The seven sorrows that women have when their husbands be dead. Compiled by Robert Copland. ¶ The excuse of the Author. TO all archewyves' I do pray instantly And to all widows of the second degree Me to excuse, that ignorantly your words to wryth I have taken on me For surely it is of no malignitite But only to comfort young wives that have young loving husbands in their felicity How after their death they may them have. ¶ Prologue of Robert Copland. ¶ Copland. WHy should I muse such trifles for to write Or wanton toys, but for the appetite Of wandering brains, that seek for things new And do not reach if they be falls or true. Quidam. With what news? or here ye any tidings Of the pope, of the Emperor, or of kings Of martin Luther, or of the great Turk Of this and that, and how the world doth work. Copland. So that the tongue must ever wag & clatter And waste their winds, to meddle of each matter Thus been we printers called on so fast That marvel it is, how that our wits can last. Quidam. With have ye the taking of the French king Or what conceptes have ye of laughing Have ye the ballad called maugh murr Or bony wench, or else go from my durre Col to me, or hay down dery dery Or a my heart, or I pray you be merry. Copland. Thus if our heads forged were of brass yet should we wax as dull as any ass And alof baggage nought worth in substance But books of virtue have none utterance As thus, sir I have a very proper book Of moral wisdom please ye their on to look Of else a book of comen consolation. Quidam. tush a straw man, what should I do therewith Hast thou a book of the widow Edith That hath beguiled so many with her words Or else such a geest that is full of boards Let me see, I will yet waste a penny Upon such things and if thou have any. Copland. How say ye by these, will ye bestow a groat Quidam. ye sir so much? nay, that I shorowe my cote A penny I trow is enough on books It is not so soon gotten, as this world looks By saint Mary I cannot tell the brother Money ever goeth for one thing or for other God help my friend, this world is hard & keen They that have it will not let it be seen But let that pass unto another time Have ye not seen a pretty geest in time Of the seven sorrows that these women have when that their husbands been brought to grave. Copland. No I saith, I did never here there of. Quidam. By God and it is a very propre scoff If it were printed, it will be well sold I have heard it or now, full madly told. Copland. It may well be, but I ween I should gyt Displeasure of women if that I print it And that were I loath, for I have always Defended them, and will to my last day. Quidam. Ah ha, than I say be well at ease When ye are afraid women to displease. Copland. What need me get anger, if I may have thank In faith I can not see, but as mad a prank as soon will a man do as a woman why should they be railed and gested on than And to say soothe it is but a fond appetite To geste on women, or against them to write. Quidam. That is truth, if they be good and honest But this is but a merry boarding jeest without reproof, dishonesty or shame That in no wise can appair their good name. Copland. That is good, but have ye any copy That a man might enprynt it thereby And when I see it, than I will you tell. If that the matter be ordered ill or well. Quidam. I have no book, but yet I can you show The matter by heart, and that by words few Take your pen, and write as I do say But yet of one thing, heartily I you pray amend the english somewhat if ye can. And spell it true, for I shall tell the man By my soul ye printers make such english So ill spelled, so ill pointed, and so peevish That scantly one cane read lines tow But to find sentence, he hath enough to do For in good faith, if I should say truth In your craft to suffer, it is great ruth Such pochers to meddle, and can not skill Of that they do, but doth all mar and spill I ensure you, your wardens been thereof to blame It hindereth your gain and hurteth your name How be it, it is all one to me Whether ye thrive, or else nenuer thee. Copland Well brother. I can it not a mend I will no man there of dyscommende I care no greatly, so that I now and than May get a penny as well as I can how be it, in our craft I know that there be Cunning good work men, and that is to see In latin and english, which they have wrought Whose names appeareth, where they be sought But to our purpose, now turn we again And let me begin to write a line or twain. Quidam. With all my heart, but first I pray you say Unto all women that I them heartily pray To have me excused of this homely deed And what I say, of themself take no heed. ¶ The first sorrow. The first sorrow that these women have Is or their husbands be laid in grave And that is double in this manner wise This man full sick in deadly pains lice Many a day, nigh to the hour of death His eyen dymineth, and very short is his breath The flew me rattleth in his breast and throat His powlces beaten, his tongue is rough and hot Physicians forsake him every eachone When that they see his money almost gone Than this poor woman that so hreatly toiled Wrappyge, and warming which many a hand defoiled Doth him behold, and seeth he will die The holy candle she lighteth him by And so he lieth consuming to his end This wife then that busily doth him tend Seing him lie to long in that case With drops and marks in every place considering her good, that is greatly spent And the candle well nigh wasten and brent She looketh on the candle with a doleful ghost Alas saith she, thou art gone almost How shall I for go thy company When thou art gone, I ensure perfitly To my lives need I will have no more For thy sake, I have the loved so Alas good woman full w● art thou But what wilt thou do with him now Bury him, alas thou art there to full loath But though that she be never so wroth It must be done, and so this good woman ordereth all things so well as she can For his burying, and other service So cometh the presses and other likewise As the mourners, and executors Torch bearers, kinsfolk and neighbours Than is the corpse laid on the bear Or in a coffin as the guise is here Than this poor widow clothed all in black Of sorrow be sure she doth nothing lack From her chamber she cometh a down Than for great fere to fall in aswowne Upon her she beareth some confection As powder of pepper, or a red onion And when she cometh three the corpse doth lie Her hands she wringeth piteously Out out alas, what shall I do forth on Would god I were by thy grave anon This sorrow is long, what shall me now betide I beseech jesus thy soul in heaven may bide. ¶ The second sorrow. THe second sorrow that these wives do make Is when four men the corpse on them do take Toward the church, and the priests do sing This woeful widow all way following With beads in hand, in mourning hood God knoweth if sighs do her any good Now thinketh she, here have I much to do And haply this widow hath a short sho That straineth her toes, and doth hurt her foot Than thinketh she, I be shrew the heart rote Of the whoreson souter, it grieveth me so And to the chrche we have far to go Or else she is laced in her new black gown That for straightness she is like to swoon Or else it may fortune so that she Hath in her some loose infirmity Or else the wind doth waste the wax to sore And she knows well that she must pay therefore But when they nigh unto the church be who sorroweth now: for so the none but she I can suppose, being so near the place where he must rest, this is a heavy case Who sigheth now, alas this poor woman For I am sure that she would be as than As far home ward, but she doth take in worth This heavy chance, and woefully goeth forth And to herself all privily doth say what remedy all is well on the way well a way, than said the executor That leadeth her, why make ye this dolour I you ensure that ye do God displease So for to far, but it were more ease For the soul, to say some good oreyson Nothing can help your lamentation Alas sir she sayeth, ye say of certaynete But yet my heart can not so serve me And therewithal she doth weep so fast That her heart tikleth as it would braced O kind woman I blame the not at all Thou would him have in christian burial ¶ The third sorrow. FOrth now than goeth this woeful creature To the third sorrow. I may you well ensure In to the church and sitteth in a pew Full often than changeth all her hew For very faintness, or is to hard embraced Would God saith she that I were unlaced Or else may chance with child that she go Of ten weeks time, or haply of more Or else some qualm may in her stomach rise As women have in many divers wise But for all that this widow sitteth still Putting herself all in gods will Hearing devoutly the divine song A jesus mercy this service is long And she is very sick and would be thence In faith I had liefer that xl pence She were away, so I might her excuse But not so, she will herself sadly use Men shall not say that she would fain be ride Her sorrows shallbe womanly hide And in her prayers, herself occupy Ne were it so that the beggars cry On her so fast and let her for to pray with some good man have these folk away I never saw such folk, and so lewd withstand at the door knaves all be shrewd ye trouble this woman, and it is no need Come to morrow and ye may haply speed Thus is this woman troublously arrayed Till that the last dirge is said And with the corpse walketh to the pit But than in deed hard is to forget Alas saith she, all this business Now were me liefer for to die than life Now will I all my goods away give The mantle and ring, now will I take A las alas, now must I leave my make Far well my joy, thou act gone for ever Ah my poor heart in sunder will shever Ah false death, why hast thou him so slain And leaveth me here in this most woeful pain Thus nevertheless, this man is laid allow And than the priest earth upon him doth throw She seeing that looketh full heavily Upon the clerk, and woefully doth cry A good sweet man, please it the trinity That I were laid upright under thee When this is done though it be to her pain As woe full as she went, she must go home again ¶ The fourth sorrow. Now woeful women jesus be thy speed Hard is to know what life thou wilt lead All this night, when I to me mind call With no more rest than a stone in a wall Now will thou consider thy great cost And how thou hast a good husband loft I mean thy bedfelowe, for he is gone Thus is a new pain for to lie alone Now muse thou must, where thou wast want to plai yet for all this as soon as any day Th●u must a ries and oversee thy house With come here, go there, as busy as a mous Bring this fetch that, care this thence walk hither, run thither, be not long thence Go for him, fetch her and desire them To go with me to the mass of Requiem Lo thus these women can not be out of care But what than yet will they nothing spare To be quite of this charges, and what than? God have mercy on his soul good man I am well a paid that I have brought to pass Thus far forth, now let us go to mass Beshorow me, if I would take such pain On condition to have him again When for this, for that, one thing and other Fie on it Fie, I swear by gods mother ye will not believe what is the exspens For this xl shillings and for that xl penens Here a noble, and there well nigh a pound There goeth a groat, and there a shilling round The priests and clerks, for the knyll and pit And other things, that I am weary of it Here is great sorrow but what remedy Go we to church I pray you heartily I think this sorrow will ever last Maid lay meat to fire for our break fast Against we come home, well well mayitresse ye shall see me do all my business To mass now is the widow on her way Devoutly for her husband to pray There doth she sit, god what how sore mourning Till that the time come of the offering Than for her husband can not fro her mind The most fairest penny that she can find She taketh and in to the quere saying softly that all the priests may here Looking on the penny with woeful eye Full loath am I to departed fro the I can not blame her if she were loath to part With that she loveth well with all her heart Thus with her love, sorrow, and kindness The widow bideth the residue of the mass. ¶ The fifth sorrow. THe fifth sorrow is very dolorous As he is buried and the wife in house Alone is left, and all her neighbours gone Still museth she than making great moan saying, woe is me this time for to see Now must I both husband, and wife be yet what of that I may take such sorrow peraventure to die or to morrow Nay let it be, for I will take no thought Sorrow will right soon bring me to nought Now sith he be gone, well what remedy Other be wyddwes as well as I Than sitteth she sadly down on the bench What jone I say, and called her wench Come hither jone to me is your house dressed: I pray god give all christian souls good rest And with her knife between her fingers two She dallieth, wagging it to and fro With dydle dydle dydle, tyrle tyrle tyrle The brain runneth and there of no terle As in such a case, and than will require O sorrow great, more hot than the fire Now is this woman in great fantasy And no marvel, yet hath she no couse why For haply he was unto her unkind But for all that as clean out of her mind Of womanhood, and eke of here kindness She doth forget his waywerde foolishness And dote perform the tenor of his will And is in purpose his mind to fulfil Remembering greatly how the poor soul is In great peril, if he have left aught amiss And than a gain her own self for to cheer Her maid she calleth as I did say ere Come hither I one and god on my arande God and desire my gossip Coplande My gosseyp Miles, and my gssip Susan My gossip Stodarde, and my neighbour An The good wife Rychardson, & the good wife Gayes And to Peter's vyfe, & pray them straight ways To do so much as to come speak with me And when thou hast done look that thou hie the And take a pot and go to saint johans' head For a quart of Muscadel and new bread ● couple of bounes or maunchettes new bake For I promise thee, my heart doth ache Anon mistress saith she as a good damsel And doth her message right fair and well And when the gossips assembled be What cheer good gossip, than sayeth she and she Be ye of good cheer, and thank god of all This world ye see, doth turn like as a ball Now up, and now down, now to and now fro Now mirth than joy, now care and than woe A good man, god have mercy on thy soul By my troth when I did her the bell toll My heart earned and I shall tell you why Ah good man thou speak full merrily This day seven night and now thou art full low Now by my faith in all this street I trow Is not his fellow in every degree By my soul if ye will believe me I trow he will never out of my mind Surly gossip he was ever kind A jesus how he would you prays His mind was so occupied always On this world, in his mirth and his game I hard him never no man defame Ah gossip, gossip saith this widow than Though I say it he was an honest man He left me so to drive the what a way That I am bound for him daily to pray For by this syluere and wine in this cup And therewith she made a sop saying of gossips my heart is so sore That I care not which end doth go afore And therewith putteth it in to her mouth And swear by him that died in the south There was never sorrow, woe nor smart That ever did go more nearer my heart Alack good woman, take it not so heavily Saith her gossips, lest that ye die Now he is gone, there is no better reed Thus this widow they comfort every day The best they can, to drive her care a way ¶ The sixth sorrow. Now hath this widow, thanked be jesus Performed the burying, as to her is due Sadly and wisely me need not to tell She hath behaved her there in so well That I dare swear if it chance her again She can it do with less cost and pain But for all that she is to him so kind Thao she will not forget his months mind Nor his annwersary at the years end She doth so well that each doth here commend She runneth not hourly fro house to house But keepeth home as duly as a mous early she riseth and lieth down late And laboureth sore to keep her estate Walking sadly in town and street Without acquaintance of them that she meet And sometime heareth how folk doth der prays Unus See ye yonder widow that goeth that ways I ensuer you she is a sad woman By my troth if I were a sengleman If I had forty pound and forty there by I could find in my heart to make her lady. Alyus. ye but I pray you is she of any substance That would make a man any furtherance. Unus ye by saint Marry I hold her well at ease I tell you if that ye could her please Or have her good will than were it cock For better it were to have her in her smock Than some other that hath more good It is a great treasure to have womanhood. Alius. That is truth, but I shall tell you one thing Many that been so smooth in their going Been also shrewd as is the devil of hell And never cease, but ever fight and yell Ever unquiet, and always chide and brawl And that fretteth a man both heart and gall And many times in stead of flesh or fish A deed man's head is served in a dish And he there with is made so very mate That house and profit he doth in manner hate For I have heard a hundred times and more That wives & smoke cause men there house to for go Unus He that is afraid to tread on the grass Through meadows I counsel him not to pass He must adventure that shuche a thing will have Often he for goeth, that feareth for to crave Thus been these wowers ever in great doubt That sometime do bring their matter so a bout That they went to have God by the cote And have the devil fast a bout the throat As I have herd say I wot not what it meaneth The matter goeth not as some folk weeneth But what of that, we must forth on proceed To our widow, jesus be our speed She liveth so well and so honestly That all her knowledge wooeth her company From the tavern, dances, and common players And wanton may games, she kepeht her always Pleasant pilgrimages, wylsdon and Crome She seeketh not, but tarrieth still at home So chanceth it, that on a festfulday When that folk wandered ●o pastime and play This woman at home hath a delight to be safe to the door no farther walketh she And on threshold fortuneth to sit Than some neighbour happeneth to see it And to her cometh to pastime and to talk For she no lust hath, a broad as than to walk with good even fair widow, how do ye to day well I thank you as a lone woman may That hath great charges, and but small counsel well neighbour saith he, all thing shall be well Thanked be God ye be out of det God have his soul that hath you so well set ye need not to sequester under the bishop And that is seen by our warehous and shop And I am sure there is much owing you Mary saith she I can not show you how For he occupied much more without Than within, and that causeth me doubt How to get inward that other men have And I am ashamed on them for to crave For all my sorrow, pain, and thought Is for to gather, that to him was aught For he was free, and lent it here and there To them that would brow every where How be it, yet for his own soul sake Here and there somewhat I will ay take As they may pay, for I will none trouble For I ensure you, though that it were double I set not by it, but I will have all right As nigh as I can of every wight For what by tail, by writing and by score I am right sure there is aught me more Than I will say, and that they would marvel One can not live with scoring on the tail Noywys neighbour, and that you know full well As well as I, me need not their offo● to tell For it is a new thing for to take in hand To order all things right as it should stand For one that is but little wont there to No remedy but it must needs be do But how be it I shall tell you what If I could well rule and guide all that Without the door as I can that with in I would not care therefore scantly a pin But or it be long, neighbour I trust It shall be ordered partly as I lust ye, ye, neighbour saith he I dare trust your wit That well enough ye will purvey for it And what I can do ye shall find me ready When that ye need, both late and early And far you well I take my leave as now Neighbour she saith, I pray god thank you. ¶ The vii sorrow. UOis last sorrow, if any sorrow be Is so the widow of her chairte Now must perform her husbands intent Touching his will, his mind and tesstament And so she doth, as nigh as she can So that no where there is any man That can demand of right and duty But she them pleaseth well and honestly So that her name is so well spread That many delighteth her for to wed Wovers come with many a proud offer Some with love, and other some with proffre Some come gaily, and all in pleasure Some come poorly with countenance demure Some launcheth money largely fro their pouches Some showeth tynges, jewels, and rich ouches Some sendeth her a tokne or a Capon Some sendeth her wine, other sendeth venison And all for to kindle, and set her heart on fire To cause her to bow, and follow their desire But this widow as steadfast as a wall As she well can, thanketh them greatly all Excusing her as she can do full well For certain causes more that I can tell How be it perchance that she would fain But she casteth in her mind again if I should wed and hold me unto one That might fortune all this cheer were gone Me think I lead a meetly mety life Which I should not if that I whre a wife To bed I go and rise when I will All that I do is reason and skill I command other but nove commandeth me And eke I stand at mine own liberty How be it I do note in consynence Whether to wed or live in continence For I am young, and may the world increase And unto me it is full hard to cease The wanton delight, that young women have And furthermore my good name for to save For the resort that here do come daily I take such thought, and so much care that I Wot not well in what estate to abide For if a young man should me betide That were to sharp, or hath no worldly shift Than might I say a dew far well my thrift And if I should him in any wise contrary Than might perchance that we two should vart In the devils name, peke thee out at the door And so me beat, saying old wyddred hore Or lay to pledge such as I have, or sell yet had I liefer never with none to mell if he be old and a wayward wight He is ill to please, either day or night Ever humming at this thing and that And always chiding, and wots not for what And if he fall once in ialowsy The devil than troubleth his fantasy Thus I ne wot by god and by my soul How that I may now myself control He that I had, me thought was very ill But if god pleased I would I had him still So than this widow he self to comfort Unto a friend of hers doth resort With her neighbours, and going be the way They chance to walk over an old raw say Which is to broke, and the pavement ●ore Than taketh she upher clothes afore For filing, remembering her husbands intent Thai ever amended that broken pavement saying our lord jesus grant him his grace That was wont to lay stones in this place But if that I may live an other year They shallbe laid as well as ever they were Ah true widow, so true, loving and kind Thy husbands deeds be not fro thy mind Now all true widows as ye do intend In all our sorrows christ you comfort send. ¶ Finis. deo laus et honour. Envoy of. R. Copland ●O little quayre, god give the well to sail To that good sheppe, cleped Bertelet For through it thou mayst the more prevail Against the rocks, that blindly been yset Up on the land thy substance for to fret And from all nacyous, if that it be thy lot Lest thou be hurt, meddle not with a Scot ¶ And to thy readers, as custom is to say Do thy devoir, but to widows chiefly desiring them to take it as in play For that to do, was mine intent truly desiring them to accept my fantasy And to amend thine english where is need For to pastime mine intent was in deed. ¶ Explicit ¶ Imprented at London in Lothburi over against Saint Margarytes church by me William Copland.