obey  
Than she said nay for all thy pride  
But she was master and would abide always.   

¶ Then quoth he we must make a fray  
And with that her clothes he 'gan to tear  
Out upon thee horesone than she did say  
wilt thou rob me of all my gear  
It cost thee nought thou arrant thief  
And quickly she ga● him by the head  
With that she said God give thee a mischief  
And them that fed thee first with bread.   

¶ They wrestled together thus they two  
So long that the clothes a sunder went  
And to the ground he threw her though  
That clean from the back her smock he rend.  
In every hand a rod he gate,  
And laid upon her a right good pace:  
Ask of her what game was that,  
And she cried out whoreson, alas, alas.   

¶ What wilt thou do, wilt thou kill me,  
I have made thee a man of nought:  
Thou shalt repent it, by God's pity,  
That ever this deed thou haste y wrought.  
I care not for that dame he did say,  
Thou shalt gi●e over or we depart  
The mastership all, or all this day  
I will not cease to make thee smart.   

¶ Ever he laid on, and ever she did cry,  
Alas, alas, that ever I was borne  
Out upon thee murderer I thee defy  
Thou hast my white skin, and my body all to torn  
Leave of betime I counsel thee,  
Nay by God dame I say not so yet,  
I swear to thee, by Mary so free  
We begin but now, this is the first fit.   

¶ Once again, we must dance about  
And then thou shalt rest in Morels skin,  
He gave her than so many a great clout  
That on the ground the blood was seen.  
Within a while, he cried new rods new  
With that she cried full loud alas,  
Dance yet about dame, thou came not where it grew,  
And suddenly with that in a sown she was.   

¶ He spied that and by he her hent,  
And wrong her hard then by the nose:  
With her to Morels skin, strait he went,  
And therein full fast he did her close.  
Within a while, she did revive,  
Through the gross salt that did her smart:  
She thought she should never have gone on live,  
Out of Morels skin so sore is her heart.   

When she did spy that therein she lay,  
Out of her wit she was full nigh:  
And to her husband then did she say,  
How canst thou do this villainy.  
Nay how sayest thou, thou cursed wife,  
In this foul skin I will thee keep,  
During the time of all thy life,  
Therein for ever wail and weep.   

¶ With that her mood began to sink,  
And said dear husband for grace I call:  
For I shall never sleep nor wink,  
Till I get your love whatso befall.  
And I will never to you offend,  
In no manner of wise, of all my live:  
Nor to do nothing that may pretend,  
To displease you with my wits five.   

¶ For Father nor Mother whatsoever they say  
I will not anger you by God in throne:  
But glad will your commandments òbay,  
In presence of people and cake alone.  
Well on that condition thou shalt have,  
Grace and fair bed to rest thy body in:  
But if thou rage more so God me save,  
I will wrap thee again in Morels skin.   

¶ Then he took her out in his arms twain,  
And beheld her so piteously with blood arrayed,  
How thinkest thou wife, shall we arrayne,  
Have such business more to her he said,  
She answered nay my husband dear,  
While I you know, and you know me,  
Your commandments I will both far and near,  
Fulfil always in every degree.   

¶ Well then I promise thee by God even now,  
Between thee and me shall never be strife,  
If thou to my commandments quickly bow  
I will the cherish all the days of my life.  
In bed she was laid and healed full soon,  
As fair and clear as she was before,  
What he her bid was quickly done,  
To be diligent iwis she took no scorn.   

¶ Then was he glad, and thought in his mind  
Now have I done, myself great good,  
And her also, we shall it find,  
Though I have shed part of her blood.  
For as me think, he will be meek:  
Therefore I will her father and Mother,  
Bid to guest, now the next week,  
And of our neighbours, many other.    

¶ How the good man did bid her Father and Mother to guest, and many of his neighbours that they might see his wives patience.  
 

GReat pain he made his wife to take,  
Against the day that they should come:  
Of them was none that there did lack,  
I dare well say unto my doom.  
Ye Father and mother and neighbours all.  
Did thither come to make good cheer,  
Soon they were set in general,  
The wife was diligent as did appear.   

¶ Father and mother was welcome then,  
And so were they all in good faith:  
The husband sat there like a man,  
The wife did serve them all that day.  
The good man commanded what he would have,  
The wife was quick at hand,  
What now thought the mother, this arrant knave,  
Is master as I understand.   

¶ What may this mean than she 'gan think,  
That my daughter so diligent is:  
Now can I neither eat nor drink,  
Till I it know by heaven bliss.  
When her daughter came again,  
To serve at the board as her husband bad,  
The Mother stared with her eyen twain,  
Even as one that had been mad.   

¶ All the folk, that at the board sat,  
Did her behold then everyone:  
The mother from the board her gate,  
Following her daughter and that anon,  
And in the Kitchen she her found,  
Saying unto her in this wise:  
Daughther thou shalt well understand,  
I did not teach thee after this guise.   

¶ A good mother ye say full well,  
All things with m●is not as ye ween:  
If ye had been in Morels fell,  
As well as I it should be seen.  
In Morels fell what devil is that,  
Marry mother I will it you show:  
But beware that you come not thereat,  
Lest you yourself then do beshrew.   

¶ Come down now in this seller so deep,  
And Morels skin there shall you see:  
With many a rod that hath made me to weep,  
When the blood ran down fast by my knee.  
The Mother this beheld and cried out alas.  
And ran out of the Seller as she had been wood,  
She came to the table where the company was,  
And said out whoreson I will see thy heart blood.   

¶ Peace good Mother, or so have I bliss,  
Ye must dance else as did my wife:  
And in Morels skin lie, that well salted is,  
Which you should repent all the days of your life.  
All they they that were there, held with the young man,  
And said he did well in every manner degree,  
When dinner was done, they departed all than,  
The mother no longer durst there be.   

¶ The Father abode last and was full glad,  
And gave his children his blessing iwis,  
Saying the young man full well done had,  
And merely departed withouten miss,  
This young man was glad ye may be sure,  
That he had brought his wife to this,  
God give us all grace in rest to endure,  
And hereafter to come unto his bliss.   

¶ Thus was morel slain out of his skin.  
To charm a shrew so have I bliss:  
forgive the youngman if he did sin,  
But I think he did nothing amiss.  
He did all thing even for the best.  
As it well proved then,  
God save our wives from Morels nest,  
I pray you say all amen.   

¶ Thus endeth the jest of Morels skin,  
Where the cursed wife was lapped in,  
Because she was of a shrewd leer.  
Thus was she served in this manner.   
Finis.  
quoth Master Charmeher.   

¶ IMPRINTED AT LONdon in Fleetstreet, beneath the Conduit, at the sign of S. john Evangelist. by Hugh jackson.   

¶ He that can charm a shrewd wife,  
Better than thus:  
Let him come to me, and fetch ten pound,  
And a golden purse.