❧ The Cobbler of Caunterburie, Or An invective against Tarlton's News out of Purgatory.  
A merrier jest than a Clowns jig, and fit for gentlemen's humours.  
Published with the cost of a dickar of Cow hides.   printer's device of Robert Robinson (McKerrow 244): "wreath enclosing armorial bearings — fretty with a martlet for difference" 
AT LONDON, Printed by Robert Robinson. 1590.   

❧ The cobblers Epistle, to the Gentlemen Readers.  
A Hall a Hall (Gentlemen) room for a Cobbler, here comes the quaintest squire in all Kent; The Cobbler of Caunterburie, armed with his Awl, his Lingel, and his Last, presents himself a judicial Censor of other men's writings: but me thinks, for my sauciness, I hear Apelles boy crying, Ne suitor ultra crepidam. If I do see his Master mend the fault in the leg, I'll abide his frumps, and when he hath done, I'll say this had not been corrected but for the Cobbler. Becomes not many a Tinker a tall Prattler? & have not men of my Trade waded so deep in the secrets of Theology, that they have sought to correct Magnificat? & then by your leave gentlemen, may not the Cobbler of Kent who hath been the Patron of many good companions, and tossed over a pair of cards at Trump from morning till night, not to be admitted so far as to find fault with Richard Tarlton's news out of Purgatory? Yes, & if he that writ it will not amend the latchet, I'll on with my nightcap and my spectacles, and make him shape the leg righter ere I have done. I confess 'tis a book, and so is the Collier's jade of Croyden a Horse as well as the Courtier's Courser: yet by my faith it hath a fair Title: but if Diogenes saw it, he would cry out as he did against Minda, stop your City that it run not out of the gates; and infer a like invective against the Book, for that the Title contains more than the whole Pamphlet: but yet in faith there is pretty stuff in it, but unworthy Dick Tarlton's humour: some where too low for jests, somewhere too high for style, If I distinguish like a Scholar, Gentlemen, think that I was borne when the Pope's butterflies were abroad, and it may be, some Friar was my father, and the rather I guess it, for that nature hath wrought that upon my crown, that he had on his by Art: for before I was twenty, I had a bald pate. Well howsoever, I have found fault, and therefore have I attempted to amend it, not in the correcting of his work, but in setting out one more pleasant, and more full of delightful tales for all men's humours: except those which are so humorous that they count nothing gracious, but that is too grave. What? a Dog hath a day: Semel in Anno ridet Apollo. Longer lives a merry man then a sad; a Cobbler hath less cares then a King: and an hour passed in honest mirth, is worth a tun full of melancholy. Why were Taverns invented, but to ripen men's wits? And why were tales devised, but to make men pleasant? Tush when Red rationem comes, I fear me there will be less account to be given for honest recreation, then either for the envious practices that solemn Saturnistes ruminate: or for the sundry schisms the melancholy mitchers do publish. If my Principles be false, let no man take exceptions, but pass it over with a smile: for 'tis but cobblers Philosophy. But I digress, and therefore to my book, wherein are contained the tales that were told in the Barge between Billingsgate and Gravesend: Imitating herein old Father Chaucer, who with the like Method set out his Caunterbury tales: but as there must be admitted no compare between a cup of Derby ale, and a dish of dirty water: So sir jeffrey Chaucer is so high above my reach, that I take Noli altum sapere, for a warning, and only look at him with honour and reverence. Here is a gallimaufre of all sorts, the Gentlemen may find Salem, to savour their ears with jests: and Clowns plain dunstable doggerel to make them laugh, while their leather buttons fly off. When the Farmer is set in his Chair turning (in a winter's evening) the crab in the fire, here may he hear how his son can read, and when he hath done laugh while his belly aches. The old wives that wedded themselves to the profound histories of Robin hood, Clim of the Clough, and worthy sir Isenbras: may here learn a tale to tell amongst their Gossippes. Thus have I sought to feed all men's Fancies: which if I do, was it not well done of a Cobbler? If I offend, and they think there is in it neither rhyme, nor reason, why? a Cobbler did it, and there's an end.  
Farewell from my Shop wheresoever it be.   

¶ Robin Goodfellows Epistle.  
A Cobbler become a Corrector? Ho, Ho, Ho: it was not so when Robin Goodfellow was a Ruffler, and helped the country wenches to grind their Malt: Than gentlemen, the Ploughswaine meddled with his Team: the Gentleman with his Hound & his Hawk: the Artificer with his labour: & the Scholar with his book: every degree contented him within his limits. But now the world is grown to that pass, that Pierce Blow man will pry into law, nay into Divinity, and his duncerie must needs be doctrine: tush, what of higher powers? what of Universities? the text to put down them, Babes & Sucklings, and no more. This makes Robin Goodfellow that was so merry a spirit of the Buttery, to leave all and keep himself in Purgatory, for Hospitality is so clean run out of the Country, that he needs not now help the maids to grind malt, for the drink is so small that it needs little corn: and if he should help them, where he was wont to find a mess of Cream for his labour, he should scarce get a dish of float Milk. Why? see you not how crank the Cobbler is, that will forsooth correct Dick Tarlton's doings, a man famous in his life for merry conceits, and especially a Book of my publishing? well Gentlemen, if you suffer it, and Dick Tarlton pocket it up without a revenge, or a dry blow at his breech, Robin Goodfellow makes a vow, to haunt him in his sleep, and after his old merry humour, so to play the knave with the Cobbler, that he shall repent he meddled so far beyond his latchet. But I will carry my friends these news to Purgatory, where I know for anger he will almost break his Taber, and will not rest till he have revenged: we will lay both our wits together, to put down the paltering Cobbler, and here I make a vow, either to get the conquest, or else never to come in your sights: and to say as I was wont: What Himp and Hampe, here will I never more grind nor stamp.  
Yours in choler, Robin Goodfellow.   

The Cobbler of Caunterburie.  
SItting at the barge in Billingsgate expecting when the tide would serve for graves end, divers passengers of all sorts resorted thither to go down: at last it began to ebb, and then they cried away; when I came to the stairs although I was resolved to go down in a tilt boat; yet seeing what a crew of mad companions went in the barge, and perceiving by the wind there was no fear of rain, I stepped into the barge and took up my seat amongst the thickest: with that the bargemen put from the stairs, and having a strong ebb, because there had much rain water fallen before, they went the more merrily down, and scarce had we gotten beyond saint Katherins, but that a perry of wind blewe some thing loud, that the watermen hoist up sails and laid by their Oars from labour. Being thus under sail, going so snugly down, it made us all so merry, that we fell to chat some of one thing and some of an other, all of mirth, many of knavery; that if Cato Censorius had been there, he would either have laughed at their knavish jests, or else at the confusion of their prattles, which seemed like a very Chaos of sundry conceits. As thus every man was striving to pass away the time pleasantly, a gentleman pulled out of his sleeve a little pamphlet and began to read to himself: amongst the rest myself was so bold, as to ask him what book it was: marry quoth he, a foolish toy called Tarlton's news out of Purgatory, at this they fell to descanting of the book, some commended it highly, and said it was good invention and fine tales: tush quoth an other most of them are stolen out of Boccace Decameron: for all that quoth the third, 'tis pretty and witty. As they were thus commending and discommending, there sat by an ancient man that was a Cobbler in Caunterbury: masters quoth he, I have read the book, and 'tis indifferent, like a cup of bottle ale half one and half the other: but 'tis not merry enough for Tarlton's vain, nor stuffed with his fine conceits, therefore it shall pass for a book and no more. Not no what say you to old father Chaucer, how like you of his Caunterburie tales, are they not pleasant to delight and witty to instruct, and full of conceited learning to show the excellency of his wit? All men commended Chaucer as the father of English Poets, and said, that he shot a shoot which many have aimed at but never reached to. Well quoth the Cobbler, now that we are going to Gravesend, and so I think most of us to Caunterbury, let us tell some tales to pass away the time till we come off the water, and we will call them Caunterburie tales. To this motion the whole company willingly consented and only they stood upon this, who should begin: If it be no offence quoth the Cobbler, to other gentlemen that be here, I myself will be ringleader: to this they all agreed, and the Cobbler began to settle himself: yet before he begin, I will as near as I can describe you what manner of man he was.  

The description of the Cobbler.  
HIs stature was large and tall,  
His limbs well set withal.  
Of a strong bone and a broad chest,  
He was wide and wildsome in the breast.  
His forehead high and a bald pate,  
Well I wot he was a mate  
That had loved well a bonny Lass,  
For the Lownes eyes were as grey as glass:  
And often have I heard my mother say,  
The wanton eye is ere most grey.  
He loved well a cup of strong Ale,  
For his nose was nothing pale:  
But his snout and all his face,  
Was as read as ruby or topaz.  
A voice she had clear and loud,  
And well he 'gan sing to a crowd.  
He was a stout sturdy squire,  
And loved week day good compire.  
Drink he would with every man,  
In cup, cruse glass, or can:  
And what every day he got,  
He hoardward up in the Alepot:  
That all Caunterburie 'gan lere,  
To talk of this merry Cobblers.  
Therefore now mark me well,  
For thus his tale he 'gan to tell.  

The cobblers tale, Containing the merry jests passed between the Prior of Caunterburie, and a Smith of Saint Augustine's.  
THe Prior of Caunterburie had a covent of Friar Augustine's that were endued with great livings, for the king and he himself had great revenues, that he lived like a Potentate and was had in great estimation throughout all the City: Living thus at ease pampered up with delicates and idleness the two Nurses of Lechery, he minded not so much his book, but that passing one day through the streets, he glanced his eyes to see where he might find some handsome trull that might be his Paramour: many he saw and many he liked, but at last coming by a Smith's forge, he spied a proper tall woman meanly attired after the poverty of her husband; but of such a beautiful visage and fair countenance, that she pleased greatly the Prior's eye, that he thought her the fairest in all Caunterburie: he returned home that way he went out, because he would have an other look at the Smith's wife, and as he passed by he gave her a courtesy for his farewell. Well home he went to his Chamber, & there he bethought him of his new love, and cast in his mind a thousand ways how he might come to his purpose: At last he sent for the Smith to come look on his horse, who very hastily hied him to the Priory, where the Prior welcomed him and entertained him with great courtesy, kissing the Nurse (as the old proverb is) for the child's sake, and making much of black Vulcan for fair Venus' sake: the poor Smith very carefully looked to the horse, and where aught was amiss amended it: The Prior and all his Covent gave him great commendations and thanks, and bid him into breakfast, where he had good cheer and store of strong drink, which made the Smith passing pleasant: as they sat at breakfast the Prior told him, sith they had made experience of his skill, and that he was cunning about horses, he was content to make him Farrier for the Priory: At this the Smith was very glad: Nay more quoth the Prior because thou shall have more gains out of the Dorter, seeing thy wife is a good cleanly woman, she shall be Laundress for me, and the whole Covent. The Smith hearing this, perceived by the weathercock which way the wind blew, shaked the head and began to smile: The Prior demanded of him why he laughed: marry sir quoth he, seeing we are at meat, and mirth is good for digestion, I will tell you a merry jest. There was such a poor man as myself that dwelled as I do hard by a Priory, and he had brought up in his house a little Lamb, which growing to a sheep would wander all abroad and return home safe at night without any hurt; at last this little sheep being the poor man's treasure, seeing the Priory gate open and the yard full of grass went in and fed there: The wanton Friars that were idle, would often sport with the Lamb and play withal, and pulled off the wool of the back, that it had almost left nothing but the bore pelt: which the poor man espying kept up his sheep and would not suffer it to go any more abroad: yet it had gotten such a sweet savour in the Priory yard, that assoon as it broke lose, it would thither; where the Prior and the Friars spying it again, consented and eat it up all: the good man came to ask for his sheep, and they laughing at him gave him no other mends but the horns: So my Masters if my wife should be your Laundress, I warrant you, if I came to inquire for her, I might have such fees as the poor man had for his loss: Not, not I am well I thank you, if myself may serve for a Farrier so it is, but my wife (of all men shall not have to deal either with Priors or Friars. At this they all laughed, but the Prior not willing to give over the chase, thus made this answer. Why Smith (quoth he) thou art a fool, thou mayst have a proviso for that, for though she wash our clotheses, yet she shall neither fetch them nor bring them home, neither shall there ever a Friar come at thy house, only the skull of the kitchen, and I hope thou fearest not him. Not quoth the Smith, they be these breechless yeomen that I stand so much in doubt of: but upon these conditions aforesaid, that she shall neither fetch them nor carry them home, she shallbe your Laundress, upon this they agreed, and the Smith went to his house and told his wife all. She that was a wily wench thought with herself that whatsoever her husband fished for he would catch a frog; and that dealt he never so warily, yet she would make him one of the head men of the parish as well as his neighbours. She conjecturing thus with herself, the next morning came the skull early (by that the Smith was up and at his work) with foul clotheses, God speed sir quoth he. I have brought your wife the Prior's linen; ah welcome good fellow quoth he, go thy ways up the Chamber to my wife, she is above, and I think a bed: the Skull trotted up the stairs & saluted the woman: Mistress quoth he, the Prior hath sent you his clothes & prays you they may be done on wednesday next: they shall be done quoth she with all speed: and quoth the skull, his worship willed me in secret to give you a Ring for a token, and to desire you to think that he loves you as hearty as any woman in the world: the poor woman seeing a gold Ring, and having never had any before in her life, held herself a proud woman, and bethought her what good gifts she should daily have if she had such a lover as the Prior: wherefore she returned him this answer by the skull, that she had ever thought well of him, but her husband was a jealous fool & watched her narrowly wheresoever she went, but as far as she might, she was his at command. Home went the Skull, and the Prior was risen by that he returned, and asked him what news: what news quoth the skull, marry thus sir, assoon as I came to the door I found the Smith hard at his work, and I saluted him by the time of the day, and asked him where his wife was, saying, I had brought the Prior's linen. Go up the stairs, good fellow quoth he, for I think my wife is in bed, and Sir there indeed I found her, and truly Sir if you will believe me, me thought she lay to lovely in her bed to lie with a Smith, so sir I gave her your token and told her what you bade me: and she made answer that your worship was the man whom she had ever thought well of, but her husband was a jealous fool, yet as far as she could she was at his command. This satisfied the Prior's expectation, and on wednesday morning when the skull should go for his clean linen, the Prior compounded with him and gave him a brace of Angels to keep his counsel: saying, Tom (for so was the Skulls name) thou knowest all flesh is frail, and we are men as well as others, though our profession be more holy, therefore Tom so it is, that I have loved the Smith's wife a long time, & now may I have opportunity to fill my desires, I will this morning take thy clotheses on, & besmear my face and with the basket hie for the clean clotheses, only I care for nothing if thou keep my counsel. Fear not that sir, quoth the skull, but I will be so secret as you can desire: with that the Prior was brief for because he longed to be there, and on with the Skulls rags, and taking his basket on his neck, hied him very orderly to the Smith's house by that time day did appear, where he found him hard at work: God morrow sir quoth the Prior, I am come for the linen, go up the stairs fellow quoth the Smith, thou comest very early, my wife is yet in bed. Up trudgd the Prior, and there he found his Paramour in a sweet sleep, the Prior stepped to her and kissed her, and with that she waked, and seeing the skull, why how now sir sauce, quoth she, can you not speak before you come up? my husband is a wise man to sand such companions up into the Chamber where I am in bed, 'ttwere no matter and the match were equal, to make him wear the horn for it. O be content good love quoth the Prior, for know I am not Tom the skull, but the Prior himself that sent thee the Ring, who for thy sake is come thus disguised: with that he discovered himself, and she perceived it was he and blushed: he kissed her, and so conjured her, that while the poor Smith was knocking at the Smithy he had dudeb him knight of the forked order, and for fear of suspicion putting his linen in the basket away he went, bidding the Smith farewell. Thus the Prior and the Smith's wife contented and enjoying their hearts desire, the poor Smith loved her not a whit the worse, neither did he suspect any thing, for the blind eats many a fly, and much water runs by the mill that the miller wottes not on: so played it with this Smith, for twice a week came the Prior in his Skulls apparel to his lemon, thus it continued till on one morning the Prior was not well, so that he could not go; but Tom Scul after his wonted manner went to carry forth the linen, and as he went by the way, he began to think with himself what a fair woman the Smith's wife was, and how feign he would be partaker with his Master, hammering this in his head, on he went to the Smith's house: Now Smith quoth he good morrow, is thy wife up. Not quoth the Smith but she is awake, go up and carry your linen a God's name: Up came the skull, and rushing in at the Chamber door threw down his basket, and seeing the Chamber dark that he could not be discovered, slipped to bed and entered Commons' with the Prior, and with that got him away without saying one word: The Smith's wife marveled at this, and supposing that he had heard some ruffling, and for fear of her husband had gone away so hastily. Well within two days after came the Prior again, and after his accustomed manner went up with his basket and saluted her after the old fashion: I pray you tell me master Prior quoth she, what meant you yesterday morning that you came so quiet, and slipped away with such silence after you got out of bed: by this the Prior perceived that the skull had cut a shive on his loaf, and so thought to dissemble the matter. Faith sweet heart quoth he, I heard a noise, and thought it had been thy husband that had come up so I conjectured quoth the Smith's wife, and therefore after you were gone, seeing you were freighted with your own shadow I laughed heartily: thus as long as they durst they chatted, but at last the Prior up with his basket and away. When he came home, in a great chafe he sent for the skull and made inquiry of the matter, the poor fellow afraid of sore threatenings, confessed the matter and craved pardon: but the Prior forgetting his patience fell upon poor Tom the skull and beat him so sore, that he had almost killed him: afterwards swearing him on a book, if ever after he went with any clotheses, he should go no further than the Chamber door. The Skull agreed to this, and confirmed it with a solemn oath: but the remembrance of his sore blows, bred him a mind to revenge: whereupon resolving to do any mischief to the Prior that he might, one day he went very orderly to his Smith and carried him to the Alehouse, and there after a long protestation of silence, revealed the whole matter unto him, how the Prior every day came in his apparel to his wife, and so made him wear the horns whiles he was busy about his hammers: at this the Smith fetched a great sigh; alas quoth he, and am I a Cuckold? why not you quoth the Skull, as well as your betters? Indeed quoth the Smith, that is all the comfort that I have, that my betters have had as hard hap: for the Abbot of saint Peter that is an holy man, had but one Leman, and yet she was not content with twenty morsels: and I am a poor Smith & a lay man, no marvel then if my fortune be as forked as the rest: but by the holy Rood of Rochester quoth he, I will be so revenged on the Prior, that after I have taken him, he shall hate Lechery the worse while he lives. I but quoth the Skull, take heed thou plaguest not me in steed of the Prior. To avoid therefore all ensuing danger, if I come to morrow thou shalt know me by this token, I will ask thee whether thou hast drunk this morning or no: if thou hearest no such watchword, then know it is the Prior. So be it quoth the Smith, and upon this they drunk their drink and departed. The next morning the Smith was early at his work, and the Prior that longed to be with his lemon was assoon awake, and up he got, and on with the Skulls apparel, and to the Smith's house, and after his accustomed manner bade him good morrow and up the stairs. The Smith perceiving it was the Prior, because he wanted his watchword, hied up presently after him, and took the Prior in bed with his wife: why how now skull quoth he? will no worse meat go down with you then my wife? Before you and I part, I will learn you how you make Vulcan of me without you were more like Mars then you be. Whereupon his man and he (two lusty knaves) stepped to him and pulled him out of bed, and thrust him in a great sack wherein he was wont to put chaff: when he had done, carried him into the street, and laid him down before his door, and then made his wife take a flail in her hand, and thrash as hard as she could: but because he perceived her strokes were laid on with favour, himself stood behind her with a great Carters whip, and every time she fainted in her blows he lent her a lash, that he fetched the blood through her petticoat: the people that came by marveled at this Antic, and asked the Smith, what he was a doing? kill of fleas quoth the Smith, that I found this morning in my bed, and because my wife is so idle and will not strike home, I stand with my whip to whet her on. Neighbours therefore give good ear, and mark the end, and see when my wife hath beaten them enough what foul fleas they be, and by my example learn whensoever you take such great fleas in your wives bed, to put them to the like punishment. The people flocked together to see this sport, and although the Prior was almost bruised to death (though for favouring of him the Smith's wife bore many a lash) yet he durst not cry for fear of further discredit, but lay still and suffered all with patience. At last a multitude of people flocking together, it chanced that upon serious business the Abbot of saint Peter came by, who seeing such a throng, sent one of his men to know what the matter meant. O may it please your Lordship quoth the Smith, such a sight as you never see! wherefore for Christ's sake I ask it, that you would take so much pains as to come over the way and see: the Abbot stepped over the Channel, and when he came and saw the Smith's wife with her flail, and him with his whip, he wondered, & the Smith told him as the rest, that it was a flea that he took in his wives bed: all this while lay the Prior with a heavy heart, for fear the Smith should shake him out of the sack: wishing to abide twice as much torment, so he might escape unknown. As the Abbot about this matter stood questioning with the Smith, the skull that missed the Prior that past his hour, thought the Smith had played some mad prank with him, went and put on the Prior's apparel, and his Cool over his head that he might not be known, and went down to the Smith's house ward, where seeing a concourse of people he hasted him thither. At last the Smith spied him and cried, O my Lord Abbot yonder comes the Prior of saint Augustine's, it was one of his fleas. Well knew the Smith it was Tom skull, but his wife supposing it to be the Prior, and that he in the sack was the Skull that had deceived her, in despite for revenge laid on such blows, that she needed no whipping to mend her strokes. When the Prior came, & after most humble manner had saluted the Abbot, he desired to know the cause of this strange sight: marry quoth the smith, Master Prior, I may thank you for this, for a flea of your Priory hath leapt from the Dorter to my wives bed, and finding it there this morning, I put it in a sack and caused my wife to thrash it, and for that both you & Master Abbot, & all my neighbours shall see what perilous fleas often happen into women's beds; I will shake him out before you all, & with that he unbound the sack, and he threw out the Prior, who being in the skulls apparel, was so besmiered and so bloody, that he could not be known: Look here Master Prior quoth the smith, here is the skull of your Priory. O notable knave knave quoth Tom skull, so to discredit our house, what think you of this my Lord Abbot? is this a sufficient punishment or not, considering by this fault he shall give occasion of slander to the whole Priory? He is quoth the Abbot, within the jurisdiction of your censure, and therefore deal with him as you list. Mary quoth the skull then thus: because it is an open fault, it shall have a more open punishment; for if it be smothered up thus, they will say that I am a favourer of sin: with that he called to certain of his covent, for most of the Monks of the Priory were come thither, how say you brethren quoth he, is it not best that he stand all this forenoon on the Pillory, and have a paper written on his head containing the whole matter of his offence? and the smith's wife shall stand under him with her flail, and the smith with his whip: and so quoth the smith shall all Caunterburie laugh at me that come into the market place to prove myself a Cuckold. No goodman skull quoth he, it shall not be so, and with that he pulled of his Cool and said, Masters and neighbours, see here is the skull of the house, and this beaten in the sack is the Prior himself that came to my wife in the skulls apparel: at this all the people clapped their hands, laughed & made good game, to see how simply the Prior stood and in what a majesty the skull was in the Prior's habiliments. At this sight the Abbot abashed, and the Friars were ashamed: but the skull nothing amazed, began afore all the people to say thus: my Masters quoth he, I was once a scholar, though I am now a skull, and then I learned this old saying in Latin; Caute, si non Cast: Live charily, if not chastened: Be not so forward in your follies that you discover your faults to the whole world, and especially was this spoken to men of the Church, for in that they know much, and do dehort others from vice, the people look their lives and their learning should agree: but when they offend so grossly as Master Prior through his ill example, to bring a whole house in slander, then are they worthy of double punishment: for we know Friars are men, and I warrant you, there is a great many in England have done as much to others as he hath done to the smith's wife, & yet have scaped without discredit: I hope my Lord Abbot, if you enter into your own conscience, you can verify as much, and therefore seeing he was so careless of his credit, let him for ever after (to avoid perpetual infamy of the house) be banished out of the Priory. To this they agreed, and the people that heard this collation said, Tom skull was worthy to be Prior: whereupon the Abbot and the Friars consenting, and seeing he had good learning, turned away the old Prior and made Tom skull Prior in his room: thus was the Prior punished for his Lechery, the Smith revenged for his Cuckoldry, and the skull for his blows stumbled on a good promotion.   

At this merry tale of the Cobbler, all they in the barge laughed and said the smith was well revenged: I but quoth the Cobbler, so he was made a Cuckold, and with a heavy head was the poor smith feign to go to his hammers, being ever after noted for a Cuckold through all Caunterburie. There sat a smith hard by, who grieved at this, that he should descant so upon his occupation, and the rather perchance he took pepper in the nose, because he was of the same fraternity, if not with a Prior, yet with some other good fellow, and therefore in a snuff he began thus to reply: Why Cobbler quoth he, dost thou hold the smith in such derision because he was a Cuckold? I tell thee Cobbler, Kings have wore horns: and 'tis a fault that Fortune excepteth from none: yea, the old writers have had it in such questions, that they have set down divers degrees of Cuckolds. I marry quoth the gentleman, Tarlton in his Purgatory hath divided them into three sorts. Tush quoth the smith, Tarlton was a fool or he that writ the book, for to tell you truth there be eight degrees, and that I can prove: At this there was a great laughter, and every man desired him to tell what they were: that I will quoth the smith, they be these.  
The eight orders of Cuckolds.  
Cuckold. 

1 Machomite.  
2 Heretic.  
3 Lunatic.  
4 Innocent.  
5 Incontinent.  
6 By consent.  
7 By Act of Parliament.  
8 Quem facit Ecclesia.    
And because quoth the Smith they may seem dark and obscure to you, I will briefly make an exposition of them to you, and that is in this manner.  

The exposition of the eight degrees of Cuckolds.  
1 Cuckold Machomite is an ancient Cuckold, who hath been married some thirty or forty years, and ever since his first marriage hath continued content in that estate, being so known and notified amongst his neighbours, therefore being the oldest, he is the foremost.  
2 Cuckold Heretic, is he that having a fair wife and honest, is so blinded with jealousy and suspicion, as he thinks her to be as dishonest as the best, but indeed is none, and therefore consumes himself in an heresy.  
3 Cuckold Lunatic, is he that being a Cuckold conceives such inward grief, that he suffers his passions to take no rest, but as a man distrackt from his senses doth all things so out of order, as though he were Lunatic: and therefore hath this title for his humours frenzy.  
4 Cuckold Innocent, is he that being simple of himself suspecteth nothing, but what soever he hears of his wife, believeth no more than he sees, knowing nothing, and therefore suspecting nothing.  
5 Cuckold Incontinent, is he that marries himself to a wife of a light disposition, who maketh him a Cuckold the very first day of his marriage.  
6 Cuckold by consent, is he that of all other Cuckolds is most infamous, who is not only headed as bravely as the rest, and hath one of light conversation, but fostereth his wife up in her follies, and is content to keep the door to his wives lascivious wantonness, consenting to more than the strumpet is ashamed to perform.  
7 Cuckold by Act of Parliament, is such a one that when he takes his wife faulty is not content secretly to punish the offence, but goes to law with the man for recompense: the Quest giving him perhaps for damage some i. d.ob. whereby it is registered in the Court by his own proof that he is a Cuckold, and therefore is he called Cuckold by Act of Parliament.  
8 Cuckold Quem facit Ecclesia, is he whom the Church maketh a Cuckold, and that is this, when a young man marrieth a maid or a wife, whom he supposeth to be a maid, and yet hath played false before, and perhaps hath had a child or two: In marrying him to such a one he is Cuckold in the Church, and therefore called Cuckold Quem facit Ecclesia.  
Thus quoth the Smith, have you heard my degrees, and their exposition, and because I will be quit with the Cobbler for the tale of the Smith, give me leave a little and you shall hear a merry jest, but because I will let you know what manner of man he was, before his tale, hear his description.     

The description of the Smith.  
THis Smith I ween was a acquaint sire,  
As merry as bird on brier.  
jocund and gleesome at every sigh,  
His countenance aye buxom and blithe,  
His face was coaly and full black,  
Hued like unto a Collier's sack,  
Or as if it had been soiled with mire,  
Full of wrinkles was his cheeks with the fire.  
Well he could sweated and swink,  
And one that aye loved good drink,  
For hard by his Forge always stood  
A stand of ale nappy and good:  
Which made the colour of his nose,  
Like to the fire when it glows.  
His head great, his brows broad,  
Able to bear a great load:  
As no man might hold it scorn  
On his head to grafted a horn.  
His coats were fit for the weather,  
His pilch made of swine's leather:  
So was his breech, and before  
A dusty apron he wore:  
Wherein not to fail,  
Was many a horse  nail,  
And for to fit him every tide,  
Hung an hammer by his side,  
Thus attired the Smith 'gan say,  
What befell on a summer's day.  

The Smith's tale, Containing a pleasant jest of a jealous Cobbler, and how for all his suspicion, he was cunningly made Cuckold.  
IN Rumney Marsh by the sea coast, there dwelled a Cobbler, a merry fellow, and of his middle age: who was wont on working-days to chant it out at his work, and on holidays to bestir his stumps in the Churchyard so merrily after a crowd, that he was well-beloved of all the country wenches, and noted for the flower of good fellowship throughout all the parish. This Cobbler keeping shop for himself, had in house with him an old mother of his, who being as it were his servant, desirous to live more at ease, wished him to take a wife: the Cobbler was loath to be persuaded to marriage, and the reason was, for that he feared to be a Cuckold: yet at last he cast his eye on a country lass, that was a blithe and bonny wench, and the chief of all the maids of old Rumney: to her was this jolly Cobbler a suitor, and after a little wooing (as women must be got with praises and promises) the Cobbler caught her, and married they must be in all haste, which done, they lived pleasantly together, as fools do presently after their wedding: but after the honey moon was past, she like a good housewife fell to her work, to spin and card, and such other deeds of housewifry as belonged to the profit of her house: the Cobbler loved her well, and she wanted nothing that might satisfy her humour, only she was charged by her husband, not to go abroad a gossiping with her neighbours: insomuch that either on working-days or on holidays, when all the wives in Romney went to be merry, she was feign as a poor prisoner to keep home: which although she passed over with silence and patience, so yet seeing his jealousy was without cause, she vowed with herself if ever a friend and opportunity served to her mind, to make him wear a horn an inch longer than all his neighbours: but he kept her short from that, for every day when she was at home, she sat by him in the shop, where he song like an Nightingale, having his eye never of his wives face; or if she sat within, her mother in law an old jealous woman bore her company; if she went to fetch water, her mother was at her elbow; whatsoever she did, or whether so ever she went, to be brief, her husband, or her mother was at one end, which grieved the young woman. So suspicious and jealous was this Cobbler, that all Romney talked of his folly: and to vex him as they passed by, would say to him; ah neighbour good morrow, now that you have gotten a fair wife, we hope to have you one of the brotherhood, and that the Cuckoo in April may sit and sing in your house as well as with your poor neighbours. I fear not that quoth the Cobbler, let her do her worst, I will give her leave, meaning that he kept such narrow watch over her, as he could never be deceived, and therefore every day his wife sitting by him when he was jerking of his shoes, and she at her wheel, than he would chat out this song.  
The cobblers song.  

WHen as the Nobility pull down their towers,  
Their mansion houses and stately bowers:  
And with stone and timber make hospitals free,  
Than the Cobbler of Romney shall a Cuckold be.   

When Gentlemen leave of their Peacockly suits,  
And that all their works are charities fruits:  
Tendering the poor which needy they see,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When Usurers run up and down with their gold,  
And give it to them from whom it was pould:  
And Collier's sacks over great you do see,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When Westminster hall is quite without benches,  
And Southwark Bankside hath no pretty wenches,  
When in Smithfield on Fridays no jades you can see,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When Maids hate marriage, and love to live chaste,  
Virgins forsooth till fourscore be passed:  
And love not that young men their beauties should see,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When wives are not wilful, but needs will obey,  
When silent and speechless they sit a whole day:  
When Gossips do meet, and no words there willbe,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When women's tongues do cease for to wag,  
And shoemakers give not their masters the bag:  
When Cuckolds and keepers want horns for their fee,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When tapsters and alewives from Berwick to Dover,  
Fill thirding deal pots till the drink run over,  
When the quart is so full that no froth you may see,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When Smiths forswear to drink of strong Ale,  
And live without liquor whiles their noses be pale:  
When in Vintner's wine no mixture you see,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   

When Dutchmen hate butter, and the Spaniards pride,  
When Cardnars do want a trull by their side:  
When the Pope like Peter humble you see,  
Than the Cobbler, etc.   
Every day did the Cobbler use to sing this song, and there dwelled next unto him a Smith that was a tall and a young lusty fellow, proper of parsonage, of a comely visage, courteous, gentle, and debonair, such a one as this cobblers wife could have wished to her Paramour, if time and opportunity would have favoured her fancy: and the Smith seeing what a smocker wench the cobblers wife was, and what a jealous fool she had to her husband, sorrowed at the good fortune of the Cobbler, that he had so fair a wife, and wished that he could find means to have such a one to his friend: upon this, being next neighbours, and their houses joining together, the Smith would oftentimes when his leisure served him come to the cobblers shop and talk with him; where between the Smith & the cobblers wife passed such glances, that he perceived there was no want, but place and opportunity to fulfil their desires. One day amongst the rest, Fortune so favoured this young couple, that the Cobbler went forth to buy Leather, and left his mother and his wife in the shop: the old woman not having slept the last night was heavy and fell a sleep, and the young woman sat singing at her work. The Smith perceiving this, laid by his hammers and went to the stall, where he saluted his neighbour, and she returned him the like courtesy.  
At last seeing the old beldame was sure, he began to reveal unto her how long he had loved her, and how he was sorry that she was cumbered with such a one as for his jealousy, above all other men deserved to be made a Cuckold: sundry speeches passed between the Smith and the cobblers wife, till at last she rose, and gave him her hand, that she loved him better than any man in the world, and would if any occasion would serve, ever strive to content him. Than sweet heart quoth he, do me but this favour, feign to morrow some occasion to go to your Mothers, and come on the further side of the way fast by such a door, and then let me alone for opportunity to satisfy both our desires: To this she agreed, and the Smith went to his Shop: presently the old woman waked, the Cobbler came home, and all was well.  
At night when they were in bed, taking him about the neck she kissed him, and told him that certain of her friends met to morrow at her Mothers, and that she would feign go and see them, I pray you good husband quoth she, let your mother and I go thither, I will not part out of her sight, neither will we make any long tarriance: the husband for shame could not deny this request, but granted it: whereupon the next morning she got her up, and on with her holiday apparel, and made her as sine as sine might be: the Cobbler seeing his wife so tricked up in her clean Linen, began to be jealous, and called his Mother aside, and charged her by that love she bore him, not to let his wife part out of her company till she came home again, which she promised with an oath: so away they went, & the Cobbler he set him down and began to sing.  
The Smith that all this day was not idle, had compounded with an old woman by whose house she must pass, to favour them with house room, and revealed unto her all the matter: whose wife it was, and how he would have his purpose brought to pass: by my troth son quoth she, I have hard much talk of that jealous Cobbler, and I would do my endeavour to make the Ass were a horn: upon this they resolved, & she liked well of his policy, & said love had many shifts, at last the Smith spied his mistress all in her bravery, coming with her mother in law: the old wife was ready, as she passed by the door, threw a great bowl full of bloody water right upon her head, that all her clothes, and clean linen was marred, being so berayed that she could go no further: alas mistress quoth the old woman, I cry you mercy, what have I done? full sore it was against my will: but for God's sake come into the house, and shifted you with clean linen: if you have none at home, I will lend you of the best that I have, go in daughter, quoth her old mother in law, it is a chance, and against an ill turn sometime no man may be: i'll go home as fast as I can, and go fetch you clean linen, the whiles dry your gown, and make all things else ready. I pray you do good mother (quoth she) and next way goes her mother in law: and assoon as she was out of doors, the old woman led her into an inward Parlour where the Smith was, and there these two lovers by this policy made the jealous Cobbler were the horn.  
Whiles thus they were solacing themselves, the old wife she came stumbling home, and for haste had like to break her neck over the threshold, her fall made the Cobbler start, and when he saw it was his mother, and that he missed his wife, he was half mad, and asked his mother hastily where she was: the old woman short wound was almost out of breath, and for a good space sat puffing and blowing to fetch wind; at last she cried out: alas dear son, such a chance as never was hard of: as we went through old Romney, hard by the church, a woman threw out a bowl of bloody water right upon your wives head, which hath so bewrayed her linen and her gown, that she could go no further, and so I as fast as I could came running home for clean clotheses: o for the passion of God mother quoth he, hie to her chest, and get her clothes ready, for it may be a fetch to make the poor Cobbler a Cuckold; a horn mother is soon grafted: with that the old woman got all in a readiness, and away ran the Cobbler & his mother together. Well the two lovers out at a little hole kept good watch and ward, that anon they spied where the Cobbler and his mother came trudging: in went his wife, and sat her down by the fire, where the Cobbler found her only sitting with the old woman in her petticoat, drying her gown, assoon as she saw him she wept: and he although he grieved at the mischance, yet for that he spied her in no company, he was satisfied, and wished her to be content, & sent for a pot of beer or two to make her drink: and after he had seen all well, and his wife in her clean apparel, setting them a little on the way; home he went again to his shop, and his wife went to her mothers, where an hour or two she passed away the time in chat, and then returned home with her mother in law. Thus the Cobbler was not suspicious of his wives being abroad, but took her misfortune for a chance, and the Smith every day according to his wonted custom, would come and chat with his neighbour the Cobbler, and sometimes found opportunity to talk with the wife, but never out of the shop: on a day the Cobbler being from home, and the old woman within péecing of her hose, the Smith came to the shop, and finding her alone, began to lay a plot, how to make her husband a Cuckold, while he held the door: she promised if he would devise it, she would put it in practice, and so agreed they concluded between themselves, and they brought it cunningly to pass, thus.  
It chanced within a fortnight after, that as the Cobbler and his wife lay in bed, she fell on a great laughter, her husband demanding the cause, she made him this answer. I will tell you husband a strange thing, so it is, that this other day when you went to buy Leather, my mother and I sat in the shop, and she fell fast a sleep, your neighbour the Smith, he, as his custom is, came to the window, and seeing my mother a sleep, began to court me with fair words and large promises, and told me, that if I would found the means that when you were out, I would let him lie with me, he would give me forty shillings. I shaked him off as well as I could, but he would have no nay at all, but threw four Angels into my lap: whereupon I took the gold, for me thought they were four fair pieces, and promised him that to morrow you went forth, and my mother to, and then he should find me alone in the chamber. Upon this he went away, and left me the gold, and therefore if it please you, to morrow I think good you should feign yourself to go abroad, and my mother to, and then hide you in a chamber bard by, and assoon as he is come in, you may stand at the door and hear all our talk: when you hear me consent, then break in, and take the Cobbler, and swinge him well, and I warrant you husband there will diverse commodities rise of it: for not only we shall have this gold, and get more for amendss, but ever after be rid of such a knave.  
This motion pleased the Cobbler well, & the rather because the Smith professed to be his great friend, and yet would seek to do him such disgrace: upon this conclusion they resolved, and so fell a sleep. The next day in the afternoon, the Cobbler feigned himself to go out, and his mother with him, and after coming home at a back door went up into the next chamber, & hide themselves, by and by according unto promise came the Smith, and went roundly up to the chamber, where he found the cobblers wife: wherefore strait shutting the door with a boult in the inside, he fell to set up plumes on the cobblers head-péece, the Cobbler he very eastlie got to the door with a great pole-axe in his hand, and began to listen: with that he hard the smith offer fair to his wife: nay (quoth she) I have kept promise with you, for I only promised to let you up into my Chamber: tush quoth he, this is but a cavil? and many words passed between them: the Cobbler and his mother standing at the door, with her nay and his yea, till the Cobbler had a new browantler grown out of his old horns; and then she answered him, seeing nothing would content him, he should have his pleasure: with that the Cobbler was ready to rush in, but that his mother stayed him, and bid him hark further: and dost thou mean good faith, quoth the Smith? I wherefore else (quoth the cobblers wife) came we into this place? why then (quoth the Smith) hear what I will say to thee: Dost thou think, though we be here in secret, that our faults will not be seen openly? that though thy husband knows not of, and that it is kept close from the world, that there is not one above that sees all, & will revenge it? yes wild strumpet as thou art, & for this cause came I to try thee: thou hast an honest man to thy husband, who loves thee more dearly than himself, who works hard, to suffer thee that thou shalt not want, and wilt thou in his absence wrong him? think if ever thou dost it, it will come out, & thou shalt be revenged with open shame: I am thy husband's dearest friend, with whom I am daily conversant, and dost thou think I could found in my heart, to offer him such injury? no: & then art not thou more to blame, that being the wife of his bosom, wilt betray thy husband, who is dearer to thee then all friends? fie upon thee vild woman, far thee well & amend: I will not yet tell thy husband, unless I spy thee prove light, but I shall never think well of thee while I live: & with that he opened the chamber door, & the cobbler chopped in, & taking the smith by the hand, said, neighbour, I thank you for your good counsel, I have hard all the communication that passed between you and my wife, and truly: and with that the Cobbler wept, I am hearty glad I have such a trusty friend, to whom in my absence at any time, because my mother is an old woman, I commit the oversight of my wife: and truly neighbour quoth he, I pray you think never the worse of her, for she told me the whole matter, & appointed me to stand at the door, that when you should have offered her any discourtesy, I might have rushed in and have taken you: so that I perceive you are as honest as she, and she as honest as you, and that your meanings were both a like. I am glad of that quoth the Smith, that you have so virtuous a wife, I hope I have done the part of a friend, to pleasure my neighbour: you have done so quoth the Cobbler, and therefore ere we part, we'll drink a quart of wine. So the Cobbler bestowed good cheer on the Smith, and ever after accounted him for his friend, and whensoever he went out of town, committed the charge of his wife to the Smith, who at all times had free egress and regress to the cobblers house without suspicion.   

This tale of the Smith made all the company to laugh, and the cobbler he was stark mad for anger, saying, that if it had been his case, he would have given him wine with a cudgel: tush Cobbler quoth the Smith, never think but our art can surpass yours in such wenching matters, and that a Smith can sooner make a Cobbler a Cuckold, than a Cobbler a Smith: upon this they fell to jars, & from words had fallen to blows, if they of the Barge had not parted them: so at last they were quiet, and made friends. And then the Cobbler he began to entreat that they would go forward in their merry exercise, whereupon a gentleman sitting by said; masters, it is so good to pass away the time, that to continued so honest a sport, I will be next: and thus therefore I will describe him.    

¶ The description of the Gentleman.  
HIs stature was of a middle length,  
Well jointed, of a good strength,  
Siken write report to us  
Was that Trojan Troilus:  
For he was of comely visage,  
And his manners of courteous usage.  
His hair in curled locks hung down,  
And well I wots the colour was nutbrown:  
And yet it was full bright and sheen,  
Such wore Paris I ween:  
When he sailed to Grecia  
To fetch the fair Helena.  
His front was of a silver hue,  
Powdered thick with veins blue.  
His eyes were luminous,  
Christallyne and beauteous:  
Grace and sparkling like the stars,  
When the day her light up sparres.  
His cheeks like the Lilies white,  
Or as Luna being bright:  
And yet comely thereupon,  
Was shadowed colour Vermilion:  
That gazers all woulden suppose,  
How the Lily and the Rose,  
Did maken war each with other,  
Which should be above an other.  
His suercoate was of Satin blue,  
Like unto a lover true:  
His hose were guarded along,  
With many a broad velvet thong.  
His Cloak grew large and side,  
And a fair whinyard by his side.  
The pummel guilt: and on his head  
He had a bonnet colour read:  
An alder leefer swain I ween,  
In the barge there was not seen:  
And then thus he 'gan tell,  
What in Cambridge to a scholar befell.  

¶ The Gentleman's tale. Containing the contrary fortunes that a Scholar of Cambridge had in his Loves.  
IN the University of Cambridge, in Peter's Hostell, there lived a Scholar famous for his learning, called Rowland, who being placed there by his friends, so profited, that he grew to be one of the fellows of the house, being in great estimation for the honesty of his life, and the excellency of his learning: he was a man as well proportioned as he was qualified: and had as well bona corporis, as he had bona animi, and could as well play the wag and the wanton abroad, as he could apply his Books and study at home: amorous he was, and one that delighted to feed his eye with every fair face, which after returned to his great prejudice, thus. It fortuned one day in the Summer season, that for recreation he walked as far as Cherryhinton, to eat a mess of Cream, where being very pleasant, as he sat jesting with his Hostess; there came in a Gentleman's daughter in the town, a maid of exceeding beauty, so well proportioned in the lineaments of her face, that nature seemed to try in her an experiment of her cunning. This girl, as wise as she was fair, and as wanton as she was witty, came in and questioned with the hostess about some business: Rowland seeing such a Nymph come sweeping in, thought either Venus or Diana had come in their Country weeds to bewitch men's fancies: he cast his eye upon the excellency of her phisnomy with such a piercing look, that Love entering by the eye, so wrong him at the heart, that forsooth fancy her of force he must.  
Now my young Scholar could do nothing but gaze upon her, for Court her he could not, unless he should have begun to woo her with some words of Art, or some Axioms of Philosophy. The young Gentlewoman seeing the Scholar look so earnestly upon her, began to blush, and so taking her leave of the Hostess went her way. The Scholar seeing her going out of doors, thought of the old proverb: Faint heart never won fair Lady. And therefore called to her thus: Fair Gentlewoman quoth he, you may see we Scholars have little manners, that holding the pot in our hands will not make such a sweet saint as you drink: how say you Gentlewoman, will it please you to pledge me? The wily wench hearing such a Scholarlike gratulation, seeing by this salute, that Scholars had read of Love, more than they could say of Love: and though they could tell what was Latin for a fair woman, yet could neither woe her, nor win her, turned back again, and with a low courtesy thanked him. He off with his corner cap (for he was a Bachelor in Arts) and with a glancing look drunk to her: She like a wanton, pledged him with a smile. Rowland at this taking heart at grass, stepped to her, and took her by the hand: beginning thus to hold her in chat.  
Your Town here (forsooth) of Cherryhinton, hath made me often play the truant to come hither for cherries: and as mine Hosts can tell, full many a mess of cream have I eaten in her house: for we scholars are good companions, & love to be pleasant: especially if we might have the company of such fair Gentlewomen as yourself: Therefore Mistress, if I chance to come to town to eat a pound of cherries (if I may be so bold) I would trouble you to take part with me; and if I meet you at Cambridge, the best wine in the Town shall be your welcome: the wench (that had much ado to keep her countenance) thought to feed him up with fair speeches, till she made him as fat as a fool, and therefore made him this reply. Truly sir indeed many scholars come to Cherryhinton to eat cherries: but sir, you are the first man that ever I drank withal, for scholars be so full of their learning, and fine terms, that Country wenches cannot understand them, but I for my part at the first sight like of you so well, that if my leisure serve, whensoever you come and please to sand for me, I will as long as I dare bear you company, but now forsooth time calls me away and I must be gone. With all my heart quoth Rowland, but truly we must not part without a kiss, which she willingly took at his hands, and went home: where assoon as she came, she revealed all to a young gentleman that lay in her Father's house, who was sure to her: they laughing hearty at the scholars Courting, and resolving to make good sport with him ere they had done. But Rowland he that thought every smile was a fancy, and every maid that laughed on him, loved him, conjectured assuredly by the familiar courtesy of the gentlewoman, that she was greatly affectionate towards him: whereupon he began to inquire of his Hostess whose daughter she was, of what wealth her Father was, what children he had, and what Dowry the maid was like to have to her portion, as a man resolved the woman was already won, because she had given him such gracious favours. The Hostess as well as she could told him all: which done, he paid his shot, and went to Cambridge, where he began altogether to muse on the beauty of his Mistress, and to lay an hundredth plots in his head what were best to be done: at last he resolved to sand a letter to her, to signify his love: or else to go himself, & to carry two or three of his fellows with him, and so to discourse unto her how he loved her; but at last he fully determined with himself to writ unto her: wherefore taking pen and ink in hand, he wrote a letter to her to this effect.  
Roland's Letter to the fair Maid of Cherryhinton.  
Mistress Marian,  
Aristotle the great Philosopher, for all his wit was in love with Hermia: and Socrates the sage, could not so far subdue his passions, but that he fell in feakes with Zantippa: Scholars as they read much of love, so when they once fall in love, there is no ho with them till they have their love. The finest glass is most brittle, and the best Scholars soonest overgon with fancy. For an instance, was not Ovid as deep in love, as he was excellent in learning? I bring in these comparisons Mistress Marian, because the other Sunday being at Cherryhinton, and seeing your sweet self, I was so overtaken with your beauty and good behaviour, that ever since the remembrance of your face could never out of my fancy: nor, I think, never shall, although I should be drenched in the forgetful floods of Lethe. Seeing then my affection is so great, I pray you consider of me, and be not so unkind, but let me have love for love: and though here in the university you see me simple, yet my Parents at home are men of good parentage, & what I want in wealth, I shall supply in Learning: ponder with yourself, and read but the lives and answers of the Philosophers, and see how they used their wives, with what courtesy, how ever the women were the most Masters, and had the Sovereignty, which they desire. Thus hoping you will consider of my Love; desiring you to sand me an answer, I bid you farewell.  
Yours in dust and ashes, Rowland.  
When he had thus finished his letter, he thought to show himself somewhat poetical, and thought a letter was not worth a rush, unless there were some verses at the latter end, and there he affixed as a postscript this amarousditty.  
Roland's song to his Mistress.  

Approach in place Pierides,  
My vain in verses to bend:  
Dame Chryseis which gav'st Homer suck,  
Thy tender teats me lend.   

Alcmene thou which jove didst rock,  
In cradle full of joy:  
Eke swath me in those swaddling clouts,  
Accounted me for thy boy.   

Ye Naiades and pretty Nymphs,  
That on Parnassus devil:  
Lend me your Muse that I may now,  
My Mistress beauty tell.   

How that in beauty she doth pass  
Venus the Queen of Love:  
To whom, if I do gain her grace,  
I will be Turtle Dove.   

Therefore my dear conceive my grief,  
And think how I do love thee:  
And in some lines sand me relief,  
For time and truth shall prove me.   

Thus hoping pen and paper shall  
Thy mind to me short tell:  
But love me as I do love thee,  
And so my dear farewell.   
THus having both finished his letter and his verses, he sent them by a convenient messenger the next Saturday to Cherryhinton, and that forsooth was his Hostess: who very orderly sent for the gentlewoman to her house, and delivered the letters to her, with earnest commendations from sir Rowland. The gentlewoman in outward show seemed to accept them as gratefully, as he sent them lovingly, and so hied her home: where presently she called for her new betrothed husband, and other gentlemen her friends, and revealed unto them how she had received letters from her new lover the Scholar. All they flocked about her, to hear what excellent stuff was contained in so learned a man's letters: but when they heard him how like a Philosophical fool he writ: they all in a synod peremptorily concluded, that the greatest Clerks were not the wisest men: and I marvel of that quoth one of the company, for two reasons: forth one I have heard this old said saw, that Love makes men Orators and affection whetteth on eloquence: Secondly, there was none more amorous than Ovid (yet a profound scholar) insomuch that he writ three books De Arte Amandi, and so did Anacreon Tibullus, & Propertius. I but quoth an other, as they were scholars, so were they well brought up in the Court, and knew as many external manners, as they did inward principles: but beware my Masters, when a scholar is once brought up in the Universities, and hath no other bringing up but plain Ergo to plod in, nor converseth with none but his books, and then hap to fall in Love: trust me he will be as ignorant to woo, as the ploughman to dispute, thinking that women's fancies are won with Figures, and their thoughts overreacht with the quiddities of Art: but of all that ever I heard writ, this setteth down his mind the most simply: and therefore quoth Marian shall he be answered as foolishly, for I myself will be Secretary. Nay quoth divers of the gentlemen, we will put in our verdict with you: Not quoth she, try but a woman's wit: that's knavish enough quoth one of them: and so stepping to her standish she wrote thus.  
Marian of Cherryhinton to Sir Rowland of Cambridge, health.  
Sweet sir Rowland,  
I received your Letters, wherein I perceive that Scholars in love are like to a Sow with pig under an Apple tree, which either hastily must have a crab, or else lose their Litter. If I bring in a Country comparison blame me not, in that I am a Country wench, and have none but plain Country lodgicke, but howsoever I writ, I mean well. Indeed rightly you say, that the finest glass is most brittle, and the best Scholars soonest pinched with Love, which I think to be true: for assoon as ever I saw you, how your eyes waited upon my face, as an object of your delight, I took you to be too wise, kind, and amorous: and therefore seeing ever since you have been passionate, it were great pity that you should not have for your pains (even as we use in a homely proverb) a Country sackful of love: and the rather you induce me to think well of you, that you bring in the examples of Aristotle and Hermia, and of Socrates and Zantippa: whereby you seem to promise', that I shall as they had, enjoy the sovereignty; and that if I be like them in conditions, you will be as suffering as they in patience: yet will I neither be so proud towards you as Hermia, for she rid Aristotle with a snaffle like a horse: nor so waspish as Zantippa, for she crowned Socrates with a Chamberpot, but between both: and so wishing you to hope the best, I bid you farewell.  
Yours never if not ever, Marian of Cherryhinton.  
After she had done her letter, that she might seem to be no whit behind him in any good will: she leaned her head on her hand, and in a Poetical fury writ her Lover these verses.  
Marian's verses to Sir Rowland.  

Fear not my dear the storms of Love,  
for they are passing sour:  
And sometimes sweet as honycombe,  
and all within an hour.   

Like to a Sunshine summers day,  
When Phoebus shows amain:  
And yet ere night from tawny Clouds,  
do fall a shower of rain.   

So whatsoever chance betid,  
or whatsoever fall:  
If Father frown, or Mother chide,  
yet must you bear withal.   

For why? the Cuckoo doth not come  
in April more sure,  
Than I will fix my love on thee,  
for ever to endure.   

Thus wishing thee to think of me,  
in study or in street,  
I bid you heartily farewell,  
till we in Cambridge meet.   
Having thus ended her song and the Letter, she called the Convocation of the merry gentlemen, & showed them her humour in prose, and her vain in verse: ask if she had done it knavishly enough? I quoth her betrothed husband, and so exceedingly well, that you shall stand for four and twenty knaves till Christmas next. Tush quoth an other, women's wits are like Sheffielde knives, for they are sometimes so keen as they will cut a hair, and sometimes so blunt that they must go to the grindstone: That is (quoth the second) when you persuade them to silence or obedience, talk with them but in that doctrine, and they are mere dunces.  
Thus they began to descant of women's wit, but the gentlewoman wily enough, left them all, & went & laid up her letters till Saturday market: Than she went to his Hosts, & delivered them to her, earnestly entreating her, if she saw sir Rowland, to convey that packet unto him. The Hostess promised her to do it faithfully, and effectually: and away to Cambridge she went, where scarce she was set with her butter and her milk, but she spied sir Rowland come flinging down the Market hill, in his wide sléeude Gown, and his corner Cap: she need not to call him, for he strait found her out, and she as soon delivered him the packet: sir Rowland thanked her, and away he went to his study to read the contents: but it was too far to Peter's Hostell, and therefore he called in at a Tavern by the way for a pint of wine, and there he opened the letter, which when he had read, he perceived by the contents she loved him: for he being simple, perceived not how she bobde fool with him: but taking every jest for a sentence, he thought himself the Master of all worldly content, and that Fortune could not advance him higher on her wheel, then to have so fair a Maid to his Paramour. Than he viewed over her verses, & in a great passion praised her Poetry, commended her wit, saying: for stature she was juno, for beauty Venus, for learning and qualities Pallas: thus in meditation of his letter and his love, sat poor sir Rowland, from eight a clock till eleven, and then hearing the Hostell Bell ring to dinner, for fear he should lose his halfpenny chaps, he put his letter into his pocket, and went his way. After dinner, he fell to his old vain: got alone to be solitary, & then sat ruminating on the good success of his loves, accounting it rather to his profession, than his fortune, for he thought none so fair, chaste, nor rich, but a Scholar might win with his Logic. Thus he passed over day by day in sending of letters to his love, and divers times resorting thither, but seldom could he speak with her, for that she feigned some excuse; only when she meant to laugh, than she was for his company. But it fell out that one Saturday above the rest, that sir Rowland met her in Cambridge, and finding her with other her neighbours, saluted her, and would needs welcome her to the town with a pint of Wine, which she took very kindly, that she might soothe him up still in his vain hope, and forsooth to the Tavern she and her companions went with him, where they had good game at our Cambridge wooer: but Marian taking him aside, told him that her father and her mother had intelligence of their loves, and as far as she could conjecture, it was by his hostess: therefore she willed him not to make her privy to his secrets any more, nor to come to Cherryhinton but when she sent for him, which should be as often as opportunity would serve, hoping though her father now were not forward, yet in time he would consent, & especially, if he saw him Master of Arts: with this the Scholar rested satisfied, and they drank their wine and departed. Thus between them passed on all the Summer, till the deep of winter, about Christmas, when she on a time & the rest of the Gentlemen, desirous to be pleasant, determined to have some sport with the Scholar, and so caused Marian to sand a Letter for him, that he should come that night and speak with her: which she did; and he poor soul no sooner received it, but in all hast hied him in the frosty evening to Cherryhinton: where when he came, he strait spoke with Marian, & she wished him to stay in an old Barn while her Father was at supper, and then she would convey him into a base court, where he should walk hard under her chamber door, and then when her father were to bed, she would let him in. The Scholar stood there a while, and Marian came strait & conducted him into a square court, where Rowland rested him till her father should go to bed. The night grew dark, and with that passing cold, so that Rowland waxed weary of his standing, and wished that her father were in bed: there stood the poor Scholar shaking and trembling in his joints, till it was eleven of the clock: then saw he a light at the door, and he heard Marian call him: o blessed hour thought he, that now I shall both go to a good fire, and to my Lover. Sir Rowland (quoth she) be still a while, my father and mother is gone to bed, but my brother and two Gentlemen more are up at Cards, & they have but a set to play, and then they will to their rest: alas sweet heart (quoth he) I am almost starved for cold, yet the hope that I have to enjoy thy presence, doth comfort me, that I take all things with patience. The Gentlemen that stood hard by and hard all this, laughed at the scholar, and up they went again to their chamber to be merry: but still walked poor Rowland, beating his hands about him for cold, and expecting still when his Lover should call him: well there he traversed his ground still like a pery-patetian, and only had the sight of the heavens to contemplate, till it was about one of the clock, and then came they all down again to laugh: & assoon as he saw the candle at the chink of the door, he began to be comforted, & came thither, shaking & beating of his teeth so sore, that he could not speak. Where are you sweet heart (quoth she) alas how sorry am I for thy distress, think that the heart in my belly is as cold for grief as thy joints are with the frost, feign would I have thee come in, but the losers will not part play, and so they sit still, therefore I hope thou wilt weigh my credit. O Marian (quoth he) & his teeth so jarred one against another, that they could scarce understand him, I am like to perish with cold, yet were it twice as frosty, & the night thrice as long, I would walk here, rather than procure thy disparagement: gramercy sweet love (quoth she) & with that she bid him be still a while, & the Gentlemen all fell a laughing to hear how kind a fool the Scholar was, and with what patience, he bid his penance: o, quoth the one of them, this is but an experiment of his Philosophical principles, for he reads in Tully: Non oportet sapientem in adversis dolore concidere.  
I (quoth the second) and Mimus Publius gives him this counsel: Aduersis te proba, ut fortunam, cum necesse fuerit, patienter insultantem feras.  
You say well (quoth the third,) but let him for me make an instance of himself for such axioms, I will rather be a warm fool, than so cold a Philosopher. This they 'gan descant upon the poor scholars misery, till the clock stroke three, and then as they were coming down, they heard a noise at the door, which was this poor Rowland creeping under the shade for warmth, his teeth beating so loud, that they might hear them easily up the stairs, all this moved not my young Mistress to pity, but increased their laughter. Assoon as he heard them come down the stairs, almost dead, he called out, who is there: o sweet heart, it is thy Marrian, quoth she? Than for God's sake quoth Rowland, take pity of my life, for I am almost dead, do but open the door, and let me sit here upon the stairs, that I may have some shelter from the cold. Alas quoth she sweet love, thou shalt and thou wilt: but when the door is opened, it makes such a noise, that it wakens the whole house. Rather, quoth he, let me suffer death, than you be discredited, for if I were to abide the stone of Sisyphus, the wheel of Ixion, the gripe of Prometheus, & the hunger of Tantalus, yet had I rather pocket up all these tortures with patience, then bring thy credit within the compass of the lest prejudice: at this period she left him, and up they went, smiling at the constancy of Rowland. The Gentlemen they were sleepy, and went to bed, and Marian, as far as I can conjecture, though it were somewhat before the marriage, that night made trial of her new betrothed husband, where from three, she lay with him till six, and then it waxed day light, and she rose; and remembering her lover went down, opened the door, and found him almost senseless: there wiping her eyes, as though she had wept, she persuaded him that she was the most sorrowful woman in the world for his sharp frosty night he had suffered, protesting she was fallen into an ague, for very fear & grief she had taken to see him in such distress, & could by no means redress it: but good Rowland (quoth she) be content, hie thee to Cambridge, and take some hot broths, lest by this means thou fall into a sickness, & then for very sorrow I die: not quoth Rowland, & he could scarce speak or go, fear not me, for the hope of thy after favours, will be a sufficient comfort for me: and with that taking his leave for his cold nights work he had a kiss, and so departed. Well as weak as he was, home he scambled, & got to his chamber, & discovered to a friend of his, how he was like to perish of an extreme cold he had taken, if he did not so much for him as to get him a Physician: who strait went and brought him a Doctor, that with inward potions and outward oils and unguents so wrought him, that he recovered him to his former health, although very hardly: for he was so frozen in his loins, and so nipped in the muskells and sinews, that if his Physician had not been good, he had perished. It was almost a quarter of a year before Rowland was frolic again: in which time Marian thinking she had lost her lover with a nut, sent him a present of apples to win him again, which he received so gratefully that he valued the worst of them worth a fellowship, eating them with such an extraordinary taste, that he imagined them as sweet as Ambrosia, and all for that they came from his Marian. Thus continued Rowland in his amorous humour until such time as Marian forsooth must be married: and for that it was advent, there was no ask in the church, but they procured a licence the day before. As she and the rest of her friends which were invited to the nuptials were merrily jesting, o Lord (quoth she) I had almost forgot myself, to morrow must be the wedding, and the bride is at Cambridge: why gentlemen it were no bargain if Rowland were not here: therefore quoth she, I will sand for him, and lay such a plot that he shall be with us all dinner, & yet taste none of our meat. I pray you quoth her husband, let us see your cunning in that. Alas quoth one of the gentlemen, poor Rowland is credulous, and whatsoever mistress Marian saith, he thinks it is Gospel: but if he will be so simple as to think that his last night's work is not a sufficient warning, he is worthy of what so ever befalls. Well, upon this Marian sent for him, and come he did in the evening, where, to make my tale short, she made him walk in his wont statie till one of the clock: then she let him into a good fire, where he well warmed himself, and she lovingly sat by him, discoursing of the last nights work that he abode so patiently: at last she commanded the maid to lay the cloth that they might have some quelque choose for a ready supper, which they went busily about: for Rowland said he was very hungry. As the cloth was laid, and they ready to sit down the wench came running in, and said, that her Master was rising, and seeing the light of the fire was coming into the Parlour. Alas what shall I do quoth Marian? hide me some where quoth Rowland whiles he be gone to bed. Come quoth she, here stands a new trunk and a large, come, skip into it, and I will for a while rake up the fire and go to bed while the old man be fallen a sleep: with that Rowland whipped into the trunk, and she locked him in, & strait in a pleasant humour went to her new husband, where she lay all night, and left Rowland safe shut up for starting. Still lay he expecting when she should come, but hearing nothing, extremely weary for very grief he fell a sleep till the next morning. When the poor scholar awaked and entered into consideration where he was, he began to be half in suspicion that he was mocked and abused, still he lay patiently till he heard them of the house say, God morrow mistress Marian, God sand you a good day, to day the Sun shines fair, you shall have a clear day to your wedding. This word went as cold to his heart as a knife, that Marian should be married, he made a fool to suffer such disparagement of his credit: yet as before he was patiented in extremes, and so resolved with content to see the success of his abuse. Well to Church go the bridegroom and the bride with all their friends attendants, and married they were with great solemnity: this done, home they came to dinner, and after they were set and placed in the parlour where this trunk stood, they fell to their viads which were very sumptuous. The gentlemen bidding reach down the pig, the capen, goose, swan, turkey, pheasant, biter, venison, and such dainty cates: all this hard Rowland, and being passing hungry, wished he had a leg of the worst of them in his hand; still he stood almost famished and smothered till the tables were taken up, and the boards shifted, and they fell to dancing. All this heard Rowland, and hearing the music fell a sleep until supper time, and then he awaked, and heard how they laid the tables and went to supper where they were passing pleasant, and the more for that they meant to make sport with Rowland after supper was done, which continued not long, for they made the more haste for that they meant to be merry. When the cloth was taken up the Bride fetched a great sigh: what wife quoth the Bridegroom, why sigh you? in a dump? repent you of the match? no quoth she, but I have a blot in my conscience, and now before you all I mean to reveal it. I was once beloved of a Cambridge scholar, who loved me entirely and suffered much for my sake: then from point to point she recounted unto them the whole discourse of the loves and fortunes passed between Rowland and her, whereat the company had good sport.  
A man he was quoth she, wise, proper, and well proportioned: and for proof hold the key, open the trunk quoth she, and I will show you his picture. Rowland hearing this, armed himself to suffer all: and so the trunk was opened & he rose out like Lazarus from his grave. Good Lord quoth the company, what is this a spirit? In nomine jesus unde venis? E purgatorio quoth Rowland. And with that all the company laughed while they could sit. At last when they were weary with laughing Rowland had silence, he boldly said: thus I am glad gentlemen that my mishap hath made you so merry, and that mistress bride hath so large a plain song to run descant on; Caveat Emptor: this is but a comedy, but look for a tragedy when soever it falls. And so he went out of the door sore ashamed that he had such a kindly scoff. The company laughed well, and he patiently went home thinking how fortunate a man he should be, if he might live to revenge. Rowland at this misfortune had an insight into the world and began to wax wiser, that in short time he became to have as much knowledge in worldly affairs as in his book, and was for his good behaviour and pleasant wit highly had in estimation, not only amongst scholars, but amongst townsmen, that in all the university he was called the gentlemanlike scholar. Living thus in good credit, and yet discontented, because Fortune favoured him with no opportunity to revenge: it so fell out at length that Marian coming every week to Cambridge, espied among the scholars one whom she cast her eye on, and thought him the properest man in the whole University: Well, she counted it but a glance, and thought as lightly to pass it over as it slightly entered: for she found love, that though he entered in by grant of courtesy, yet he would not be thrust out by force of extremity, in so much that she could not content herself without, but with the fight of her new friend, which was done so manifestly that the scholar perceived it, and aiming at the fairest, one Saturday seeing her in the market offered her a quart of wine, which she took very gratefully, and began to be very familiar with him, in so much that before they passed, force of love made her so shameless, that she was content to yield to his request, so that time and place would serve without the disparagement of her credit.  
Upon this they concluded, that master Audrey (for so we will call him) should grow familiar with her husband, and by that means should he have a better means to the quieting of his mind. Upon this determination they departed, and he so brought it to pass, that not only he was acquainted with her husband but very familiar, that he would carry master Audrey often from Cambridge with him to Cherryhinton, and I hope you do imagine he was no little welcome guest to his wife. Being thus fitted in their passions only watching for place, lingering of the time at last it was concluded, that she should come on a Saturday to Cambridge, and feign to stay with a kinswoman of hers that dwelled in the town, and so lie with her all night: this stood for a sentence, and so the next week was decreed. In the mean time it so fell out, that master Audrey and sir Rowland being of great acquaintance, and such private familiars that nothing was holden too secret between them, master Audrey smothering this joy in himself, thought to partake it with his friend: and so as he and sir Rowland were walking revealed unto him the love that had passed between him and Marian, and on saturday was the night when his posse should come into esse, desiring him to tell him where he might have a house fit for such a purpose. Sir Rowland hearing this smiled, which made M. Audrey to inquire the cause of his laughter: whereupon sitting down upon the grass he begun to recount unto him the whole discourse of his loves with Marian, & what sundry abuses he suffered at her hand, to the great & utter infamy of scholars. M. Audrey hearing this, sat a great while in a muse, at last he said, and will women be Crocodiles? to weep rose water & vinegar at one time, still to dally in extremes, to love without rea-, son & hate without cause? o the folly of men to be such to such painted sepulchres, whose painted sheaths hold leaden blades, whose skins are glorious like panthers, but have devouring paunches. By that God that drew that infortunate female from that forefortunat Adam, I hate her as extremely as I loved her earnestly: and I will not only yield the opportunity to revenge, but I will join issue with thee to perform it to the uttermost. At this Rowland was tickled with inward joy, & taking Audrey in his arms protested such humble service for that friendly promise, as ever should lie in his ability to execute. Thus in this determination of revenge they crossed the fields to Trumpington, and there they eat a mess of Cream, whither by chance came one of the Proctors, with whom both Rowland and Audrey were very familiar: him they had in and made him as good cheer as such a simple alehouse could afford, and there in private revealed to him all their practice, desiring his furtherance in the matter. The Proctor promised to do what in him lay for the execution of this merry action: and there amongst them they laying and confirming the plot, they went all together home to Cambridge, where they passed away the time pleasantly till Saturday came: and then according to promise was Marian there and met with Audrey, who entertained her with all the courtesy that he could, spending the day at the Tavern whiles night came, and then he carried her to the house appointed such a subaudi Domus as was fit for such a purpose: and there they supped. In the mean time Rowland had sent a letter to her husband in Audreies' name, that his wife being not well was feign to stay at her kinswoman all night, and desired him to come to her the next morning, and that her father and the rest of the gentlemen would come with him, for that they should see Rowland taken in bed with a pretty wench. This letter in all haste was conveyed to Cherryhinton to her husband, who reading the contents waxed somewhat jealous, because he had seen very familiar courtesies between Audrey and his wife, and thought scholars were sly fellows, and could devise many such Sophistications to make a man a cuckold: but he concealed his suspicion to himself, and showed the letter to his Father in law and the rest of the Gentlemen, who as they sorrowed his wife was not well, so they were all glad to see such a comical fortune of Rowland: her husband taking every word for his advantage, said he would be there by four of the clock to see Rowland taken up. Thus they all agreed, and were gone by two of the clock, where we leave them coming to Cambridge: and again to Marian, who after supper sat up late, but Audrey filled her full of Wine till she was almost drunk, that she was very heavy, and desired to go to bed, which she did, and was no sooner laid but she fell a sleep, and Audrey slipping out, put out the candle and sent in Rowland, and bade him now go to his mistress: he went into the chamber and locked the door, and master Audrey stole out of the house and went to his chamber, leaving Rowland with his paramour, where I think more for envy of the man then for love of the woman perhaps he dubde him one of Paris priesthood, howsoever it was she descried not how it was, but both fell a sleep: on the morrow by four of the clock was Marian's husband, her father and the rest of the gentlemen at Peter's hostel, where finding the gate open they went to master Awdreys chamber and raised him up, who quickly slipping on his clothes, welcomed them, and went with them to find out the Proctor, who watching for their coming was already with a dozen masters of Art well appointed walking in the court yard, & presently went his way with them & came to the house where Rowland lay: the Proctor knocked and bade open the door: who is that quoth the good wife? the Proctor quoth he; open the door & that quickly, or I will beaten it down: the good man came stumbling down in his shirt, and the good wife was so amazed that she could not remember to tell her guests. The Proctor came in, and by the direction of Audrey went strait to the Chamber: who be here quoth the Proctor? none sir quoth he, but a stranger and his wife: beaten it open with a halberd quoth the Proctor: and with that for haste Marian's husband ran against it, & the door fell down and he into the chamber: with that Rowland covered her close, and stepping out of the bed in his shirt asked what they meant. Ah sir Rowland quoth the Proctor, I am sorry we have diseased you this morn, I thought full little to have found you here, what is the cause you lie out of the hostel to night? Truly sir quoth he, I was late abroad this night making merry with my friends, & so I was feign to take up my lodging here. How do you sir Rowland quoth Marian's husband & her father, I marvel we see you not at Cherryhinton. O masters quoth he, when there is another comedy to play look for me: but if you remember I promised you a tragedy first, when that is studied, I warrant I will visit you. Poor Marian lying in bed & hearing all this, how she was betrayed and had laid with Rowland all night, & how her father & her husband were there present, thought surely now Roland to the uttermost would be revenged upon her, so that she fell into a great sweat for fear. The Proctor that had his lesson taught him said, well sir Rowland, had it been any other but you that had been taken abroad and in such a suspected house, he should have gone to the Toll booth: but since you have no other company far well. Audrey jogged upon Marian's husband, & as they were ready to go out of door, tush M. Proctor quoth he, but I marvel you examine not who it is that lies with him, it may be a pretty wench. What? is there one lies with him? I marry is there sir quoth he, and with that stepping to the bed he threw off all the clotheses, and there lay his wife in her smock.  
Sante amen quoth Rowland who is here?  
Have you seen such a chance this year?  
What a woodcock to come so soon  
Fron Cherrihinton to Cambridge before noon,  
And found a Cuckoos nest.  
Is this masters in earnest or jest?  
That Rowland so early in a morn  
Should make a knave wear a horn.  
What man be not aghast?  
For you cannot call back that is past.  
At this all the Scholars fell a laughing, and sir Rowland sat him down in his shirt, and (to make the matter up, that it might be a right black Sanctus) while they laughed, cried Cuckoo. The Gentleman seeing his wife, and the father the daughter, they were in such a maze, that they stood as men senseless: they fell out a weeping, the Scholars a laughing, the gentlemen a sighing, and still Rowland kept his wench, and cried Cuckoo: at last Rowland began thus. Why you my Masters and friends of Cherryhinton, did I not promise' you a Tragedy, and have I not now brought if to pass? I hope this Dame, and you all remember my frosty night, and how I was brought out of the trunk: now am I not revenged well? have I not had my penyworts? Yes Villeine (quoth the gentleman) and first the whore shall die: and with that drawing out his Rapier, he would have killed her: but the Proctor staid him, and she protested she knew not how she came there, but thought she had been at home in her bed. Upon this all the Scholars persuaded the gentleman that Rowland did it by necromancy, and that if she were the honestest woman in the world, Magic were able to do as much: Rowland for very pity affirmde it: and so they persuaded him not to wade further in the matter for his own credit, but to clap it up with silence. She wept and wrong her hands, and her father fate and shed tears: but at last by the persuasion of the Proctor and the other Scholars, Rowland and he for all this were made friends: his wife and he agreed, as a man persuaded she was sackelesse, and that it was done by Negromancy: and so all merrily went to the Tavern and drunk, they going to the College, and he to Cherryhinton, with full resolution never more to let his wife come to Cambridge, for fear of the scholars Art Magic.   

This tale made them all hearty laugh, every one commending the policy of the Scholar, that had invented so good a revenge. The Cobbler he marked all very diligently, and swore there was not a more sound history for his turn not in all the Legenda Aurea: well it made all the Barge merry, and seeing they were all in a dump, they cried who is next? marry that am I quoth the scholar, and he began to settle himself, whom I can best describe thus.    

The description of the Scholar.  
A Man he was of a sober look,  
Given much unto his book:  
For his visage was all pale,  
And Clerks tell this tale,  
That much study makes men lean,  
As well as doth a cursed quean.  
Apollo radiant and sheen,  
His pattern long had been:  
For well skilled was he,  
In verses and Poetry.  
In Palmistry he had some lore,  
In other Arts much more.  
Mickle could he say at each steven,  
Of the liberal Arts seven:  
Of the welking and the Axle tree,  
Whereon the heavens turned me:  
Of Mercury and Charles wain,  
And of the Bears twain:  
Calisto and her son conveyed thither;  
Which to Seamen show the weather:  
When Neptunus with his mace,  
Will make smile Amphitrites face.  
Many other matters of Sophistry.  
Can this Clerk in secrecy.  
He could also speak of love,  
Of Paphos and of Venus' dove.  
And perhaps though he were a Clerk,  
Yet he could skill in the dark  
As well as a man of lay degree,  
To dally with a wench in privity.  
His attire was all black,  
But why do I longer clack?  
This Clerk 'gan report,  
His story in this sort.  

The scholars tale. Containing the sundry misfortunes that two Sicilian Lovers had, and how at the end their passionate sorrows came to a pleasing success.  
WHen the king of Tunise was beaten out of his kingdom, & sought to enter again by force, Iacomin Pierro, and Alexander Bartolo, two Noble men of Sicilia, and both of Palermo, for the good will they bore to the king, made certain tall barks, and with their aid maugre his enemies, placed the king again safe in his kingdom: which done they returned again to Palermo. This Iacomin Pierro had a son called also Iacomin, and this Alexander had a daughter called Katherine, these two being neighbours children fell in love together, insomuch that Iacomin noting the beauty of Katherine, seeing with his eye her outward excellency, and hearing with his ears her inward virtues and perfection, entered with such deep insight into her qualities, that he resolved in himself she and none but she should be the goddess of his affections: & of the other side, Katherine feeding her eye with the desired object of his person, and with delight pleasing her ear with the general fame that ran through all Sicilia of his courtesy, affability, and valour: determined that none but Iacomin should enjoy the flower of her beauty. These two lovers being in such a sympathy of agreeing passions, lived a long while with looks, bashful both to discover the essence of their loves: yet at last Iacomin taking heart at grass, finding one day fit place and opportunity, discoursed unto her, how ever since his years could entertain any amorous thought, the Idea of her beauty and virtues remained imprinted in his heart so deeply, that none but she could satisfy the end of his incessant desire: which was no other, than the honest and honourable content of marriage. Katherine who was as willing as he was desirous, told him that upon that condition, whensoever their Parents should agree, she was ready to be at his command. Thus they wooed and ended, and all in a short space, for that time parting with a kiss. This sweet consent of thoughts, continued a long time between these two Lovers, insomuch that Iacomin resolved shortly to break the matter to his father, to whom he knew the match would be most pleasing, for that old Iacomin and Alexander loved together as Brothers. Whiles thus these two Lovers held their demand in suspense, there fell a deadly jar between the house of the jacomins and the family of the Bartolos: insomuch that not only all Palemo, but almost all Sicilia was in an uproar, for each took Arms against other, and being men of great Parentage, friends took parts, and they began to bandy, that they fell to a flat civil dissension. This disagreement between the Parents, although it was a heart break to the two Lovers, yet could it not at all disparaged their affection, but the greater the Mutiny the deeper was the impression of their minds. But by this means their meeting was hindered: yet Love being a privy searcher of secrets, found them out a crevice between two walls, which parted their houses, and there often times they met and parled, hoping still some end would grow to this dismal dissension: but as the fire increaseth with the wind, so this jar grew greater by time, that the lovers lost all hope ever to have consent of parents: insomuch, that wholly in despair of an unity, they concluded to forsake Sicilia, and to go into Spain, where they had both friends, and there to remain till their families were accorded. Upon this resolution, jacomine provides him a Bark, and laid it ready in the haven, and when the wind and weather was fair, gave a watchword to Katherine, and so got her a board, hoist sails and away they made towards Spain: they were not long gone, but they were missed, and by all possible conjectures known to be slipped away together, for divers manifest instancies were reported of their loves. The father's fell both into deep passions, jacomyn having but one Son, and Bartolo but one Daughter: yea the grief of their unkind departure, did so work in their Father's minds, that each intended more mischief to other, as it were in revenge, that the broils grew hotter. But as they dissented, so these two Lovers accorded every way, looking for no other Haven but the coast of Spain: but fortune that delights to sport herself in the variable accidents of love, brought it thus to pass. They had not sailed three days from Sicilia, but that there fell a great calm, and certain Galleys that were Rovers under the king of Tmisa, espied this Sicilian ship: and thinking to have some rich prize, made out and gave onset, commanding them to yield: the Sicilians, being calm, could not make way from them, but yet although too weak, stoutly denied to be boarded, and fought it out to the uttermost, chiefly jacomine, who was sore wounded: but at last, they of the Galleys entered, and bestowed the Mariners under hatches, and then went to rifle the Ship, where they found Katherine all blubbered with tears, & almost dead for fear, her they took for all her pitiful shrieks and cries, conveyed her into the Galleys: which Iacomin seeing, took so heavily, that he was ready to die for grief: but so sore he was hurt, that stir he could not, but was feign to suffer her to be carried away, whether the mercy of the slaves pleased to transport her: when they had rifled the ship, and found nothing but passengers, away they went with fair Katherine, determining with themselves to give her for a present to the king of Tunise whom they knew did love a fair woman, more than half his kingdom, and so fair a creature as Katherine they were sure he never saw before. Upon this they made sail towards Tunise, and when they were arrived, the captain of the Galleys, causing her to dress her in her richest attire, went with her to the King's Palace, where when he was admitted to his highness presence, humbly on his knees he craved pardon, as one that contrary to his majesties laws had been a Rover and a Pirate on the seas: but now loathing that course of life, was come to submit himself, & having taken that Gentlewoman as a prize at sea, desired his Majesty to accept her as a present. The king whiles the Pirate told his tale, kept his eye still on the Gentlewoman, whose beauty he found such, that he thought her some heavenly creature, shrouded in some mortal carcase. The king not only thanked the Pirate for his present, but gave him free pardon, and a letter of mart, with many other rich gifts, so that he returned richly rewarded: and then turning him to Katherine, he took her in his arms, kissed her, and gave her such entertainment as in all royalty he could. But nothing could make her cease off from tears, having still her Iacomin in remembrance, whom she held for dead: which the King perceiving, commanded that she should be carried to a place of his, standing fast by the City wall, and there placed and attended upon with all diligence, until she might be comforted, and thither when it pleased him he would have recourse. Seated in that house, there she led a solitary life, washing her cheeks every day with tears for her poor Iacomin: who likewise wounded as he was, was brought to Tunise, and there left in the surgeons hand, where he was healed: assoon as he might well go, he went as a man forlorn up and down the City, looking every where if he might see his Katherine: whereupon he resolved to pass from place to place, and so to end his days in travel, if he did not by narrow inquisition find her out: getting therefore his bag and baggage in a readiness, he was going out of Tunise; and as he passing out the gates, casting his eye up to the house where Katherine was, who at that time was looking out of a casement, he espied her, and thinking it should be she, stood in a maze: Katherine seeing him, and thinking him to be her Iacomin, was almost ready to fall down in a sound: thus stood the two Lovers at gaze; at last Iacomin called Katherine: Iacomin (quoth she) and with that she clapped her finger on her mouth, and made a sign, that for that time he should departed. Back again went Iacomin to his Hostess, as merry a man as might be, & there stayed till it was something late in the evening, and then going to the place, sought round about the house, and there found a back window into a Garden, where they might conveniently talk: he had not stayed there long, but Katherine came to the window, and there after a volley of sighs, quenched with tears, they began to discourse their fortunes since their departure: Katherine told Iacomin how she was given by the Pirates to the King for a present, and how he had placed her there, reserving her for one of his Concubines, and that she looked every hour, when he should come to deflower her. Therefore quoth she, since we are man and wife, as we have lived together, so let us dye together, and enjoy thou the chastity of that body, whose soul hath been ever thine in all amity: I respect not the King, nor what his tortures can do, therefore at night come hither to this place when it is dark, climb up on the wall, and so on this tree, and thou mayst easily come into the casement, which for the same purpose thou shalt found open. At this motion Iacomin was glad, and so departed, and at the time appointed came: and being made more nimble by love and desire, he leapt up the wall lightly, and so into the tree, and from thence into the casement, where he found his Katherine ready to receive him, banquet him she could not, lest any might hear, but feast he did with kisses, or whatsoever she might afford to his amorous desires, so that in the end, to bed they went, and there with pleasure recompensed their former misfortunes. Love having thus advanced her champion; Fortune envying their happiness, meant to have one fling more at them, and brought it so to pass, that the King that night resolved to have the company of Katherine, and therefore after all his Lords were at rest, took with him his Chamberlain, and certain of his Guard, and went to his place where she lay, coming in by a back gate, having keys for every door, at last opened the Chamber where she was, and there drawing the curtains to behold his Goddess, he saw where she lay with a youngman in her arms fast a sleep: the king for anger was ready to have killed them, but yet he did qualify his fury with a royal patience: and called his Chamberlain, and the rest of his Guard, and showed them this sight, demanding of them if any of them knew the young man: they all answered, not, but supposed he was some stranger. The King strait commanded, that certain of his Guard should watch them, and assoon as they awaked, carry them to prison, and let there in the midst of the market place be erected a great stake, and in the afterne one, there let them be both consumed with fire: the guard obeyed the King's commandment, & he went away in great choler, and highly discontented. The King departed, these lovers slept sweetly till the morning, and then they awoke, where present they heard a rustling of men, who strait told them how the King was there, what had happened, and what he had commanded: therefore they made them rise, & then bound them and carried them away. The two lovers were no whit dismayed at this news, but embracing & kissing each other, comforted themselves in this, that they should, as they lived together so die together, and that their souls nor bodies should never part. Strait were they carried to prison, & the stake was on providing, whereupon the rumour of their burning came about the city, that against the hour appointed all the city were gathered together, and forth at last was jacomine and Catherine brought, and bound to the stake back to back: They earnestly desired that they might be bound face to face, but it could not be granted, which grieved them: but they comforted themselves with cheerful words, resolved to suffer death with patience. All the city was gathered together, & stood gazing on them, & pitying them, that so sweet a couple should fall in such fatal extremity: the poor souls ashamed, and hanging down their heads expecting every minute the beginning of their martyrdom: As thus the fire was ready to be brought came the Lord high Admiral of Tunyse buy, and seeing such a concourse, demanded the cause: The people told him as much as they knew. He on his foot-cloth came to the stake, and looking upon them seeing them so lovely, asked of them of what Country they were. Of Sycilia sir quoth jacomine. With that the Admiral staring him earnestly in the face called to his remembrance the favour of old jacomine his father. Of what place in Sicilia? my friend quoth he: of Palermo: thy name quoth the Admiral: Iacomin quoth he: why thou art not (answered the Lord) the son of Iacomin Pierro? yes quoth he, and this the daughter of Alexander Bartolo: And if quoth jacomine you knew those families, do but so much for us as speak to the king, that we may be bound face to face, & so die, for life that we hold in scorn. Although the tormentors were appointed to dispatch them by an hour, yet the L. Admiral charged them not to put any fire to the wood till his return; which they promised: & away gallops the Admiral as a mad man through the streets to the Kings palace, where when he came, he found the king in a great rage, discoursing to his Lords the villainy of Catherine, that admitted a stranger into her. The Admiral without any great reverence, as a man full of choler began thus roughly and briefly. Can they which place kings pull down kings? Than look thou once again to be beaten out of Tunyse: did jacomine Pierro & Alexander Bartolo the two valiant Lords of Sicilia by their force seat thee in thy kingdom? and now in revenge dost thou burn the only issue of them both? for that two lovers seek the fruition of their loves, so shall we have Sicilia our enemies, and thou seek a new kingdom. What meanest thou to use these railing speeches quoth the King? Marry quoth the Admiral, yonder young gentleman that is at the stake is the son of Iacomin, & she the daughter of Bartolo. At this the king stood in amaze, & was half afraid, so that he cried out to his Lords, that they should run & bring the couple as they were to him: which they performed with all diligence. When jacomine and Catherine saw the nobles come, than they looked for the fire: but when they heard how they must be unloosed, and how courteously they were entreated, hope of better fortune gave them some comfort. Well, away they were carried to the king, who graciously entertaining them, demanded the cause of their bold enterprise, and what fortune brought them into such a far country. jacomine strait began and discoursed their particular hap, and what accident 〈◊〉 they had, whose sons they were, and what was their contrary fortunes. The king at this embracst them both, welcomed them, and craved pardon of his rash censure, cladding them in royal apparel, and enriching them with many costly gifts, after solemnly married them in Tunise, and kept a great feast with tourney and triumphs fitting their degrees, and after preparing a pretty Fleet, sent them home to their parents by the Lord Admiral: whose arrival in Palermo was wondered strange, in that all thought they were dead. But when they recounted to their parents their misfortunes, and last the gracious favours of the King of Tunise, by the help and good persuasion of the Lord Admiral; the instance of their true love reconciled their fathers and families, that not only the two lovers agreed, but the two houses ever after continued in peace and concord.   

Assoon as the scholar had told his tale, every man thanckt him for his pains, and said it was a pleasant and a delightful history: amongst the rest there was an old woman, who for very kindness to hear of their hard haps, and the good fortunes of the lovers, wept: why weep you mother quoth the Cobbler? by my troth son quoth she, to think on the chances of love which are so variable, & by the grace of God if all in the barge will give me leave, you shall hear an old woman tell a tale that will make you all merry. Every man desired her to say on: and she being a simple woman, as you shall perceive by her description, settled herself to her task thus.    

The description of the old Woman.  
CRooked was this beldame for age,  
Huff shouldered, and of a wrinkled visage:  
And as her back and neck was crooked,  
So was her nose long and hooked.  
Many furrows in her brow,  
Hairy, and bristled like a Sow.  
She had a large tawny face,  
And therein an i'll favoured grace.  
She was mouthed like a Sparrow,  
Gated like a wheelebarow,  
And of long time before  
Not a tooth in her head had she borne.  
Yet could she chew good ale,  
For her nose was nothing pale,  
But with swinking at her will  
She looked read about the gill.  
Much talk she had and much chat  
When with her Gossips she sat,  
That threescore years before  
The bell for gossiping she bore.  
Her apparel was after the elder bear.  
Her cassock aged some fifty year:  
Grace it was, and long before  
The wool from the threads was worn.  
A thrum hat she had of read  
Like a bushel on her head.  
Her kercher hung from under her cap  
With a tail like a fly flap,  
And tied it was with a whim-wham,  
Knit up again with a trim-tram,  
Much like an Egyptian.  
Her sleeves blue, her train behind  
With silver hooks was tucked I found.  
Her shoes broad and forked before,  
None such saw I of yore.  
This beldame on her merry pin  
Began her tale with this gin.  

The old wives tale, Containing the wily sleights of a wanton wife, and how both cunningly and craftily to the safety of her own honesty and her husbands discredit, she shifted her lover.  
IN a far country there dwelled sometime a gentleman of good parentage, called signor Myzaldo, who had to his wife a very fair and beautiful gentlewoman. And as the beasts most greedily gaze at the Panther's skin, & the birds at the Peacock's plumes: so every fair feminine face is an adamant to draw the object of men's eyes to behold the beauties of women: experience proved it true in the wife of Myzaldo, for she being a woman of singular perfection and proportion, was generally looked on and liked of all, but favoured and loved especially of a young gentleman called Peter, dealing with such secrecy, that they continually satisfied their desires without giving signor Myzaldo the lest occasion of suspicion; and the means that they performed it with such secrecy was this. Every week twice her husband rid from home about certain his affairs, and she very artificially near to the high way that leads to the town where Peter lay, had placed an asses head upon a tree, and when her husband was gone forth, she turned the head towards the town; but when he was at home, than she always had it looking to her own house: using herein as some thought, an Emblem, saying, when she turned the Ass' head forth, that the Ass her husband with the long horning ears was gone from home; and when it stood towards the house, that the Ass kept his chamber: but what soever in this her conceit was, Peter always knew when to come, and ever when Myzaldo was from home resorted to his house. Now it chanced that certain boys coming by and seeing the Ass' head stand there, threw stones at it, & hit it so often, that at last they turned the Ass' head towards the town: which Peter walking abroad & spying, thought that Myzaldo had been gone from home: & therefore at night walked towards his lovers house, & coming to the door finding it shut, according to his accustomed manner, knocked: the good wife awaked, heard him & was sore afraid that her husband should hear him, and so lay still: by and by he knocked again mor loud: Myzaldo awoke, & hearing this, asked of his wife who it was that rapt at the door, or what that knocking meant? O husband quoth she, be still, it is a foul spirit that haunts this house, & yet hitherto we never durst reveal it, and it hath, thanks be to God, been your good fortune never to hear it before: Myzaldo richer by far than he was wise, believed his wife, & asked her if it had done any harm: no quoth she, for I had learned a charm to sand it hence: friar Rowland learned me it, and if it knock again, you and I will go down together, & I will say my charm, & so we shall live at rest. Peter that thought some other friend had been with his Leman, taking it in scorn that her husband (as he thought) being from home he should not be let in, knocked again amain. With that Myzaldo & his wife arose, lighted a candle, & went down to the door where Peter was: Than she wished her husband to kneel down upon his knees while she said the charm. With that she began thus.  
Spirit spirit get thee hence,  
For here is no residence:  
Here thou mayst not be  
This night to trouble me,  
For my husband and I  
Safe in our beds must lie,  
Therefore from hence go  
And trouble me no more.  
Now husband quoth she, spit: & with that he spit, and Peter laughed heartily, and wished he might spit out his teeth for being at home. This charm said she thrice over, and every time made him spit, that Peter might be assuredly persuaded that her husband was at home. Upon this Myzaldo and his wife went to bed, and heard the spirit no more: for Peter went laughing home to his lodging. Myzaldo could not sleep this night, nor many nights after, but still marveling what this spirit should be, lay a work. Peter that once or twice thus was deceived of the ass head, because by some contrary mishap it was turned, devised thus: that every night when Myzaldoes wife went to bed she should tie a string to her toe, & then leave the end of it at the door, so that when Peter came he might wake her, & then if she pulled the string again & tied it fast, her husband was from home: if she let it slip, than he was in bed. Thus by the means of this string Myzaldo was often made cuckold, and sometimes when her husband was at home & in his sound sleep, if Peter pulled the string, she would rise & go down to him to the door. At last so thus this game continued, that Myzaldoes wife being fast a sleep, and he rising to found the chamber pot stumbled upon the string, and wondering what it meant, or to what end groped easily & found it tied to his wives toe, and from thence reached to the door. He, as simple as he was, conjectured, that this was done to make him cuckold, and therefore for that night said nothing: but against the next night had provided a great Partisan by his bed's side: and when his wife was fast a sleep he untied the string, and tied it to his own toe; he had not stumbred a little, but he felt the string pull easily, whereupon he pulled again, and then Peter thought assuredly that he was gone from home, whereupon he knocked. Than did Myzaldo rise, put on his clothes, and took the partisan in his hand, and down he went rustling that his wife waked, and hearing him go down so hastily felt for the string that was at her toe, & missed it: whereupon she perceived her husband had found out the deceit, and whipping out of the bed ran down the stairs: with that Mizaldo opened the door and thought to have taken Peter, but he having a glance of him being in a dark night came away, & Mizaldo after him, and raised the watch, yet was Peter so light of foot, that he out run them all, & escaped. Mizaldoes' wife fearing the worst ran up again to her maid, & willed her to go to her bed, and lie there, & to abide whatsoever her husband should do to her, & she would give her a new gown & a new petticoat. The wench was content and went to her masters bed: scarce was she warm there, but up came Mizaldo in a great rage, & strait laying down his partisan fell to beating of his wife, and with a whipcord all to lashed her body, that the blood ran down the sheeets: and when he had done, in the dark groped, & found a pair of shears & clipped off all the hair of her head: and that done, opened the door and went his way. The wench almost killed with blows, and sore pained with smart lay still as one in a trance: but as soon as ever Mizaldo was gone, his wife arose and shut the door, and came to the wench, where she comforted and washed her, & anointed her, putting on clean linen upon her, & laid clean sheeets on the bed, and so sat down discontented at her work. Not sooner did the day break but signor Mizaldo went with all speed to his mother in law, and there revealed to her and to his wives brethren how his wife had dealt with him, and how he had revenged her, yet not sufficiently, but was fully resolved to bring her this day before the Magistrate, & so absolutely to make a divorce: the mother fell to weeping, and knowing her own fault when she was young, entreated her sons that they would make a peace & atonement between their sister and her husband: they fell to exclaim against her, and said, seeing she was by her lightness the discredit of her house, they would be the first and the foremost in punishing such gross offences. Upon this they went home with Myzaldo to his house, and there coming up the stairs they found their daughter sitting very sad: the husband frowned and brethren scolded, but the mother whom nature more nearly touched, said, what cheer daughter? what stir is this between your husband & you? what stir quoth her daughter? marry I would you & my brethren had gone to my burying when you went to my marriage to wed me to a drunkard, that all day goes out about whores and courtesans, and at night comes home late, and perhaps not all night, as he hath done now, and so do I sit all day comfortless, and lie in the night like a widow while he is abroad with his strumpets. And quoth the mother he is this morning come to your brethren and me, with an outcry against you, that this night he took you with a Leman at the door, and how he found it out by a string tied to your toe. Fie upon him drunkard (quoth she) these are his dreams, when he lies tippled in the Tavern: but I marvel where he hath been to night: marry Dame quoth he, I fear me your flesh and your bones know too well, for I think you have not one free spot on your body, I so whipped you for your whoredom, and I think the sheeets in the bed can witness, and the hair that I cut off your head can testify. Now mother (quoth she) and good brethren, see whether this is an errand droonkard or not, that tells these fables, saying, he beaten me thus to night, when he touched me not, nor before this time since yesterday morning, came within these doors: where he says the sheeets are bloody, see brethren see, they are clean: for my skin, take view of it, if it be any way touched: and for my hair, see how fair and long it is: how hath he then done these pranks? alas, alas, he hath fallen amongst his whores in his drunkenness, and hath used them so, and now to the slander of me, to the dishonour of my friends, and the perpetual infamy of our house, he hath thus without cause reviled me, where ye see his own lying tongue condemns him. Mizaldo, seeing neither his wives hair cut, nor her body any way bruised, fell into a great dump, wondering whether he dreamed it or not, in so much, that at last he asked: why Wife? was I not this night at home? at home, in faith sir no, but with some of your brabs, & I think thou camest home drunk. At this doubtful demand, her brethren began to take her part, & seeing what he said was false, & all her speeches probable, they railed on him in most bitter terms, & told him in that he had married their sister who was an honest woman, & he by all means sought to deprive her of her good name without cause, who should be the protector of her honour, they would not put it up unrevenged, but would to the uttermost do him what injury the extremity of the law would afford. Upon this, the man seeing how in all things his wife had disproved him, thought assuredly that he was not at home the last night, and therefore desired her to pardon him, and he would never after be taken in the like offence, and so upon that, by her mother and her brethren they were made friends, and ever after Peter and she with less suspicion enjoyed their loves.   

The old wife having told her tale, every man began to commend the wit of a woman, who on the sudden is ever most quick, & piercing, able so soon to yield a peremptory excuse, as the occasion is ministered. By that they had told this tale, they were within sight of Gravesend: whereupon they thought to have given over, but that a Summoner sat by, who was a pleasant fellow; and he began thus. Gentlemen seeing at the motion of the Cobbler, we have imitated old Father Chaucer, having in our little Barge, as he had in his travel sundry tales, and amongst the rest, the old wives tale, that you shall not want the merriest knave of all the Summoner's, you shall hear what I can say; and to keep decorum, as the Cobbler began with the tale of a Prior, I will end with one of an Abbot: they all thanked him hearty, and he began thus. But first I must, as hitherto I have done all, describe him.    

The description of the Summoner.  
THis Summoner was not very old,  
Of a countenance stout and bold:  
That would against the truth wage,  
For he had a shameless visage.  
Squint eyed he was, and his head  
Was bad hued, blood read:  
A nose he had that 'gan show,  
What liquor he loved I trow.  
For he had before long seven year,  
Been of the town the Ale conner.  
His face was full of precious stone,  
Richer in Ind was never none:  
For Ruby, Pearl, and Chrysolite,  
With them all his face was dight  
From the brow to the very chin,  
Yet to drink he would near lin:  
But swincked with all his might,  
At every house where he did site.  
His conditions were fair and good,  
For why he was by the rood  
Acquainted with rich and eke with poor,  
And kend well every kern whore,  
Or other wife that held no scorn  
To make her husband were the horn.  
Such a knave he was indeed,  
That as true as my creed,  
He cited every woman to the law,  
Even for the value of a straw.  
And summon them to appear  
At the bawdy court as I leer:  
Where for money the Summoner  
Would all their faults clear:  
That they should not appear at all,  
Before the official.  
A Bawd he was, a tell-tale, and a knave,  
Sike an other it is seld to have,  
Unless a man should hell rake,  
There to find out his make.  
Yet 'gan he thus declare,  
How the Abbot of Wickam did far.  

¶ The Summoner's tale, Containing the shifts that the Abbot made to have his love, and how he raised a man from death.  
IN Wickham there was an Abbot, that was a man of a middle age, lusty and frolic, and coveted to acquaint himself with all the fair Wives of the Town, insomuch that every man doubted of this jolly Clerk: yet he made himself holy, but do what he could, it might not clear the suspicion that the men of the town had of him: Amongst the rest, he was acquainted with a Farmer's Wife, that was none of the wisest, and yet he had wit enough to beware of the Abbot. This Farmar exceeded all the rest, not only of the Town, but of all the whole country about for jealousy, being so suspicious of his Wife, that he would brook none of his neighbours to come into his house, and if she glauncst her looks never so little awry, he would strait beat her while he could stand over her, in so much, that the woman was weary of her life, and looked as a creature forlorn.  
As she was one day walking into the fields to do her business, the Abbot met her, who took her by the hand, and began to make love to her: she was both coy and fearful: yet at last the Abbot 'gan so prattle, that she began to tell him how jealous her husband was, and how weary she was of her life. Tush (quoth the Abbot) care not for that, refer that matter to me, I will strait cure him of his jealousy, if then thou wilt be my paramour. So sore was the poor woman troubled with a jealous fool, that she was glad to grant whatsoever the Abbot would ask, so her husband might be mended of his fault: make some excuse quoth the Abbot, sand him to me to morrow, and then let me alone: but whatsoever thou hearest is befallen him, fear not, all shall be well. Upon that the Farmer's Wife and the Abbot parted, she to her house, he to his cloister, where he called one of his Monks, in whom he did repose all his trust, and revealed unto him the whole matter, and what plot he had laid to bring his purpose to pass: the monk condescended to do whatsoever the Abbot should command, and so upon this resolution they laughed, and the next day came the Farmar to the Abbot to have a high mass said for one of his Children that was sick: the Abbot made much of him, and bade him to dinner, and subtly at his last draft conveyed a dormative potion into the cup, that presently after dinner he fell into a dead sleep; that his senses being gone all men thought he was dead: wherefore presently one of the Monks ran to the good wife, and told her what had happened to her husband: she cried out and wrung her hands, and told it to her neighbours: whereupon she and a great company both of men and women went to the Abbey, and there was he knit up in his winding sheet, the wife pitifully lamented, and the neighbours comforted her: the Abbot he said he should be buried in their Abbey because he died there, and therefore in presence of them all solemnly buried him: which done, his wife like a sorrowful woman departed home to her house with her neighbours.  
Assoon as night came, the Abbot and the Monk, (whom he had made privy to this practice) went and cunningly took him out of his grave, and carried him into a deep dungeon, where he could see no light, and there let him lie stark naked, till such time as the potion had ended the operation, and that he should wake. At length the Farmar awoke, and stretching himself, finding that he was naked, and in a place loathsome, dark, and fearful, he could not tell what to think, but blest himself, and said, Lord have mercy upon me, where am I? The Monk that was by attired like a spirit, said, thou art dead and in purgatory. Dead quoth the Farmer: can dead men speak? Yea quoth the Monk, and eat too, such meat and drink as is appointed for the dead: This day in the morning thou didst die, and thy wife did bury thee in the Abbey, accompanied with all her neighbours: and I wretch a spirit of purgatory, am appointed to torment thee without ceasing, for that in thy life time thou wert jealous, and didst misuse thy wife without cause, therefore am I appointed to vex thee threescore and ten years without ceasing: and with that having a whip in his hand, the Monk laid it on, and gave him many a shrewd blow: At last he left him and went his way, and told the Abbot what he had done.  
The Abbot as soon as convenient leisure would serve, stole secretly to the Farmer's house, and there got to bed to the goodwife, and every night lay with her while her husband was in purgatory: and every day the Monk went down and allowed him a little pittance of meat and drink: but whipped him most miserably. At last the Farmer grew to be marvelous penitent and repentant for his faults, swearing that if he were alive again, he would never be jealous nor suspicious: earnestly praying his wife that she would forgive him. While thus the poor Farmer was in his purgatory almost whipped to death, and famished, the Abbot and his wife lived in all pleasure and jollity, laughing when they heard the Monk report what the poor man said in his purgatory: At last she perceived that she was with child, & therefore they must needs have a father for it, whereupon they devised to have him out of purgatory, and to bring him home with a miracle. The next day the Monk came to him according to his accustomed manner, and whipped him not, but told him that his wife every day offered a Taper for him, and said so many good prayers, that his sins were remitted, and his punishment forgiven: whereupon he thanked his wife and made a vow, if God should restore him to life (as it was impossible) he would not only leave to be jealous himself, but warn all other men to take heed of the like fault. Thus continued he without whipping by the space of five or six days, and at last the Monk in stead of drink, gave him an other dormative potion, so that he fell a sleep.  
Than the Abbot and the Monk in the night conveyed him into the place where he was buried, and so let him lie. About the hour when he knew he would wake, was the Monk there, feigning himself at prayer: and assoon as ever he saw him stir, he ran away and cried out: upon this all the Monks of the Cloister rose, and asked what the matter was. O quoth he, as I was in prayer by the Farmer's grave, I heard a tumbling and a voice there either of him or of a spirit? with that the Monks went down and found that there was one alive within the Tomb: then they called the Abbot and told him, who slipping on his night gown, ran apace to see the miracle: when he came there, and they were all gathered together, they lifted up the stone, and there lay he tumbling in his sheet: so they took him out and undid him, and he looked wan and gash, but spoke to them and told them, that the Lord at the prayers of his wife had restored him to life, and that he had been in purgatory, and what punishment he had abidden for his jealousy. The Monks were proud of this miracle, and knew that their Abbey should be more famous for this strange wonder, and strait sent for his wife and his neighbours: who when they came, first the Abbot revealed unto them, how that he and his Monks hearing the continual plaints and prayers the poor widow made for her husband; he did likewise with earnest Orisons entreat of God, that if it were his will, he would show a miracle in him, and restore him to life: and now my Masters and friends quoth he, see the difference between the prayers of an Abbot, and the prayers of a lay man: for follow me and you shall see what effect they have taken. With that he carried them into the parlour where the Farmer was, assoon as they saw him, they were all amazed, and his wife fell down in a sound: whereupon reviving her he began to say, fear not wife, nor you gentle neighbours, & doubt not of me▪ for I am by this holy man and my wives prayers restored to life having been in that most vile place of purgato purgatory where there is nothing but darkness and Devils: there I have tormented for all my sins, but especially for my Jealousy being every day punished till my wives prayers delivered me; many a fable beside of his own invention d eclared to them he had seen in purgatory. At last as he v owed to reform his wife fell about his neck and kissed him, every one pleased & all the neighbours rejoiced, and di vers praised the abbot for his holiness. Upon this he and his wife reconciled, walked him home to his house   proclaiming thanks & there left him. This news was cause of great gain by the Abbot of Wickam who grew famous in that country, that all men had him in reverence as very holy and virtuous, and divers came to see the Farmer from far: all which he did certify what he had seen in purgatory, what great punishment for sundry sins but especially for jealousy. Thus he not only exhorted all men from suspicion of their wives, but ever after gave his wife such liberty, that she might at her own pleasure be familiar with the Abbot.  
The Summoner having told his tale, the people commended the great devotion of the Abbot, wishing all jealous fools to pass the like purgatory. The Cobbler he commended all, and said, that they were now welcome to Gravesend: every man to his purse & looked in it for his two pence to pay his fare: and when they had done, they rose and went into the town to drink: and because they went most of them to Caunterburie, they went all to one Inn, where they began to descant and discourse of the tales that had passed: I can quoth the Cobbler remember them all, & very near verbatim collect & gather them together: which by the grace of God gentlemen, I mean to do, and then to set them out in a pamphlet under mine own name, as an invective against Tarlton's news out of Purgatory: and then if you please to sand to the Printer, I will leave a token, that every one of you that told a tale, shall have a Book for his labour. In the mean time till I have perfected it I'll lay my cobblers stool aside, and myself become an Author. I hope you shall find me so fichent in mine En glish, if I would study you would report I might for my wit vie a Lily, green, or any other in excellency of style. They all laughed, paid their shot, and went with the merry Cobbler towards Caunterburie.    
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