THE RAVEN'S Almanac  
Foretelling of a Plague, Famine, and Civil War.  
That shall happen this present year 1609. not only within this Kingdom of great Britain, but also in France Germany, Spain, and other parts of Christendom.  
With certain remedies, rules, and receipts, how to prevent▪ or at least to abate the edge of these universal Calamities.  
LONDON Printed by E. A. for Thomas Archer, and arto be sold at his Shop in the Popes-head-Pallace near the Royal Exchange. 1609.   

To the Lions of the Wood (the young Courtiers) to the wild Bucks of the Forest (the Gallants and younger Brothers) to the Hearts of the field, and to all the whole Country that are brought up wisely, yet prove Gulls: and are borne rich, yet die beggars: the new English ginger dedicateth his ravens Almanac.  
O You Lions of the Wood! (you young Courtiers) that are kept warm under the wings of Princes and Kings of Christendom, well may I call you the Lions of the Wood: for this year of 1609. shall you range up and down the woods, Pa●ks, and Chases, which were left unto you by your ancestors, full of tall trees: that stood like so many a●medmen to defend your noble houses from falling, and your Country from the cold storms of winter: But now I say and prophecy it (with a Raven-like voice) that like Lions robbed of their y●ung, shall you go up and down madding and raging to see your ancient honours defaced and the memory of your forefathers buried as it we●e (so far forth as the cruelty of these latert devowring days could reach unto) even under the roots of whose stately Oaks, whose glories they▪ raised to a full height, but now have their heads hid beneath the earth. The property of a Lion is to fear a Cock; So likewise shall you this year (if not be afraid) yet be loa●h to hear the voices of Mercer's, tailors, haberd a sher●, Sempsters, etc. who like Cocks, will (I gather by the rules of my Art, stand crowing betimes at your Chamber doors for money. And like a Bellman (with papers in their hands) watch to strike you down with heavy and unconscionable Items. Gather yourselves therefore together in herds, and like Lions indeed fright them with your subtle looks, or else like Elephants carry whole Castles on your backs, and furnish those Castles with good store of gold and silver, so will they be afraid to assault you: let not your strength or courage lie altogether like the Lions in your tail, but rather in the paw: Stretch forth that boldly, and whatsoever it fastens vpp●n (albeit it should be a whole Lordship, yet let it not go till you have torn it in sunder, and made it more level than Salisbury-plaine: and O you the wild Bucks of the Forest (I mean the Gallants and younger Brothers of this or any other kingdom) look that you preserve well the horns of that abundance, left unto you by your scraping and careful Fathers, lest they tall into the hands of usurers' (who commonly are the keepers of your Lands) as forfeits, or rather (as their fees) make the pales of their parks where you run high: that neither you breakeout of them, nor others break them down, and so sctter you. Suffer no rascal dear to run amongst you, that is to say, no Panders, Buffoons, English Gulls, nor Parasites: bear up your hea●s bravely, and not too proudly, for I find by the conjunction of some planets, that this year many of you 〈◊〉 hunted by Marshals men, Bailiffs and Catchpoles: & that some will be driven to take soil in the bottomless ●uers of the two Counters, they will so hard● be pursued either by Grey hounds of that bre●d, orelse by Flee●e-houndes, whose feet 〈◊〉 swift and sent as good. I find likewise that a number of you will fall into certain toils, which shall be pitched day and night for you by certain greedy hunters called Punks: they are not m●ch differing from witches, for they take upon them sometimes the shapes of beasts, and being amongst your herds are struck in steed of D●es, but they prone barren Does, yet are they of the nature of Dogs, and more nimble than Norfolk tumblers, and more eager than blood-houndes, if they have their game before them.  
(O you likewise the hare● of the field!) that is to say, the Punies and young Fry of the L●we, to you among the rest doth my Raven open her bill: listen therefore to her ominous voice, for she prognosticateth that many plagues will fall upon you. Read you only the Dog-days of this Almanac, for when the Sun entereth into Leo, and that is in the middle of the year, and out of Term time, you shall find it will be exceeding hot walking up and down Fleetstreet or Holborn, especially for those that all this last Christ●uas have given out in Cheapside amogst the Mercers, that they must be Revellers.  
It is threatened also by those celestial influences, that work no● in heaven for nothing, that you will this year by reason of certain bitter frosts which shall drive you to drink burnt sack, rather desire to plead at a Tavern bar, and wrangle for a reckoning, then at a Westminster bar, and wear your Gowns threadbare, by shouldering one another about Clients causes, and that yet notwithstanding you shall so ply the cases of the common Law that you shall no●e aswell in term time, as in the vocation, till you have no feathers left on your backs, howbeit I note and find it w●itten by an old jewish Rabben, that you shall be lusty enough for all your sweeting and moiling and so full of hea●th, th●t you will scorn to keep your beds, but for more security▪ put the brokers of Long lane in trust to keep them for you. I read likewise that you will be so 〈◊〉 with vain glory, fantasticallitie, Pride, Bragatisme, Apishnes of wit, Ridiculous Manners, swaggering and a thousand such byangles, that you will be glad to leave all form, (like a Hare being frighted with the yelping of a kennel of hound's.) Besides it is quoted by the best-Star-gazars, and 〈…〉 egregiously weatherbeaten to this science, ●oth as I remember, consta●ly affirm it, that Little tun (for all his lay●e), shall in Mi●haelmas Term next, be not only thrust out of Commons, but being found lying poorly (in a plain suit of Sheepes-skin) upon a Stall, shall not be worth six pence.  
As for you that are to be my quarter Patrons, or the fourth shares in this my dedication, you that are the meet sons of Citizens, who never heard any music but the found of Bow-bells you that all your lives time scarce travail to Gra●esend, because you are sworn to keep within the compass of the freedom: You whose wits rests only for two ways, money, and to bear offices in the parish. I place you in the latter end of this preface to the ravens calendar, though you deserve to stand like Dominical letters (at the beginning of every week in red, because you a●e of the golden age, or rather you are the Golden number to 1609. Yet give me leave to tell you that this year will bring many miseries upon your heads, yet shall it happen well enough to many of your fraternity, because even when those storms are upon coming, which by all Astrological predictions must happen, you will be sure and so wise, as to hide your heads, and not put them out a doors. Beware of combinations, conspiracies, and copartnerships, knit amongst yourselves for th● surprising of Plutus the God of ●iches: for let the league be never so strongly tied, yet it is thought that at the least four times in the year ●ome of you will break.  
To bring which stratagem the better to pass, I mean that of undermining, breaking in upon you, & blowing you up, I find that not only Co●rtiers but also Captains and your best men of war, will never give over till they be grea● in your books and when you have put most trust into them, then will they get the gates of the City, issue bravely forth to save themselves, leaving you to the me●cy of your cruel e●en i●e, sergeant and Creditors.  
Thus have I drawn a pair of Indentures. quadrupartite betwe●ne you my worthiest and most openhanded Patron●, sealing you up all four together, in the bonds of my l●ue. I bestow upon you this first chicken of mine, hatched out of my Astronomical brainpan: and because every Almanac makes as it were a Stage-play of the year, dividing it into fourepartes, or rather plays the executioner with it, by cutting it into quarters, To each one of you do I therefore send a quarter: climb up then and behold what nest my Raven hath builded (this year 1609.) But carry the minds and manhood of true Patrons, neither suffer any critics to pluck off her feathers, nor offer you unto her that indignity yourselves. And thus because much fowl weather is toward (if any Calendar tell no lies) and that I am loath to have you stand in a storm, I bid you farewell, dated the 1. Ides of the first month of this first great Platonical and terrible year. 1609.  
●. decker's.   

THE ravens Almanac.  
The Dominion of the Moon in Man's body. Aries The head and face.  
Gemini Arms & shoulder  
Leo Heart & backet  
Libra Reins & lines.  
Sagitari the Thighs Aquarius●egges ●egges.  
Taurus' Necks & throat. Cancer. Breast stomach & Lungs. Virgo●uts ●uts & belie,  
Scorpio secrets & bladler,  
Caprico nus the knees.  
pisces The Feet.  
AT the beginning of every Almanac, it is the fashion to have the bo●i● of a man drawn as you see and not only ●aited, but bitten and shot at by wild beasts and monster's, And this fellow, they that lie all the year long (that is to say, those that deal with Calendars) call the Man of the Moon, or the moons man, or the man to whom the Moon is mistress But how ridiculous a shape do they bestow upon the silly wretch? he stands as if he had been some notorious malefa●or, and being stripped stark naked, to go to execution: do not those Roundels hang about him, sh●w like so many pardons, tied to the parts of his body with Labels? or rather does he not look (when he lies along) like a thee●e begged for an Anatomy in Surgeon's Hall, so many Barbers figured in those beasts (slashing and slycing, and quartering & cutting him up, truly he does.  
But why (in the name of the moon, & the rest of the Planets) do both our Neotericall and the more antic Astronomers, publish every year in print, that every man's body dwells thus at 12. Signs? Is man such an ass that he cannot find his own self without the help of so many signs? or were there none but tradesmen in the world, when Almanacs were first invented? for all men know, that Noblemen, Gentlemen, and those of the best and foremost ranks in any commonwealth use to dwell at no sign at all: much labour therefore me thinks might be saved by the Printers every year, and much cost by the Stationers, if they would cross this poor creature out of their books. For what Cuckold (unless his horns hang too much in the light of his wit● will not swear that Aries (which signifies a Ram) doth govern the head? Is he not thereupon in mockery, or rather to put him in mind of the points of the ravens Almanac (called a Ram-headed Cuckold? And what Butcher's wife, (nay almost what Butchers Dog) or what gamester that loves the Bear-garden, but knows that Taurus (the Bul) dominieres over the neck, yea, and sometimes breaks the neck of the strongest Mastiff that sets upon him? Will not the least Fishmongers boy assure you (either in lent or in the open times) that Cancer the Crab, is very good meat for the breast, Stomach and ribs: else wherefore should our Lechers buy them up so fast? And I pray ask any Wench if she once arrive at thirteen, if Virgo (the Virgin) bear not a great stroke over the bowels and the belly? As for the secret members, it may well be said that Scorpio (the Scorpion) has to do with them because many times in the year they are bitten as it were with the stings of Scorpions, for their evil doing. And wisely did the Moon appoint (in the lowerhouse of heaven) that Capricornus the Goat, should govern the knees of Gemini● for the Goat being of all Beasts most lecherous, it is a moral, that those men who run after nothing but wenches, must (by course of nature) be brought on their knees. Now that Gemini (the Twins) have a hand over the arms & shoulders, (either of man or woman:) every woman that hath had two children at a b●rth, or every countri● Nurse that hath given suck to a couple at one time, will I am sure testify. Then doth Leo, the Lion rule the heart ●nd back: the meaning of which is, to make men ashamed of cowardice, whose hearts are no bigger than chickens hearts: But what Gr●cer, Silkman, Apothecary, or any other that handles the Scales of City justice, but can swear, and all the world knows they never swear but truly, that Libra, the Balance, holds the measure of the reins and Loins: for if, those members have not their full weight, all the body pays for it. As for the Things, over which Sagitarius the Archer, carries sway, any Fletcher in Grub-streete, or any that ever shot in a Long-bows, either at Butts or at Pricks, will if the case were to be decided, stand to the proof thereof. The Legs are next, and that those are governed by Aquarius, the Waterman, any Sculler, whose legs get his living by a Stretcher, will not deny it. We are now as low as the feet, whose steps are guided by Pisces, the two Fishes, any man that walks into Fish-street for a fish dinner, knows the moral of that.  
And thus have I shown unto you the right natures and meaning of these Celestial governors, according to that true and new doctrine of the Science Astrological, whose mysteries have been for the good of this year 1609. revealed to me: and therefore do I request you my Countrym●n especially, for whose benefit I have made only this privy search amongst the Stars, to account all other quarterings of man's sinful body, as barbarous and butcherly, and the rules that teach how to do it, frivolous and ridiculous.  

The twelve months of this year. 1609.  
NOw if I fought under the colours of vulgar Astronomers should I strike up my drum, and lead into the field the 12. months, marching in single File one after another, every month wearing in his Cap, instead of a Feather, four unhandsome rhymes, teaching men when to eat hot meats, and when to drink n●w wines with every gull (that has money in his purse, and hunts out any 〈◊〉) can do● without a Calendar.  
Then should eu●ry month have his followers, some of them being thrifty in n●mber, some ●1. only one (by ●ailing into decay, or else because he keeps but a cold house, keeping but 28. And amongst these Servingmen or retainers, should I give you the names of the Gentlemen who go in red, and wea●e Dominical Letters on their winter and Sommerliveries, as badges to distinguish their month from the rest: but scorning to have a hand in g●●uding such base c●llours, suffer me to carry up your thoughts upon nimbler wings, where (as if you sat in the most perspicuous place of the twopenny Gallecy, in a playhouse) you shall clearly, and with an open eye behold all the parts, which I (your new ginger) act amongst the Starts, and those are these:  
The workadays of every month this year, shall not be kept as they have been in years before: for by means of certain disease that are likely to reign amongst tradesmen, as the lazy evil, the Letharg●e, which is a forget fullness of our own estate: dizines of the head, (caused by the fumes of good drink) and such like: Men of occupations shall in spite of order or the rules of Almanacke-writers, turn wor●y-dayes into holidays: yea, and women shall this year hold holidays in such base contempt, that though their husbands do then shut up shop, and utter not their wares, yet shall the wives fall to work in their secret Chambers.  
Amongst Gentlemen that have full purses, and those that cry trillil, let the world slide, the week shall run out so quickly and so merrily, that on the Saturday ●orning it shall be hard for them to tell whether the day that went before were friday.  
The same loss of memory will fall upon many that shall go drunks to bed: but to those who shut themselves up in Counters and other places of dear reckoning, because they hate the vanities of the world, And to those that shall be whipped either with French birch, or be struck with any English disease, the shortest day in winter shall seem more tedious, yea, and indeed shahllave more hours thine Saint Barnabies day, which is the longest in the year: The sundays, (as if it were Leap years) shall b● a number be leapt over, so that a blindness falling into their eyes they shall not for four or five, or sire months together, be able (by the help of those that make the best waters to reco●er sight, or to cure sore eyes) to see a Church, but shall be struck with such Migraines and turnings of the brain, that instead of going to Church, they will (if my Art fall me not) stumble into ●●●uerne. The Dog days will all this year reign thrice, or twice every week at least, & that very hotly, but their soarest rage will be about the Bear-garden.  
As touching the r●sing and setting of the Sun, it will be more strange this year then ever it was: for albeit he shine ne●er so brightly in our Horizon yet there are certain persons (& those no small fools neither) that shall not have power at high noon to behold it. The Moon (like a Bowl) will keep her old bias, only she will be very various in her influence: for as well men as women shall be more mad in the other quar●ers then in that wherein are played such tricks by the Midsummer Moon.  
I have a months mind to travel thus through the whole year, but the glass which time bestows upon me, being not ●ed with many hours, I must he●re hoist up new Sails, & discover (as it were four several countries) the four Seasons of the year.   

A Description & prediction of the four quarters of the year. 1609.  

Of Winter.  
WInter, the sworn enemy to Summer, the friend to none but Colliers and Woodmongers: the frost-bitten churie the hangs his nose still over the 〈◊〉 dog that bites equites, and the devil that cuts down trees, the unconscionable binder up of Uint●ers Faggots and the only consumer of burnt Sack and Sugar: This Cousin to death, further to sickness, and brother to old age, shall not show his hoary baldpate in this climate of ours according to our usual computation, upon the 12. day of december, at the first entering of the Sun into the first minute of the sign Capricorn, when the said Sun shall be at his greatest South Declination from the Equinoctial line, and ●o forth, with much more such stuff than any mere Englishman can understand: no my countrymen, never beat the bush so long to find out Winter, where he lies like a beggar shivering with cold, but take these from me as certain, and most infallible rules, know when Winterplomes are ripe & ready to be gathered.  
When Charity blows her nails, & is ready to starve, yet not so much as a Watchman will lend her a flap of his freeze Gown to keep her warm: when tradesmen shut up shops, by reason their frozen-hearted Creditors go about to ●ip them with beggary: when the price of seacoal riseth, and the price of men's labours falleth: when every Chimney casts out smoke, but scarce any door opens to ●ast so much as a maribons to a Dog to gn●w: when beasts ●ie for want of fodder in the field; and men are ready to famish for want 〈◊〉 in the City: when the first word that a Wench speaks at your coming into her Chamber in a morning is, Prithee send for some faggots, and the best comfort a Lawyer heats you withal is, to say, what will you ogive me? when old men and their wives divide the holy bed of marriage; When gluttons blow their Pottage cool them: and Prentices blow their their nails to heat them: and lastly when the Thames is covered over with ice, & men's hearts caked over and crusted with cruelty: Then mayst thou or any man be bold to swear 'tis winter.  
Now because I find in the Ephemerideses of heaven, certain unlucky Critical, and dangerous days set down, whose foreheads are full of plagues, and under whose wings are hid other dismal miseries, that threaten this Region: It shall not be amiss if first I open the bosom of Winter, and show unto you what diseases hang upon him.  
I find therefore that .12. great and grievous plagues, shall especially fall upon the heads of this our English nation: and those are these, viz.  
1. Saint Paulus plague is the first, yea, and one of the heaviest, & that is, when a man hath never a penny in his purse, credit with his Neighbours, nor a hole to hide his head in: alack, how many poor people will lie languishing of this disease? how many that have bowling Alleys, nay, how many that walk in the middle I'll of Paul's in reasonable good clothes, will be struck with this plague? it is hardex to reckon them, then to reckon up the Uertúes of a woman which are without end.  
2. Saint Chads plague is next, and that is, when a man that travels hath a long journey, a tired horse, and little money: this plague threatens many poor Yorkshire Clients, and, unless they keep it off with their hooks, some welshmen.  
3. Saints Benet's plague is the third, & that is, colde-cheare, hot words, and a Scolding wife: many Cobblers will be subject to this disease, but not lie long for it, but every day be of the mending hand, marry it is thought their wives will prove worse and worse.  
4. Saint Magnus' plague is next, but not altogether so dangerous as the former, and that is, when a man is rich, enjoys it but a while, and leau●s a fool behind him to spend it: It is doubted that some rich Citizens and others cannot escape this plague.  
5. Saint Tronions plague steps into the fifth place, and that is when a man is old in years, yet a child in discretion: when his wife is a drunkard, and his daughter a Wanton, and his Servant a pilferer, this plague is expected to fall upon brokers, their bodies being subject to much infection, and their consciences to corruption, So that 'tis thought Lord have Mercy upon us will stand on most of the doors in Houns●itch and Long-lane, and that people who love themselves, will shun those places and those persons, as being able to poison a whole City.  
6. Saint Bridge●s plague is likely to be very hot, and that is, when a Maideis ●aire and has no portion, of ripe years, yet troubled with the green sickness, and longs for a husband, yet nobody woes her. This plague of all the rest, though it will spread far, yet will it prove so mortal, because those that shall be struck with it, have a trick to help themselves.  
7. The wives plague follows in the seau●nth rank, and that is, when a woman has a husband that is very poor, yet jealous young, yet a hasty fool. Seruingmen wives is thought will die of this disease or if not die yet lie for it a long time.  
8. The Black plague is when a man hath much to pay, little to spend, and an unmerciful Creditor: this black plague will fly over into the Low-countries, and sorely trouble our English Soldiers, who feed upon provant, and take more care how to wipe of O's in chalk, them to win a town from the enemy.  
9 The friars plague, is no holy Plague, but a hollow plague, and that is when a man sees or smells good cheer, has an excellent stomach, but knows not how to get it: if any complain of this sickness, it will be the Guard, and those that are the bare attandants at Court, or else such as walk snuffing up and down in winter evenings through Pye corner, yet have no silver to stop Colon.  
10. The devils Plague is one of the most damned plagues of all, and that is, when a man is married to a wanton, must be beholden to his enemy, yet dares not be revenged. The tokens of this plague will stand thick upon a number of young bankrupts, who have had dealing with Courtiers.  
11. The Horn plague is too well known, and so comm●n, that albeit it be incurable, yet none can die of it: that ●●ing plague takes a man first in the head, and he ●ickens of it, that is a Cuckold, a wittal and a Suffragan: In very many parishes will there he house's infected with this pestilent disease.  
12. God's plague is the last and the most heavy, and that is when a man hath much wealth and no conscience, continual health, but is past grace, and can talk of God, yet keeps company with the ●●uill This plague sore strikes to the heart, & will st●cke by many, enen of the better sort: Besides these Capital Plagues there be many boils, Carbunckles and blisters (not so mortal as the other) that will lie sucking the bones of the common people▪ For Hackney-men are likely to smart this year, in letting out good Horses to Citizens, & having them turned home like tired jades, the reason being that Citizens, Scholars and Sailors, think a horse never goes fast enough, though he run a main gallop, and no sooner are they set in the saddle but they ride post.  
And slthence upon Saint Luke's day bitter storms of wind and ●aile are likely to happen about Cuckold's haven, it foreshoweth a strange mortality amongst Caterpilliers, especially towards Catch poles, who this year shall die so thick, that in all the 24. wards in London, nor in all those 109. parishes that stand in those wards, will there ●ee found one honest man living of that clapping vocation.  
Take heed you my nimble fingered Gentlemen, that come to your possessions by five and a reach: you Foists, Nips and Coney catchers, that sit at Duke Humphreis own table, and turn● your commodities into money upon the Exchange: I advise you all to purge your ●oules, & let blood your consciences, for otherwise a Hempon plague will so hang upon you, that the pest-cart of Newgate will carry your bodies away in heaps to be buried under Tyburn.  
O you common Fiddlers likewise that scrape out a poor living out of dried Catsguts: I prophecy that many of you shall this year be troubled with abominable noises and singing in your heads, insomuch that a great part of you shall die beggars, and those that survive shall feed upon melody for want of meat, playing by two of the clock in a frosty morning under a ●indow, and then be mocked with a 〈◊〉 tied (through a hole) to a string, which shall be 〈◊〉 to make it jingle in your ●a●s, but presently be drawn up again, whilst you rake in the 〈◊〉 for a largesse.  
O you generation of Apes without tails, made so only to make 〈◊〉! you Players that cry out your comedies: you that feed upon the honey of other men's wits, yet have nothing in your bowels but gall: a pestilent 〈◊〉 will run over all your bodies: look therefore to yourselves betimes, and let some skilfull-water-caster to't upon your urinal: cast away a groat upon yourselves, for many have been cast away upon you: four penny worth of physic may do you four pounds worth of good, for I spy by your colours that you are infected with pride, looseness of life, Inconstancy, ingratitude, and such like crude & indegested humours, & reumaticke diseases▪ So that both P●olomy and Avicen set this down as a principle, that Saint julian's plague (which is not dreamt amongst you yet) shall light on your heads, And that is, you shall wear gay clothes, carry lofty looks, but a number of you (especially the hirelings be with empty purses at least twice a week. But if any of you be so provident as to Phlebotomize, or to buy pills to evacuate these rotten infectious impostumes, yet he shall not escape this plague, he shall be glad to play three hours for two pence to the basest stinkard in London, whose breath is stronger than Garlic, and able to poison all the 12. penny rooms: you see a far of how sharp a winter we are like to have, let us now try if the spring will proou● any more cheerful.   

Of the Spring.  
SPring, the Bride of the Sun, the Nosegay giver to weddings, the only and richest Hearbe-wife in the world: the rarest Gardner, sweetest perfumer, cunningest Weaver, noblest Musician, for all sorts of Birds are her Scholars, this mother of health, physician to the seek, Surgeon to the wounded: this daughter of plenty, and Sister to Summer, comes not in attired in her green robes, as 'tis published in print, upon the 10 day of March, as it were in Maies triumph after the sun (with an Herculean Uigor) hath conquered his twelve labours, and (like a skilful Charioteere) hath driven his golden waggon through the twelve signs, ready on that tenth day (as some give out) to begin his race again, by making his entrance upon the first minute of the Equinoctialt sign of the Ram whose horns stand in such an even proportion a sunder that the day and night take them for their measure, and are contented to be of an equal length.  
But shall I tell you at what sign the Spring dwelleth? cast up your eyes and behold, for by these marks shall you know her when she comes. When the nightingale ●its ●inging with a brier at her breast, & the adulterer (that ravished Philomel) sits singing at the Thorns which prick his conscience: When young tears put on new liveries, and old whoremongers pull off vizards of their vices: when the earth bears all kinds of flowers, and the Courts of Princes bring forth all sorts of virtue: when Gardens begin to be dressed, and the Church to be mended: when beasts wax wanton by nature, (without violating her laws,) only to multiply their kind for the good of man: & when men no longer put themselves into the shapes of beasts. Then and only then do the vernal gates fly wide open, then mayst thou be sure to swear it is the Spring.  
But as your fairest faces hath often times the sowlest bodies, so this beautiful daughter of old janus (who is Master Porter to the twelve months) is by dealing with some few unwholesome Planets, thought not to be free from diseases. A spice therefore of one plague or other, will lie in her tender bones, by with means the spring to some people (especially the French, and as it is thought the English cannot go scotfree) prove as fatal and as bus●e in privy Searches, as the fall of the Leaf.  
The breasts of this delicate young bedfellow to the Sun will so flow with the Milk of profit and plenty, that (of all other men) players, by reason they shall have a hard winter, and must travel on the hoof, will lie sucking there ●or pence and two pences, like young Pigs at a Sow newly farrowed.  
It is like wise thought that in this time of copulation between the planets & the earth, 〈◊〉 years will grow up so thick that they will scarce live one by another, & most of them shall be to their Clients as ●a●es are to a field of Corn, they shall prosper best when they choke those by whom they are nourished: yet on the contrary side shall maidenheads be so scant, that if five hundred be to be had over night, four hundred & nine teens of those will be struck of before the next morning.  
The disposition of this season is to be hot and moist: by which means those moist-handed creatures, whose bloods begin to feel warmth, when the spring of desire boils; within them, shall have the other quality likewise, they shall be hot in their tongues: But if any woman happen to fall into that pestilent infirmity, let the poor man upon whose hands any such light commodities lies, apply this medicine, for it is apresent cure.  

A Medicine to cure the Plague of a woman's tongue, experimented on a cobblers wife.  
A M●●y Cobbler there was, (dwelling at Ware) who for joy that he mended men's broken & corrupted soles, did continually sing, so that his shop seemed a very bird cage, & he sitting there in his foul linen and greasy Apron, showed like a black bird. It was this poor souter's destiny not to be hanged, but (worse than that) to be married: & to what creature think you? to a fair, to a young to a neat delicate country Lass, that for her good parts was able to put down all War●: but with all this honey that flowed in her, did there drop such abundance of gall and poison from her Scorpion-like tongue, that monsieur Shoo-mender wished his life were set upon the shortest last, and a thousand times a day was ready to die Caesar's death: O valiant Cordwaynerland to stab himself not with a bodkin, but with his furious Awl, because he knew that would go through stitch: he never took up the ends of his thread, but he wished those to be the ends of his thread of life: he never pard his patches, but he wished his knife to be the shears of the fatal Sisters three, he never handled his Ball of wax but he compared them to this wife, & sighe● to think that he that touches pitch, must be de●●led.  
Now did his songs as heavily come from him as music does from a Fiddler, when in a Tavern he plays for nothing. Now did signior Cobbler stand no more on his pantofles, but at his shutting in of shop, could have been content to have had all his neighbours have thrown his old sho●es after him when he went home, in sign of good luck.  
But alas, he durst not do that neither, for she that played the Devil in woman's apparel (his wife I mean) made her Cavalero Cobbler, to give her account every night of every patch that went through his fingers. In this purgatory did our graduate in the Gentle craft live a long time, but at length he was thrust into hell, for his wife (not following the steps of her husband, who was ever on the mending hand, but growing from bad into worse) cast aside her Wedding stockings, & drew on a pair of yellow hose: then was my miserable Cobbler more narrowly watched than a Mouse by a Cat, or a debtor by a Catchpole: he durst not unlock his lips after a Wench, but his teeth were ready to fly out of his head with her ●eating: to have touched any Petticoat but his wife was more dangerous then for a Cat to eat fire: if any maid brought but her shoes to mending, his wife swore presently that he had the length of her foot, and that he sowed loue-●●itches into every piece, though it were no bigger than a Chandler's token.  
Wearied therefore with this (worse than a bearbaiting) and being almost worn to the ●are-bones, his heart fretting out even to the elbows by rubbing up and down in this misery, At the length my brave boote-haler sifted his wits to the very bran, for some hook to fasten into his wives nostril's, and the pill which he found either to choke her or p●rge her, was this:  
A Doctor of whom all Ware was afraid, because the vicar of the town sucked more sweetness out of his Patients whom he sent to him (by reason all that came under his hands, went the way of all flesh (than out of all his tithe-Pigs) ha●ned to dwell close by this distressed Cobbler: to him (having saved his water over night) repairs my reformer of decayed Shoe-leather, betimes in the morning. The Bonjour being given and returned, the cobblers water was looked into, much tossing and tumbling of it there was for a pretty while, and at last it was demanded whose the Urine should be? Mine (quoth the Cobbler) So it may be replied our Galenist, for I spy neither any disease swimming about thy body in this water, and thy very looks show that thou art sound: Sound, (cries out the infected Cobbler) alas sir I see now that some diseases have power to make dunces of Doctors themselves, Sound (quoth a) why sir I am sick at heart, I am struck with the Plague, I have a Plague sore upon me (your Doctors Capis not able to cover it, 'tis so broad) it eats and spreads more and more into my flesh, and if you apply not some present remedy, Ware must & shall trudge to some other, when their old shoes want mending, for the Cobler's but a dead man.  
At this the Doctor stood amazed, and wondered that his skill should shoot so wide as not to find out a grief so common, so dangerous and so palpable: whereupon he bidding the Cobbler to open his breast, and not to fear to show him that Plague-sore, where of he so complained: the Cobbler presently told him he would but step forth of doors, and at his return he should see it: at length the Cobbler comes back again with his wife ●orne on his back like a Sow new scalded on the back of a Butcher, and for all her kicking, railing, cursing and swearing, yet to the Doctor he came with her, crying look you here Master Doctor, this is my plague-sore that so torments me: in the night it keeps me from sleep, in the day it makes me mad: in my bed this serpent stings me, at my board she stabs me, and all with one weapon (her villainous tongue, her damnable tongue) If I reply she fights: if I say nothing she raves: if you call not this a plague Master Doctor, than such a plague light on you Master Doctor teach me therefore how to cure it, or else if you give me over I shall grow desperate and cut mine own throat.  
The Doctor at this laughed, the cobblers wise railed, the Cobbler himself bid her lie still, & held her so long till a number of his neighbours came about him to behold this seeane of mi●th: all of them (knowing how dangerously the Cobbler was infected with this mariage-plague, desiring the Doctor to play the right physician, and to cure their neighbour. The Doctor hereupon swore he would do it, and stepping into his study he returned immediately with a paper in one hand, & a fair cudgel in the other, delivering both to the Cobbler, protesting that neither Galen, Auarois, nor Hypocrates can prescribe any other remedy then this, and that if this medicine cure not the woman's evil, nothing can The Cobbler having neither the wrighting nor reading tongue, requested the Doctor to read the receipt, as for the cudgel he understood that well enough.  
The paper therefore after a solemn O yes by all the standers by was read, & contained thus much: 
Take this salve Cobbler for thy Plague-sore,  
A crabbed cudgel fits a froward Whore,  
Beat her well and thriftily:  
Whilst she cries out lustily:  
Never let thy hand give over,  
Till she swears to scold no more.   
At the end of this, the Audience gave a plaudite, in token they liked well of the Doctor's physic: the Cobbler thanked him, and thus instead of an Epilogue spoke to his neighbours, neighbours (qd, he) you know, & I know, nay the devil himself knows, that my wife hath stuck upon me like a Plague thus many years, to apply either the syrup of a Salt Eel, or the oil of holly to her shoulders, I hitherto was afraid, because I had no warrant that a man might lawfully beat his wife.  
But now sithence Ma●ster D●ctor, (who wears not a velvet night cap for nothing) having turned over his books, finds that no hear●e, mineral, salve, nor plaster, no purging nor any other blood-letting will cure or take out that worm under a woman's tongue, (which makes her mad) but only a sound beating: I will (God willing) give her the diet he sets down, & if ever I complain hereafter to any Physician for the grief of this plague, let all Ware laugh at me ●or an ass, & swear that my wife-weares the breeches.  
Upon this resolution bravely does the Cobbler march home, his wife (like a fury) following, railing, reviling and casting di●t and stones, aswell at him as at the youths of the parish that went shouting after her heels. But being within doors and the locks made fast by my valiant Cobbler, her tongue served as a drum ortrumpet to sound an alarum, whilst my brave desper view prepared for the onset with a good bast●ado: the assault was not so furious, but the cobblers wife was as ready to receive it: to the skirmish fall they pell-mell, the cobblers Coxcomb, being first broken, but he being no Welshman (to faint at sight of his own blood) so plied his business, and so thrashed out all the Chaff in his wife (who was nothing but Rye) that in the end she fell on her knees, cried for the 〈◊〉 of the cobblers mercy, & fed upon them hungerly he living ever after more quietly for her scolding, then if he had dwelled in a Steeple full of bells, that had lost their claps.  
Thus much for the universal plagues, that threaten our kingdom this present year 1609. Now let us arm our heads to bear of the other miseries that are ready and must (by decree in the upper house in the heavenly parliament) full upon mankind.    

A prediction of Summer. 1609.  
SUmmer the Minion of the year, and mistress of the earth: daughter and heir to the spring, and empress over many kingdoms: whose robes are fields of standing Corn, and whose crown is a garland of all sorts of fruits: Summer, the reléener of the poor, and Landlady to the rich: the Ploughman's Goddess, to whom he prays, the Husband man's Queen whom he worships: the filler up of barns, the feeder of Birds, the fatner of men and beasts, the treasurer of the world: the nurse of plenty, the enemy to dearths and famine: Summer, that is the Saint, to whom Bowyers and fletcher's kneel, in whose praise Archers send forth shows, and Haymakers merry songs. This high coloured red lipped, lively faced creature, comes not by turn to her coronation, (to take her rule over the fourth part of the divided year, upon the eleventh day of june (according to common Astronomical computation, when the Sun (the Coachman of the light) hath fetched a carrier up as high as the utmost and loftiest place of his ear, namely, to the first degree of the Estival Solstice (Cancer) which is his greatest declination to the North, from the Equinoctial, etc. But the Buckles of the Girdle (with 12. Studs) which he wears, being this year 1609) turned behind him, & the celestial houses, at which he uses to lie (in his summer progress) being now removed and builded in other places, I find that he shall enter at other gates, & that these shall be the harbingers to make way before his coming, or the Heralds to proclaim the time when he is come.  
When therefore our aged gran●am (the earth) shall (albeit in her latter days) be great with child with Corn, flowers & fruits, & be joyfully delivered of them, yet other creatures (endued with reason) shall be barren of all goodness: When the heat of the Sun beams, begets gold in the veins of the earth, yet gold when 'tis brought forth shall work a coldness in men's hearts: when Rin●rs shall swell with Springtides, and the fountains of Art and learning be drawn dry: when sheep fly to broad trees, to defend themselves from the wrath of heaven under their shades, and when innocency is guarded under the wings of greatness from 〈◊〉 rage of oppression, when cuckoos sing merrily, and cuckolds laugh at their own horns: when Courtiers ride the Wild goose Chase, whilst farmers stand by and praise their horsemanship: when haruesters come singing from the field, because the corn lies in shea●es: and when Citizen's wives walk to their Gardens, yet bring from thence to their husbands no Nosegays stuck with Rue. These and no other but these are the badges that Summer wears, and never comes in but when she puts on these liveries.  
And albeit this Lady of the year, be (like her cozen the Spring) of a sweet and delicate complexion, and that her body is by nature so fruitful, that still and anon she is in labour ●o bring forth, yet that curse which at first was laid upon the earth, shall now this year 1609. fall upon her, insomuch that her lusty and strong limbs shall grow weak by want, and her entra●les be ready to dry and shrink up to nothing, by reason of a strange famine, that most assuredly will feed upon her.  
Many dear years are set down in our abridgements of Chronicles, but she face of this shall look more lean than ever did any: I read that in Edward the 2. time, there was such a famine, that Horseflesh was eaten and held as good or better meat than some mutton now: and that ●at dogs, were then catched up as fat pigs at Bartholomew ●ide: yea, that in many places, they had the dead bodies of their own children to devour them, and that thieves in prison made roastme●t one of another. In other Kings reigns likewise have I noted other effects of hunger, as that sheep have been sold at this price: Hogs, Chickens, Pigs, Geese, Ducks, with all other broods of poultry-ware, at such & such excessive rates, which have been lamentable to endure, and tragical now to remember. But in this year 1609. beasts shall not be sold dear, but men, yea men shall be bought and sold like Oxen and Cal●es in Smithfield, and young Gentlemen shall be eaten up (for dainty meat) as if they were pickled Geese, or baked Woodcocks.  
Neither shall the tooth of this famine fear out the gu●s of she poor Farmer alone, nor shall the Country village cry out upon this misery, but it shall even step into Lords, Earls, & gentlemen's houses: Insomuch the Cour●iers shall this dismal year feed upon citizens, & citizens on the contrary side lay about them like tall trencher-men to devour the Cour●iers. The Clergy in this gréedy-gutted time shall have thin cheeks, for every body shall fleece or rather unfléece them, and count it heavenly purchase, to pull feathers from their backs.  
If any complaint this year be made for the scarcity of bread, let none be bla●ed for it but Tailors, for by all the consent of the Planets, it is set down that they will be mighty bread-eaters, insomuch that half a score halfpenny lo●ues will make no show upon one of their stalls. But lest we make you hungry that shall read of this misery, by discoursing thus of so terrible a famine, let us make haste to g●t out of the heart of this dry and mortal Summer, and ●●ye what wages the year will bestow upon us the next quarter.   

Of Autumn, or the fall of the leaf.  
Autumn, the Barber of the year, that sha●es bushes, hedges and trees the ragged prodigal that consumes all and leaves himself nothing, the arrantest beggar amongst all the four quarters, and the most diseased, as being always troubled with the falling sickness, and (like a french man) not suffering a hair to stay on his head: this murderer of the spring this thief to summer, and bad companion of Winter, scorns to come in according to his old custom, when the Sun sits like justice with a pair of scales in his hand, weighing no more hours to the day than he does to the night, as he did before in his Uernal progress, when he road on a Ram. But this baldpate Autumnus, will be seen walking up & down groves, meadows, fields, woods, parks and pastures, blasting of fruits, and beating leaves from their trees, when common highways shall be strewed with boughs in mockery of Summer, & in triumph of her death, & when the doors of usurers shall be strewed with green herbs, to do honour to poor brides that have no ●dwrie (but their honesty) to their marriage: when the world looks like the old Chaos, and that plenty is turned into penury, and beauty into ugliness: when Men ride (the second time) to bath, and carry another Cornelius Tub with them, and when 〈◊〉 fly amongst hen sparrows, yet bring home all the feathers they carried out, Then say that Autumn reigns, then is the true fall of the lease, because the world and the year turn over a new leaf.  
You have heard before of certain plagues, and of a Famine that hang over our heads in the clouds: misfortunes are not borne alone, but like married fools they come in couples, A Civil war must march at the heels of the former miseries, and in this quarter will he strike up his drum.  
The dissension that happened once at Oxford, 
Ed. 3. Anno. Reg. 29.  between a Scholar and a Vintner, about a quart of paltry wine, was but a drie-beating, nay rather a flea-biting to this, for uproar and noise will fill all Countries, insurrections or risings up will be within the city, and much open villainy will be without the walls.  
The hottest and heaviest War the blackest and bitterest day of battle that is prognosticated to happen, shall be between Lawyers and their client's, and Westminster-hall is the field where it shall be fought: What thundering, what threatening, what mustering, what marching, what braving & out-braving, with summoning to parlé●s, and what defiance will there be on both sides? dismal will be these conflicts to some, deadly to others, and joyful to a third sort: It is not yet doomed by the celestial arbiters, on whose side the victory shall fly, but by all Astrological likelihoods it is thought that the Lawyers will carry it away (be it but with wrangling) and they that go armed with buckram bags, and pen and Inkhorns instead of flask and touch●boxe, by the tree sides, you shoot nothing but paper-bullets, will have those that march with black boxes at their girdles, and bills in their hands, in sudden and terrible execution.  
Another civil war do I find will fall between players, who albeit at the beginning of this fatal year, they salute one another like sworn brothers, yet before the middle of it, shall they wish one another's throat cut for two pence. The contention of the two houses, (the gods be thanked) was appeased long ago, but a deadly war between the three houses will I fear burst out like thunder and lightning. For it is thought that Flag will be advanced (as it were in mortal def●ance against Flag) numbers of people will also be mustered and fall to one side or other, the drums and trumpets must be sounded, parts will then (even by the chiefest players) be taken: words will pass too and fro, speeches cannot so be put up, hands will walk, an Alarm be given, fortune must favour some, or else they are never able to stand: the whole world must stick to others, or else all the water in the themes will not serve to carry those away that will be put to flight, and a third faction must fight like wild bulls against Lions, or else it will be in vain to march up into the field.  
Yea, and this civil mutiny in the Suburbs, and this sitting upon the skirts of the City, will I doubt kindle flames in the heart of it: for all Astronomers conclude, and all the books of the Constellations being turned over, speak thus: that upon the very next day after Simon and Jude, the warlike drum and ●ife shall be heard in the very midst of Cheapside, at the noise whereof people (like madmen) shall throng together, and run up & down, striving by all means to get into Merces, Silkemens' and Goldsmiths houses, and to such height shall this land-water swell, that the 12 Conduits themselves are like to be set one against another, and not only the Lord Maior, Sheriffs and officers, but also many of the Nobility of the land shall have much a do with their troops of horse, to break through the disordered heaps of Tradesmen, and others that will on that fearful day be assembled together. In vain shall it be for any man for to Cry peace, nothing will be heard but noise, and the faster that fireworks are thrown amongst these perditious children, the louder will grow their rage, and more hard to be appeased. Other dissensions, mutinies, rebellions, battles, combats, and combinations could I here discover to you my countrymen, but doubting that I put your hearts out of their right places already with too much horror and affrightment, here do I sound a Retreat, entreating all men (with me) to draw supplications, and to exhibit them to the whole body of the celestial Counsel, who sit in twelve houses of heaven, beseeching them, that their influences may be more mild, that men may not be so mad, and that women may turn from their evil doing.  
I have (if you remember) applied certain salves to some of those plagues set down before, which I thought curable, It shall not be amiss, if now likewise I ●eate out a plain and level path, in which you may walk safely, as well to avoid the famine threatened, as to escape perishing in the civil war.  
The comfort men have in a time when victuals grow dear or scant, is either to be well furnished, or else to have the gift of abstinence, and to be content with little: Now because flesh is a great preserver of man's life, I will show you one Stratagem how you may get much into your own hands, how to use it when you have it, and how to refrain from taking of it, albeit your hunger be never so great: then will I set down other rare medicinable and politic receipts, or rather Warlike engines, by which in time of such civil insurrections as are this year like to happen, A man or woman may enforce themselves from the shot of all danger. For I would account that surgeon or that physician, a mad man or a fool, that coming to me when I am hurt or diseased, and should only tell me where my sickness lies, or how deep and dangerous my wounds are, but should not minister physic, or balms, to recover me 〈◊〉 therefore I have discovered unto you, where and how, and with what weapons you shall be smitten, So do I prepare medicinable compositions to restore you when you are struck. And here they follow.  
An excellent Stratagem, how in the time of Famine, to be well provided of flesh, how to preserve it along time from corruption, and how (when hunger is most sharp set) a man shall have no lust to fall too, but may grow abstinent.  
IN the City of Calais (being an Island bordering & belonging to the kingdom of Spain) there was built a College of Friars, amongst whom there was one lusty Churchman above the rest, who was better limmed then learned, & could better skill in composing an amorous sonnet then in soing solemn dirges. This Friar notwithstanding bare such a holy show, was so demure in his manners, and so covertly cloaked his holiness, that he was supposed the holiest friar of all the fraternity, and therefore was appointed a confessor to a nunnery, that was famous in this Island, for women of most severe form of life & godly conversation. Under the jurisdiction of the Abbess, there were some twenty Nuns, all young, lusty, and full of favour: very devout, and yet not such recluses, but they had eyes as other secular women had, to judge of beauty, and hearts to wish wanton thoughts, which after grew to light (as time is the discoverer of most hidden secrets:) for it so fell out, amongst these holy she saints, that one was either more wise or more wanton than the rest, called Madonna barbadora, issued of good parentage, and only daughter, though not only child to Signieur Peagnes Bontolus, a man of great reputation in the City of Calais. This Barbadora coming oftentimes to be confessed of this friar, whose name was Father Pedro Ragazoni, noted that he was a man of comely parsonage, & so began somewhat favourably to conceit of him: till at length friar Pedro marking her glances, perceived them to be amorous, & with that hearing her sigh sundry times (ere he had confessed her) did strait imagine that either she was a great sinner, & deeply repentant, or else sore ouerladen with the maidens plague, (which is over large chastity) and therefore so full of outward sorrow & contrition: the friar taking her one day by the hand as she was alone with him in a pew, wished her to uncover her face. Barbadora obeying her'ghostly father's command, threw off her vail & blushed, which Friar Pedro espying, ●●ssing her cheek, began to salute her in this manner.  
fair Nun, and fair maid, as I am your confessor, and have power to absolve, so if you conceal any sin from me, it will cra●e the greater punishment: therefore briefelly and faithfully answer me to my question. There be many sins that trouble maids which may be eas de, if they be prevented by some friend, or faithful counsellor: as unchaste wishes, wanton glan●es, amorous thoughts, and such venial 'scapes which are engrafted by nature, and therefore crave pardon by course, and yet all deserving penance, but seeing they are but sins of the mind, they are but motions. What say you Barbadora, are you troubled with any of these trifling follies? The Nun holding down her head, only answered, she was a woman, and her mother's daughter.  
Friar Pedro smelling a pad in the straw, prosecuted thus pleasantly. And is it swéetmaiden (q●. he) for those sins you sigh? oh no holy father (quoth she) for they be deeper pasions that make me so sorrowful. Why (says the Friar) is it pride, covetousness, gluttony, envy, wrath, sloth, or any such deadly sins that drive you into those dumps? I would said Ba●badora) I were as free from all other as from these: Then said the Friar, my life for yours, it is some woman's plague you are troubled with all, and if it be so, take heed, it is dangerous, the sin is more easy than the sickness.  
I pray you sir saith she, what term you tha plague? marry answers the friar, that plague is, when a Maiden is fair, young, of ripe years, and hath never a faithful friend to her love, but must to great distress die a Virgin: that, that my reverend Confessor, quoth the Nun is my grief●: you have censured right of my sorrow, I am troubled, with that burning plague, and if your counsel comfort me not, I am like to fall into greater inconvenience: seeing therefore you are privy to my disease, as you are a Ghostly father, and have care of my soul to absolve my sins (for I hold you as a surgeon) therefore yours be the charge to provide for the health of my body. The Friar hearing the Nun in so good a mind whispered in her ear, but what I cannot tell, but I am sure he applied such plasters to help her, that she complained no more of the plague a long time after.  
Barbadora being thus set free from her often sighs, could not keep her own counsel, but she revealed it unto her bedfellow (for the closet of a woman's thoughts hangs at her tongue's end) in such sort discoursed the conceit of her cure unto her, that julia longed for the confessing day, (for so was the Nun's bedfellow called) which being once come, and she in secret with Friar Pedro, after he had questioned her of many sins, and given much devout and holy counsel, at last she burst forth into plain terms, and told him she was troubled with the same sickness her bedfellow Barbadora was, and therefore craved the like assistance at his hands. The Friar smiling at this, was content to play the Surgeon to cure this plague, still under the colour of auricular confession, shadowing his villainy, till of twenty Nuns, fifteen were with child.  
At last time began to babble, and the Nun's bellies to grow big, so that before three months were passed, they began to feel that for the amending of their plague, they had a spice of Timpany not long after, the world was quick, that the Nuns grew big, and to be brief, they feared their fellows should perceive their fault, and so bewray it to the Abbess, whereupon with a general consent they all agreed at their next confession to bewray it to the friar, which was not long before it happened. So Barbadora cunningly dissembling the matter, being foremost of the rest, because she was eldest and of greatest account with the Abbess, came to confession. And when friar Pedro began with many a smiling look, and holy kiss to greet her, and question her about her sins, fetching a great sigh, made him this answer. Devout father, to make a rehearsal of my sins is folly; to tell what particular offences have scaped from me is needless, because in one brief word, as he that sins in one of the ten commandments breaks all, so she that by Friar is gotten with Child, hath blemished all her other virtues. And sir, therefore I confess here that my belly is big, and your sweet sugery hath wrought it, so either you must bestir your wits to help now at a pinch, or else your discredit will be as great as my dishonour. The Friar although this motion had greatly amazed him, yet he would not show it in countenance, lest he might discourage his fair Leman, but bade her be of good cheer, and not to fear, for he would be chary of her honour and credit, and salve what was a miss to both their contents. I sir (qd. she) were myself only in this perplexities, I would not doubt of your present devise, but there is fourteen more besides myself, all troubled with the like swelling: what sister, quoth the Friar, & with that he fetched a great sigh, and said, I have made the old saying true, who sows shall reap. I quoth, Barbadora, if it be but a whip and a white sheet, and therefore good Friar, take heed that your penance be not worse than our punishment, for your ghostly surgery hath brought us to this devilish sickness. Fear nothing Darling (quoth he and smiled) Friars have wit, as w●men have wills, and therefore doubt not of any conceit, but tell me what is your greatest care. Marry (quoth she) that the five that are free perceive us not, and so discover our ●aults to the Abbess. Leave that to me (quoth he) I will take order for that, to your high content, and so with great comfort to his holy sister, be sent her away with a kind confession, and took himself to the rest, who all sung the same song that Barbadora did, which put the poor Friar to his shifts, but when he had confessed them all, subtly he went to the Abbess & saluted her, and she returned him as kindly greetings, questioning how her twelve Nuns profited in virtue. Truly Madam (said Pedro) well, but amongst twe●ue Disciples, there was one judas, and when Adam had but two Sons, one proved a murderer, in Noah's Ark there was one Cham, and where God hath a Church, the devil hath a Chapel.  
The Abb●sse hearing the holy Father beginning such an enigmatical exordium, began to suspect that there was some mischance amongst her Nuns, and therefore called him into the Dorter, and desired him to bewray unto her what was amongst the Sisters, the 〈◊〉 (that had fed upon so much mutton) cunningly began to insinuate himself under the shape of Abacuk, thus Madam you know that it behooves a confessor to be as secret as severe, and to conceal offences, as well as he appoints correction for sins▪ therefore I may not nor bore not for mine oath reveal what either I know or they have confessed, but this in private I give you as a Caveate if they stay long in your Cloister, they will discredit your house, and bring it in great approbatious question: with that he named the f●ue honest Nuns, and with a solemn protestation, admonished the Abbess as speedily as might be to convey them out of the Nunnery with credit. She thanking the holy father for his care he had of her honour, gave him gold for his pains, & bade him farewell, still imagining what this matter might be, and examine them she ●urst not, lest they should suspect their confessor had discovered their confession, and so upon their complaint bring the Friar to further trouble, yet willing to have them removed (so to save her house from blemish) ●he sent for their friends, and dealt so covertly and cunningly with them, that they were taken home for a time, till further trial of their fortunes might be had, their friends and parents sorrowful and grieving, that they above the rest should miscarry yet concealed all, and shadowed their home coming by sundry excuse; and yet not so cunningly but the common people began to imagine diversly of their departure, but none durst censure openly, though they muttered in secret, so that after many days all was wished, and the other Nuns were glad, for all were ●eathered of one wing, and did so closely comfort themselves, that the Abbess suspected nothing, and Friar Pedro had more free access to Clergi●ie his holy Virgins and confessants, and made an agreement that which of them was brought to ●edde first, should give him their Child, and he would convey it away to their content and his own credit.  
Living thus as pleasantly as a Cock amongst so many Hens, it fell so out at the last that Barbadoraes' good hour was come, and that at such an unhappy time, that neither the devise of the friar, nor the secrecy of the Nuns, nor her own policy could save her honesty, for rising as their custom is at twelve a clock at night to sing certain Hymns. Barbadora in the midst of the choir fell i● travel, and though she sought by all means to conceal, and to bide many sore pangs, yet at last she was fain with a loud alarm to cry higher than they sung, which the Abbess hearing, s●aid their Matins and went to Barbadora, ask her what she ailde, and what extreme disease painde her so, that she made such heavy shrieking? the great bellied Nun, half dead with pain, would give the Abbess no answer but oh my belly, my belly, Friar Pedro, Pedro, oh my belly! the old matron (perhaps in her youth had been cured of the maids plague) perceived strait where her shoe wrung her, and therefore charged the Nuns to hold her back, and she played so cunningly the Midwives part, that Barbadora was delivered of a pretty Boy, which the Abbess seeing, after she knew that all danger was past, she raged and railed against the poor Nun, laying open not only the grievousness of the sin▪ but also her own discredit, and chiefly the blemish that should redound to her, to the house, & all her fellow Nuns, through her only lightness of her life: after she had almost chaste herself out of breath, she questioned who was the Father, and Barbadora in great contrition of mind. told her how her holy Father Friar Pedro did it. The Abbess swearing a mortal revenge against the Friar for the love she bore to Barbadoras', father signor Ideaques Bartolos, and for the care she had, lest if this fact were known, her Nunnery should grow in open contempt, she began to salve the matter amongst the Nuns: I cannot deny sisters quoth she, but as your how is holy, so the breach of virginity in this case, deserves no less than hell fire, & without repentance can have no absolute pardon, for the escape of a Nun is more than of another ordinary Woman, and for that course only upon suspicion, I removed f●ue of your fellows which I thought faulty, yet flesh is frail, & women are weak vessels, especially tempted by such a subtle Serpent as Friar Pedro is, and therefore the fault is the less, & the more willingly to be shadowed, so that I charge you here to conceal the matter both for your own & mine honour: and if any of you all have been by him persuaded to the like folly, tell it to me now in secret, and I will be as silent as yourselves, to salve and save your honesties. The Nuns hearing this; all fourteen fell down on their knees before the Abbess and cried out upon friar Pedro (lecherous Friar Pedro) and cursed him: the Abbess suspecting nothing of the whole 14. bad them beware not only of him (for he should no more come within their Dortor) but of all others that hereafter should be their confessors. Alas Madam (qd juliana) it is to late, for we all 14. are with child by him, marry God forbid (qd the Abbess) and blest her, what (qd she) 15 at a clap with child, & only by one Friar! Then I see well the devil is grown devout, when Friars deal their Alms so frankly: but by sweet S. Anne (said she) I will be revenged on the Friar, and all the Covent shall pay sweetly for engrossing the market, and buying so much flesh for his own diet.  
So she fell to more strict examination of them, whether any more friars came with him or no? and they confessed that he had procured every one of them a lover, & delivered their names, which she taking note of, deferred not revenge very long, least suspicion might be had, but thus cunningly sought to acquit the wrongs proffered both to her & her house: she sent her steward abroad to buy great provision of victuals, & then her own self went to the Abbot, and desired that her confessor and 14. of his friends might take part of a feast which she had provided: the Abbot granted, & the Friars gave her great thanks, & promised to come, all laughing in their sleeves that she should give the fair Nuns and them leave to have one merry supper together, seeing in secret they had so many night's lodging with them. The Abbess went home smiling, and provided certain tall st●rdy knaves for the purpose, that were tenants, and belonging to the lands of the Nunnery, & conu●ied them all near unto the back place of the Chapel, and had given them her mind out plainly, to deal with the friars as she had decreed: and thereupon placed in that back room fifteen great blocks all standing one by another as orderly as might be.  
Having thus fitted all things to the purpose, she put up the Nuns every one into their Cells, lest they should give any inkling unto the Friars of her determination. At the hour appointed these frolic friars came clad in their cowls with smooth faces, and dissembling hear●s, having great show of prayers in their eyes, and hope of lechery in their thoughts: but howsoever, the old stbbesse gave them a most courteous & friendly welcome, telling them that the Nuns were all this day busy cooks about the Feast, only herself was le●t to give entertainment: they granulated her courtesies, and she led them all into a great Parlour, where she caused the Steward to bring them in Wine: then the place being strong, she went forth and called the Confessor to her, land then leading him into the back room appointed for the purpose, the tall knaves laid hold on him, and there stripping him into his shirt they took a great three forked, nail, and fastened the friars Dowsets of dimissories fast to the block, to the great pain & amazing of the Friar. Well, howsover he complained, he could not get any answer of the Abbess, but that she laughed heartily, and thus by one and one she drew out the Friars, and nailed them fast in their shirts to the blocks, then laying down by every one of them a sharp knife, she began to make her Oration thus: Gentle Father Pedro, and you the rest of the holy Friars, you know the smallest sin craves some penance in the Lay people, then what do great offences in Friars? he which knows his masters will and doth it not, must be eaten with many stripes, so you that know lechery was a deadly sin, and had all by solemn oaths vowed chastity, have gotten all the Nuns of my house with child. Therefore I in charity have for your soul's health appointed you this penance At that word all the country fellows set fire in the thach, and the house began so burn: you see (quoth she) either bourn to death, or else here lie knives to free yourselves, now it is at your own choice whether you will burn or geld yourselves, and hereafter endeavour to keep chastity.  
The Friars hearing this hard resolution, began with humble looks to entreat her, but in vain she made them all a low curtes●e and went her ways.  
The Friars in great perplexity seeing the house all on fire, and that they began to fri● in their shirts, and the house ready to fall about their ears. Friar Pedro learning first to play the man: took the knife and whipped off his geni●ories, and away he runs towards the Abbey, and every friar fearing the fire, played the like part, and away they run bleeding as fast as their legs would carry them, the fire grew great, and it was perceived a far off, so that signor Ideaques Bartolos (Barbadoras' Father) espied it, fearing his daughter's mishap, ran thither himself. The Abbot being told the Nunnery was on fire, made no little haste for fear of his Friars, & an infinite of other people being devoutly minded to the Nunnery ran thither, and as they went, signor Bartolos and the Abbot, met the friars running away in their shirts, which amazing them, the Abbot said what news Friar Pedro? what, the Nunnery a fire, and you run away in your shirts, what meaneth this? I know not, I know not sir (said ●e) we were there late enough, the devil burn house, Abbess, Nuns and all, and away ●rudged the Covent, every man to his lodging, and sending speedily for a skilful surgeon, the Abbot with the rest of the townsmen, and signor Bartolos came thither, & by the time the roof was pulled down, and all quenched, and they found the Abbess ready to entertain them friendly. They wondering at this, demanded how the fire came, and what the reason was the friars run away in their shirts? The Abbess recounted unto them from point to point, what had happened, and how fifteen of the Nuns were with child under the shadow of confession, by those 15. friars, and therefore she had sought revenge to clear herself of that crime, & because your e●es shall witness what bitter punishment I have appointed them for penance, come all with me, & so she led them into the back room, where she showed them the knives, and what the friars for fear had left behind them. At this they all fell into a great laughter, except Bartolos (who grieved for his Daughter Barbadora) yet he highly commended the Abbess for her revenge, & she was honoured through the city: the Nuns banished there religious house, the Friars put out of these Dortors, and the five poor Nuns that were thrust out (without cause) entertained again, and ever after the Nunnery was in great fame and credit: now to a second remedy, how to stop the mouth of a Usurer, when his covetousness complains of famine and cannot be satisfied.  

An excellent diet for an Usurer, when his conscience is starved.  
IN Ravenspurge, in Germany, there dwelled a jew that was a usurer, who lived by the spoil of his purloining faculty and reaped with ease what others had purchased with labour, rich he was, and well moneyed, & ready to lend upon any reasonable assurance: but as he was sweet to pleasure at the first, so at the last, whosoever tasted of his favours, found them bees with stings, and fair panthers with devouring paunches, that all his courtesies were but fowlers 'gins to bring a bird to the snare, & then to pray upon them like Crocodiles alive, for this miserable jew was pliant to the suit of any man, that brought him either sufficient surety or pawn: but if he broke one minute of his appointed hour, he took the forfeits with all extremity: gathering thus infinite treasures into his hands, he grew by this extorting quality to be one of the richest men in Ravenspurge, yet though his wealth was great, & he in debt to none, his belly sued an action of trespass (damage five hundredth pounds) against him, as being indebted to it, in so much for hungry meals, and hard cheer, that he had passed over in his life time, for he was not only spare in his diet, but miserable, granting himself oftentimes, no other than water to quench his thirst, and feeding upon nothing but the most refuse meat in the shambles to satisfy his hunger. This jew called joachlm Gorion, thus flourished and took his only felicity in feeding his eyes with the sight of infinite treasure not respecting the ruin of many poor men, so he by their miseries might enrich himself. Whereupon he grew in open contempt, and hatred of all the people, but as the Fox the more he is ●urst, the better he fareth, so joachim the more the poor exclaimed against him, the more his profits and revenues came in.  
At last it fortuned that a Farmer bordering near unto Ravenspurge, being called Hans Van Limericke, having a sum of money to pay, or else to lose certain commodities f●ue times worth the value, not knowing how to furnish himself with so much coin, and finding friends ●●acke in time of necessity, at length called to mind this wretched Usurer Gorian, and though he knew him to be a man of no conscience, yet assuring himself how he was able to pay his money that he borrowed again at the day, was the better encouraged to deal with him, so that coveting rather to brook an inconvenience, then suffer a mischief. He went to the house of joachim, and broke the matter unto him: the jew never denied but friendly promised him to lend him so much, so he might have sufficient assurance for his money. Hans hearing this was glad, and said he meant to lay him his farm, and all his Lands in mortgage, with a letter of defeisance recognized, that all the land should be his, if either he broke the day or hour. The covetous jew was content, so that taking a deed of gift with a prouis● of him, he tendered down the money, and so fitted and supplied the Farmer's present want, who went home merrily, & dispatched such Creditors as he was upon that day to discharge. The jew knowing the Farm to be a pretty plot, well situated and three times worth the money, wished Limericke dead, that he might freely enter possession of his goods and lands, but it fell out contrary to his desire and expectation, for the Farmer careful of his day, because he knew the hard conscience of the Usurer, strained himself and his friends, & provided the money, and at the time appointed came and brought it to Gorions house▪ now the money was to be paid between two and three in the after noon, which Hans knowing, was there half an hour after two to deliver his money: the Usurer hearing that he was come, was greatly grieved that he had kept touch so well, and therefore thought to overreach him with flat politic co●senage, which he performed thus.  
The Usurer had a clock in his house, which went with such vices and gim●●als, that by letting down, a pulley, he could make it strike what a clock himself would: so that sending down word to him that he would come by and by, he went himself and strained the pulley, and the clock, presently struck three: whereupon the jew came down, and demanded of Limericke, what he would have? Marry sir (quoth he) I have brought you home the money I borrowed of you, with that apppointed loan, and a thousand thanks, beside: promising for this favour ever to rest yours whilst I live. My money Hans (qd. he) why dost not know the effects of the recognizance? I pray thee at what hours was the money to be paid? between two and three (quoth Limericke) why so then it is now past three, and therefore I'll none of the money, but stand to the forfeit of the bands that are l●st to me by mortgage: at this the poor farmer was some thing amazed, yet thinking than jew had but jested, he smiled, and began to turn the money on the board, to tender it: but joachim told him flat that he was in earnest, and would none of the money: why Sir, (quoth Hans) though your clock hath strucken three, by other clock as if is little past two, and therefore I hope you will not so unjustly stand upon the advantage: the Usurer answered him that his clock went right and he would take none, upon which they fell at great debate, till at last other clocks in the town struck three also, which when the jew heard he was glad, and bade him if he could count what it was a clock, to be brief he would not receive a penny, but stood to the extremity of the mortgage.  
The poor Farmer grievously perplexed, entreated him with tears, objecting that if it were so a minute's breach was not much: but in vain all his persuasions were bootless breathed into the air, for the jew that had his heart as flinty as Adamant, felt no remorse, but went into his closet, and left poor Limericke, with his complaints, who sorrowfully going home to his wife, bewrayed the matter unto her, who partaking her husband's grief with equal discontent, persuaded him to patience, and told him he had no better remedy then to make his complaint to the Signory and rulers of the City, which he did and called the jew at a Law day before the judge, and there revealed his case at large, for might overcoming right, and money perverting the truth, he went home with a flea in his ear, utterly undone and beggared, and the usurer merrily triumphing in the verdict of his revenues.  
This past on a year or two, till at last poor Hans grew to that extreme want, that he● had neither money, credit, nor house to put his head in, which so vexed him, that at length he grew weary of his life, for being fallen from a man of some account to great contempt by his poverty, he waxed into a kind of despairing lunacy, and had oftentimes in his melancholy humour slain himself, had not his wife prevented him by her careful diligence.  
While thus Limericke lived in beggar's estate with his wife and three small Children, this jew (this joachim) this wretched Usurer, as he triumphed in his wealth, was one day suddenly stricken with sickness that he went to his bed, and there lay till he grew queasy at the heart, and then ●e sent for physicians whom he greased with gold, and ●ad them spare for no cost, so he might recover his former health: they applied Potions, Electuaries, Glisters, Purgations, and Pills, but in vain. Contra vim mortis, non est medicamen in hortls.  
They could find out no simple Herb, Stone nor Mineral, drug nor compound so comfortable, that any way might mitigate his disease, so that growing past help of man, the Phisitiaus left him, and certain devout men of the town came to persuade him to God, seeing he was no man of this world, wishing him to enter with deep insight into his own mind, and to search his conscience for many wrongs and extorting injuries he had offered to poor men setting before his eyes the pains of Hell due to sinners, as condign punishment. joachim hearing all, a long time with patience answered not a word, but only desired them to depart, and to trouble him no more for a while: which they did, and he turning himself, lay two or three hours in a trance considering and repeating in his mind, the infinite wrongs & palpable injuries he had offered the poor, the widow & fatherless, which striking a remorse into his conscience, seeing he must die, and measuring his sins with the justice of God, and having no grace to think upon his mercy, he started up, and with his eyes staring, cried unto his man and said, oh the Plague, the plague, the plague is here my Ben, the plague: his man thinking he had ra● ' the for want of sleep, desired him to be patient, and to leave off those frantic exclamations. Oh thou of my tribe (qd▪ he) I am in my right mind, the plague is here even in my conscience, in my inward soul, I am worse than Cain or judas: I have murdered more than they two by extortion, and therefore I cannot be saved: the plague in my conscience, my Ben, the plague: his man (although he hated his master,) and wished him at the Devil, yet to blind the world with the opinion of a dutiful servant, he presently ran for the chief Burgamasters of the town, who coming hastily to comfort and counsel him, found him in this despairing humour, & could by no means draw him to any hope of grace, whereupon they left him as he lived, and so gave him over to die, he continuing still in this melancholy despair. While thus he languished in this mad mood, Hans and his family harboured in poor estate in the City, and hearing of this extreme sickness of the Jow, was glad that God had so sharply avenged him of his enemy: but yet this mishap bred him small help, whereupon desirous to die, he went, & at an Apothecary's shop bought him a mortal confection, which he purposed to take to rid him from his present misery.  
Having kept it a long while in a Viol, at last he sat in a great study upon his present hard fortunes, and hovering between grace & despair, at last he resolved to go try now what this Usurer would do, happily (said he to himself) his sickness hath altered his conscience, and his mind is better now touched with the doubt of death, then when before he had no other thoughts but upon life, so that I will make experience if he will compassionate my misery, and make some restitution of that which so wrongfully he detaineth from me. In this mind the poor man went to Gorions house, and knocking at the door, be found none there but poor Benjamin, who was almost weary of his life, with the extreme travel that he had with his lunatic jewish Master, and he poor soul began to turn Christian, and to pity the Farmer, and wished him to come in.  
It may be (saith he) grace yet will be sent to him, and the touch of his extortion will turn his conscience, therefore come unto him, and speak face to face with him: The Farmer glad of this, came into the chamber and saluted him in most humble manner. Who is that (oh Ben) says the jew, that salutes me? It is sir (quoth he) the poor farmer whose lands you entered upon by a forfeit of mortgage. At that as well as he could, he raised himself up in his bed, and cried out Villain take heed, he comes to rob me, beware of him, look to my Coffers, to my Gold, to my writings: where are my keeps? Sir (saith Benjamin) they be about your neck: for in his most extremity, no, not till his latest gasp would he part from them, so that in a covetous lunacy he gropt for them, held them fast, and cried out the Plague, the Plague, oh Hell, ●ell, the Devil, the devil.  
So his man Ben persuaded him to be quiet and to remember the poor man: the poor man, I marry Ben, well said (quoth the jew) where is he? I will give him his land again, I took from him wrongfully, and then he stood staring him on the face, he will not live long saith his man stay you with him and talk with him, till I go out and call some neighbours to be with me.  
The farmer was content, and so Benjamin went out and left them two together: as soon as he was gone, the poor man began to instruct him to Godward, and seeing he was ready to die, to make restitution of such goods or Lands as he withheld from any man by extortion.  
At this the Iew● looked on him very ghastly, and spied the Viol that the poor man held in his hand under his cloak, with that in a rage he cried out what hast thou there in the glass? physic to cool my conscience that burns like hell, hath the Devil sent to heal me.  
The Farmer seeing this desperate jew void of all grace and given over by God into a reprobate sense, answered him briefly, he hath sent me to thee, and vild Usurer I have brought thee physic from the Devil to help thee. Oh welcome, welcome says the jew, what is in it? what is in it? Marie saith the Farmer, there is in it these simples following.  
here are the tears of poor men, distilled from their eyes through the anguish of thy extortion, and they are made lukewarm with the scalding sighs that throbs from their sorrowful hearts, tempered with the curses of Widows and Orphans, whom thou hast brought to beggary: these boiled with the fire of God's wrath, and put up by the Devil into a viol of despair & prepared for thee to drink, that after thou hast taken this potion, thou mayst go to devil without repentance.  
Then give it me (quoth he) and so he snatched the viol of poison out of the poor man's hand, and drunk it off, the confection being strong began to suffocate his senses, that he lay still: perceiving that he could not live long, thought now, seeing no body was there, to provide for himself: convey any chests he could not, steal any goods he might not, for he had no opportunity, and therefore God putting it into his mind, he took pen and paper, and writ a schedule to this effect.   

The Schedule that the Farmer writ.  
joachim Gorion being whole of mind, though s●●ke in body, touched with remorse of conscience for the manifest wrongs that I have proffered to insinit poor men, Widows, and Fatherless Children, hoping that the mercy of God is more than my sins, do ordain Hans van Limericke my lawful heir and Executor, as a man whom above all I have most wronged, conditionally that he reward my man Benjamin, for his faithful service: and for the surplusage let it be to him and to his ●eires for ever, of all my goods, lands, Cattles and movables, and that this is my last will and testament, I have thereto set my seal at arms.  
Hans Limericke having thus cunningly written it, and being a good pen man, so excellently well counterfeited his hand that it might not easily be discerned, but the jew himself had written it: so pulling his seal off from his finger, he sealed it, and then wrapping it up put it in a purse that hung about the jews neck, for joachim was already senseless, and lay staring, but the poison had so suffocated his pipes, that he could not speak.  
By that came Benjamin with two or three poor men and Women to watch with him, whereupon the Farmer took his leave, and his man asked him what news: I can get no other answer of him than this, that when he is dead, I shall hear what he will do. At that the jew looked Ben in the face, and as well as he could pointed to Hans, meaning how he had poisoned him, but they took it that he meant some good should be done unto Hans.  
After his death, as soon as he was gone, the poison came to the last exigent, and the pangs of death ●rewe on, and they all perceived that there was no hope of life, which sorted according to their expectations, for within one half hour after the jew died.  
As soon as Benjamin saw him dead he shed tears, more for fashion then for love, and having like a wise Cook licked his own fingers, that he need no further legacy to shadow the matter, sent one strait to signify the matter unto the Burgamasters, that joachim the jew was dead, and seeing that he had neither made will, nor yet had any kindred that might claim it as his heir, it were best for them to look for the disposing of his goods.  
The Burgamasters coming thither, with a general consent, began to survey every chest in the house, and to search each corner putting all into an inventory that they ●ound, wt●eing summed together, redounded to an infinite wealth: besides his lands, leases, and tenements, that he had in the City and country thereabout: At last missing the keys of certain chest that could not be unlocked, Benjamin told them they hung about his neck at his purse, they wondering at the exceeding covetousness of such a miserable man, smiled and took his purse, and searching what was in it, found the scroll which Limericke had written, sealed with the jews seal at arms, which when they had well read over and determined upon, they all censured that God had put some remorse into his conscience, both to make him heir whom he had so highly wronged, and that he was in so good a mind to make restitution of his misdeeds; Upon this they called a convocation in their Statehouse, they sent after Hans, and by a general decree, made him lawful inheritor to the jew, so Hans from a beggar became richer than any Burgamaster, did many good d●eds to the poor, made restitution and well rewarded Benjamin, thanking God that the miserable usurer had covetously gathered and had him to be his heir, whom he never so much as once dreamt of.   

How in a household of civil war, a woman may be safe from a cruel husband.  
IN the County of Devonshire, not far from Exeter, there dwelled a Rope-maker whose name I conceal: this Rope-maker (whom I will call Richard) was about the age of some forty years, and he was a perilous sour fellow, ill loved of his neighbours because he so unkindly liked of his wives: for this jolly companion had been married to three wives in ten years, and had used them all so hardly, that he killed them all with kindness.  
This brought him in such hatred amongst all his nieghbors, that though he were a man of very good wealth, and besides his occupation, landed: yet the poorest and basest wench in the whole country, did disdain to match herself with such a frantic husband, so that being a widower, he had no hope ever to match himself again, where he was known, and therefore appareling himself handsomely, and putting store of crowns in his purse, he went into Somersetshire hard by Tanton, and there was a suitor to a widows daughter▪ that was a good proper maid and wellfavoured, but of no great wealth, & therefore the easier to be wooed, & won of a stranger.  
This rope-maker being a good proper man, and of a comely parsonage, became a suitor to this maid, whose name was Mary, a wench of a good bone and a lusty complexion, much like to Lancashire breed, the maiden entering into consideration of her mother's estate, and her own poverty, and seeing she had few suitors, because the hope of her dowry was but small, listened the rather to Richard's motion, who being of a smooth tongue, and could set out himself well in talk, as the tiger when he means to prey, than ever hideth his claws, and where the Ford runs smoothest, there is it deepest: so as the old proverb is, the still Sow eats up all the draff: and he could use such civil behaviour, tricked out with such eloquent and glorious terms, that in short time he won the wench and married her, and after that he had remained a week or two at home with her mother, he took his leave to carry her home to his own house: although there was some sorrow at parting between the mother and the daughter, yet because she loved Richard well, she took it patiently, and being honey moon, he seemed so chairy over her, that it grieved him the wind should blow on her; well, home they went, and when she came where he dwelled, she found a house well stored with all things necessary, but she wondered as the custom was in their country, that none of his neighbours did come to welcome him to the town: well, this past on till Sunday, and then she went to Church: when they of the town did see that rich man the Rope-maker had gotten so proper a woman to his wife, they began to say that the more knave had ever the better luck, and indeed fortune was blind when she suffered such a buzzard to light on such a chicken, and to pity the poor woman's mishap, that had chanced on such a froward and Hare brained Husband: yet soothing all up with a good countenance, they after service was done, welcomed her unto the parish, and she returned them thanks very civilly. It chanced one wife amongst the rest, whose sister this Rope-maker had married and killed with kindness, did long till she spoke with Richard's wife, that she might make her privy unto her husband's untoward qualities: and tarrying a great while to speak with her, at last finding opportunity, discoursed unto her how her husband had been married unto three wi●es, and how cruelly he had dealt with them all, abusing them so, that they took such grief, that for very sorrow they all died, telling her from point to point a number of his ill conditions, which although they went cold to her heart, yet cheerfully made the Woman answer, that what her husband had done before, it little touched her: the woman hearing Richard's wife speak so modestly, and in the defence of her husband, only prayed God she might find it so in the end, and so friendly they parted.  
The Rope-makers wife being in a great perplexity, that she had made such a choice in hast●, that she might so deeply repent at leisure, hoping the best, she went about her huswiferie till her husband came home, who returning within two days after, she welcomed him with all courtesy that a woman could afford to her husband: he thanked her, but not with the same familiar countenance he was wont to do, which straight made her suspect that her neighbours tale would prove a true prophecy, but patiently brooking some unkind Frowns, she dealt so carefully, lovingly, and kindly with him, that he could find● no cause to beat her, insomuch that his old dogged nature within one half year began to break out, so that she easily perceived he sought a knot in a rush, and aimed earnestly to find some Cavil that he might handsel her bones with a cudg●ll if she looked merrily on him, she flouted him, and straight he lent her a box on the ear for her fleering.  
If her countenance were solemnly modest, than she loathed him, and what he did: and cound about the house he went with a fair Holly wand, if she spoke unto him she was talkative; and straight she had a blow on the lips: if she said nothing she was ●ullen: and he would make her find her tongue with a Ropes-ende, which he called a Salt-Eele, and with which against her will she broke her fast, dined, & supped many a time: whatsoever she did housewifely in the house, what meat she dressed, what business she performed, all was misconstrued and rewarded with blows, which drove the poor woman into such a quandary, that she wished herself out of the world, her estate growing worse & worse, at last his habit grew to a custom & so she never went unbeaten to bed, so that as now gentlewomen wear their Masks, so she every Sunday went to Church with a black● Face, which her neighbours espying▪ as they pitied her, so they smiled, that at length she had found their forewarnings to be no other but mere prophecies, but although they had liberty to les●, so she had occasion to sorrow, for the miserable man would drive her into great extremities, and make trial of her patient nature, with wondrous contrarieties: for some time coming home late in the night, he would bring sundry of his Neighbours with him, and to show how he could domineer over his wife, he would make her light a pound of Candles at the great end, which if either in jest or earnest she refused to do, str●ight about the house she went, and had a gentle remembrance to remember his fingers a mo●th after.  
And amongst the rest, one day to have the world think in what servile slavery his wife stood of him, he caused her to stand by him, while he made Ropes, and fill a Sieve with water, a labour as endless, as painful and contemptible, so that the ne ghbor● and passengers noting it, some praised the women's patience▪ that executed her husband's foolish charge, with so steadfast and resolute a countenance: the poor wise living in this miser●e by the space of some three or four● years▪ so one day being alone by herself, looking in a glass, and considering advisedly how her wont countenance was blemished by her husband's unkindness, she fetched a great fie, and swore a mortal and fatal revenge, so that a deep hate of his ill qualities entering into her thoughts, she resolved to make him repent those many years he had made her lead in such servile misery.  
In this determination she gathered her wits together, and sought how to cry quittance with her husband, yet could she find no certain means speedily to auo●de the shrewish disposition of such an earthly Devil, but bearing the Cross with patience, ●ested the verse subject of distress: to run away she would not, to withstand him she could not, she shamed to make complaint to the justices: and thus every way she was void of any remedy, so that she brooked all, and went about her business, till on a time fortune smiling upon her, and intending to give truce to this poor woman, it chanced that as she was gathering r●she● to make her house cleanly, against the next Holiday, sitting & sighing at her unhappiness, she heard one sing a merry song, which she gave ear unto: The effect whereof, agreed greatly with her melancholy disposition, for it armed a salve for that sore, that so pinched her, and applied a medicine for her continual malady: the contents of the song were these.  

A song sung by an old Woman in a Meadow.  
OF all the plagues which make poor wights,  
unhappy and accursed:  
I think a wicked husband is,  
(next to the Devil) the worst.   

But will young women come to me,  
i'll show them how they shall:  
With pretty sleights and privy tricks  
straight rid them from such thrall.   

The husband frowns, & then his fist  
lights on her tender cheek:  
And if she do reply a word,  
a Staff is not to seek.  
But will, etc.   

A jealous eye the husband bears,  
then is he out of quiet,  
And she must fit her humours then,  
to feed his brainsick diet.  
But will, etc.   

Else round about the house she goes,  
the holy wand must walk:  
And though his words be reasonles.  
yet must she brook his talk,  
But will, etc.   

Thus men do triumph like to kings  
and poor wiue● must obey:  
and though he be a very fool,  
Yet must he bear the sway.  
But will young women come to me,  
I'll show them how they shall  
With pre●tie sleights and privy trick:  
straight rid them from such thrall.   
THe old woman having thus ended her song, the poor wife that with tears for joy, heard some hope of her redress, drew near to find out this old woman, who had sung such a pleasant Ditty, and finding her forth, she saluted her and after sundry broken sighs, flown out of a pensive conscience, she began to break with her in this manner.  
Mother (quoth she) as your age is great, so your experience is much, and therefore would I willingly discover some part of my grief unto you: the ●uld woman seeing the wives face, full of sorrow, noting in her the very An●atomie of a pensive woman, began to compassionate her fortunes, and therefore wished her miloely and friendly, to r●ueal● the cause of her distress, & if any way it lay in her power, to satisfy her thoughts, her cares should be cured with either counsel or comfort: the poor wife hearing the old woman speak with such a familiar relish unto her, began her complaint thus:   

The wives complain●, of the conditions of an ill husband.  
MOther I cannot conce●t my 〈◊〉 without sighs, nor manifest my sorrows without ●eares, so bitter is the estate of my fortunes, and so hapless is the event of my redress: I was once as you have be●●, a maid, and then the country Farmers reported my beauty to be as great, as now my misery is extreme: Fate so appointed that I was wooed and won by a rope-maker, a man I think (mother) not unknown unto yourself, if for no other cause, yet for the hard usage of his wives, and with that the poor woman bu●st into bitter tears, and the old woman began to ●●gh, in uttering her conceit with an oath, asked if she were the maid that Richard the rope-maker had married? I am mother quoth she, that unfortunate wife, that was once a maid, whose fortunes are made intolerable, by the bad nature of a froward husband▪ whose custom is neither at bed or at board, to show me any good countenance: if I look so●erly, than I am troubled with the sull●ns, and then he wakeneth me with a holly w●●and: if I salute any of my neighbours with good-morrow, he saith they are my Copesmates, and then my bones bears the burden: If I speak to none, he saith I scorn such as are his friends, and he will make me find my tongue: if in my bed I fall asleep, being wearied with labour, he pincheth me wickedly, and calls me drowsy drunkard: if I over-wake him, than he pulls me by the hair of the head, and saith I watch to cut his throat, when he is asleep: yet mother, these are not the greatest sorrows, for he hath a maid at home which he loves better than me, and her be setteth on his knee before my face he, cuts her the first morsel of the meat, and oftentimes in the night he riseth from me to go to her, and in the day if I but wish her to go to her work, if she frown, then am I most pitifully beaten, as you may witness with your eyes, and with that she discovered her naked body to her, which was all bruised black and blue, with stripes, and yet mother (quoth she) these are not the greatest sorrows.  
The old woman cold at the heart, with th● rehearsal of this poor wives calamities, made her this ●inde answer: daughter enough, I know by the man much ill, as this sixteen years that I have known him, I have entered into many discourses of his villainies, but letting him pass as he is, to the present redress of thy miseries, what, says she, hast thou no friends to go unto, whose ability may countervail his currishness, and bridle him by the law, for such beastliness? Alas answered she, I have none but an old woman and poor like yourself to my mother, and it grieves me to make a bootless complaint unto her: why then (saith the old woman) hast thou no friend who for the possession of thy love may have him about the pate, and so revenge thy injuries? Alas (mother) better had I die miserably, then dishonestly, I have none, And saith the old Matron, I see thou art not strong enough to match him with blows, and therefore must I fly for thy succour to my last physic: whose principles be so authentical and sure, that they never miss, therefore tell me, hast thou any woman, that thou dar'st commit thy secrets unto?  
O Mother (saith she) two or three his mortal enemies, and my greatest friends: then Daughter fear not (replied the old● Counsellor) but listen well to my advise: go thy wa●es home, and do something that may displease. Alas (said she) that I may easily do, for I cannot do any thing that can please him: but what then, shall I seek my own destruction to be beaten? for once daughter (qd. she) when thou mayst for that beating live at quiet for ever▪ But as soon as he offers to strike thee, stand in de●●ance of him, and say thou hast prayed unto our Lady for help, and she hath promised to help thee, and to revenge all thy injuries, and therefore bid him if he dares, but once while he lives touch thee again in anger. If then he● will swinge thee, bear it patiently, and take this powder that I shall give thee, and when thou know'st he goes to work alone by himself, give it him in drink: the virtue of the powder is to suffocate and choke up his senses, so that he shall not have any feeling for the space of ●ire honres, but he shall lie like a lifeless carcase, and his dreams shall be of women, & Angels: then daughter (& then she whispered many matters in her ears) whether they were charms or spells I cannot tell, but this I am sure it was some good conceit, for the poor wife wept for joy, and on her knees thanked the woman for her advise, and so they parted, she promising to bring her word within ten days how her physic had taken effect: well, to be short, merrily goes this good wife home, and finds her husband dallying with her maid, at which sight her stomach rose, and began to take him up sharply, and to swear that if she took her Maid and him so suspiciously together again, she would complain of him to the justices, and cut off her maids nose for a general example to such whor●s as she was.  
The Rope-maker (this gentle Richard) pondering at his wives unaccustomed brawling, began to start up, and to seek for a ●udgell, with that she as a woman resolved to follow her late counsel, made this reply:  
Nay brainsick villain, strike me if thou darest, for through thy long abuses I have heartily prayed to our Lady for revenge and she hath this day appeared to me, and promised me, that if thou dost hereafter, but touch the hem of my vesture in anger, she will be avenged upon thee so extremely, that thou shalt repent the abuses thou hast proffered me, as long as thou dost live. Richard smiling at this reply, made his wife this answer, housewife (quoth he) if our Lady have appeared unto you, our Lord her son hath showed me a vision, that he that hath an ill wife and will not ●eat her, shall lead apes in hell for his labour, and with that he fell upon her, and pumnield her so sound, that he had almost killed her, and she began half to repent that she followed the old woman's counsel, yet hoping for time to revenge, she bore all things with the more patience, and finding opportunity upon a day or two after to speak with her gossips, she revealed unto them the contents of the old wives counsel, whereat they triumphing and glorying in this determination, they promised to plague him, and to perform whatsoever should redound to her commodity, avowing such secrecy, as that it should never come out by any means whatsoever.  
Time passing on thus, it fortuned that our Rope-maker, and his maid, were wont every week twice, to go to a strange house, and there she turned the wheel while he twisted his ropes, when their business was done, what excercise they used I know not: one day amongst the rest Richard and his maid going alone to this solitary place, to make their ropes, he commanded his wife to fill them a bottle full of drink, for he could not return before night: she glad of this opportunity, put the dormitarie powder that the old wife had given her into the bottle, which they ●aking went their ways merrily together, and the drink and the powder with jogging was made a mere potion, as soon as they were gone▪ she stepped out and went to her 〈◊〉, and discoursed unto them the whole matter, and with that she drew out from under her ke●●le two three stringed whips of sharp and hard twisted cords, with ●ound knots upon the ends, able to cut the flesh with a small stroke, these she be queathed unto them, and humbly upon her knees, desired them not to spare for pity to punish them to the highest extremity: they promised to show justice without mercy & especially one of them who was sister to one of his former wives, that he had killed with kindness, who for an old grudge did intend now to be fully revenged, and so they went to the grange house, where leaving them consulting together, and the good wife gone home full of hope, let us return to the Rope-maker (Richard and his maid.)  
Richard after he had dispatched some part of his business, would to dinner or drinking, and after his Maid and he had lovingly broken their Fast, they would like Doves fall to billing, but having drunk sound of the potion, it began to mortify their senses, that he desirous to take a nap, laying his head in his maids lap, fell fast a sleep, and she as heavy as he, leaning her head on her masters shoulders was in a dead trance.  
When these two Gossips came and foun● them thus drowsely tumbled together, although they saw them sound a sleep, yet were they afraid until they had made experience of the effects of the potion: for they shook them, pricked them with pings, and used all means to awake them, but it was impossible, whereupon they grew ●olde, and pulled off his apparel not so much as leaving his shirt upon him, and they fell unto belabouring of him with their whips, in such monstrous manner, that the blood came down abundantly from all parts of his body, and they cut him with their lashes to the very sinews, so then at length they ceaste, pulled on his apparel as it was before, and dressed him up very mannerly, not so much as leaving his points untrust, or any thing undone, whereby he might perceive he had been made unready.  
Having thus dressed him in his kind, they fell to his Maid, and served her with the same sauce, that her master was used with all, and when they had punished her thoroughly, they dressed her again, laced up her clothes, and laid them together as they found them, and went their ways merrily to the Rope-makers house, discoursing unto their Gossip all what had happened, who joyful of this news, made them the best cheer in her house, and thanked them heartily for their labours, promising the next day to tell them what her husband would suspend in this tragedy.  
Well, the time of the working of the potion being at an end, sith they drunk together, they began to awake together, but the Maid being youngest, had the strongest senses, and therefore the operation soon wasted in her, and half between s●umber and awake about to stretch herself as drowsy folks do, her smock so cleaved to her skin▪ that the very smart thereof made her not only awake but to shrieke out, so that when she was come to herself she wondered what she ailed, that all her flesh was so sore, so that pulling up her petticoat and looking upon her thighs, she found them all in a gore blood, lashed and cut in with Whipcord almost half an inch deep, which made her to stand in a maze, wondering how she should become so grievously tormented. At last vnlas●ng herself, she found all her body worse, so that she could not lift her hands to her head. Whereupon she cried out▪ and her master awoke, & being half in a dream, and his eyes scarce open, as he was about to stretch him▪ his shirt clave so to his back, that he felt intolerable pains.  
Oh Isabella (quoth he) what ail I? or where am I? what have I dreamed? and what do I feel? Alas Master, I am almost whipped to death since I fell a sleep. I think it is some accursed Fairy's that have done this deed, and she showed him all her body, whereat he fell into bitter tears, and then she told him that she was laced and braced as she was before. Alas Isabella (quoth he) help me ●o unbutten me, for I cannot stir my hand to my bosom I am so sore, then untrussing him he found himself worse whipped than his Maid, whereupon he fell into consideration of the words of his wife used against him, threatening him that our Lady would revenge her wrongs, so that he told his maid, no doubt it was the virgin Marie that had thus punished them both for the wrongs he had proffered against his wi●e, promising if ever God sent him to his health, he would never strike her again, nor misuse her so long as he lived. So he desired his Maid to help him home, and she as Lame as he could scarce rise, yet one of them helping one another, they went cramping home as well as they could.  
As the w●nt lamenting home by the way, they met with the vicar of the Parish: this old Sir john meeting his neighbours (and one of his friends and parishioners) in this woeful perple●t●e asked him how he fared.  
Oh Master vicar (quoth he) not as a man in this world, you seem weak (quoth the vicar) sit down and rest you, and tell me where your grief lies, happily I may gi●e you some good counsel. Oh Master vicar (quoth he) I am in no case to sit down, I am so beaten with whips, that I cannot stir any joint of my body without pains. Why what ail you? how should it come so to pass? with that the Rope-maker told him from point to point what had happened to him, and to his Maid, and how his wife threatened him the other day, how that our Lady had appeared unto her, and promised revenge, and I think it is she or some of her holy Angels that hath whipped me and my Maid, for we slept but a nap, and when we awoke, we found neither hand nor foot stirred, nopoint untrust, no button unbuttoned, nothing out of order, and yet ourselves so whipped, that I think I cannot live till the morning, wherefore good Master vicar pray for me.  
Sir john hearing this, was wonderfully astonished, & wished him to go home to his wi●e, to mend his manners, and reconcile himself unto her, and he would pray for him the next day in the Church: so they parted, and hom● stumbles Richard and his Maid, and coming to the door found his wife sitting in the entrieat her wheel, she seeing her husband coming so simply and weakly with his Maid, although she tickled at her heart for joy that they were so well whipped, yet she feigned great sorrow at their present sight, and throwing down her wheel for hast●ran and met him, and weeping feigned tears, said alas, alas, what ails my husband? and offered to take him by the arm to ●●ay him, he cried out: oh wife touch me not, I am sore sick and cannot escape death, our Lady at thy request hath given me I fear me my deaths wound, for she hath almost whipped me and my maid to death: oh wife forgive us, and pray for us, and if we ever hap to live together, I will amend my life, and become a new man, and never speak angry word to thee again while I have breath in my body, the Wife seeming passing sorrowful at this, wished that our Lady had given her so much, so that he had escaped, so helping him in, she laid him down upon a soft pallet, and came and told her Gossips what had happened, and how her husband came home, and his maid with him So they came with her hastily laughing amongst themselves, but to his face pitying the chance so that by their help his maid and he were holpen to their beds, where when they had lain a little, and were come to some warmth, their flesh ●ell on bleeding a fresh, so that the Surgeon being sent for to staunch the blood, seeing their wounds, and hearing the strange case, fell in a great amaze with himself and said the doing of God was wonderful: much ado he had to stop the Flux of the blood, yet at last he got it stauncht, but they lay in most miserable perplexity, almost slain with the whipping.  
Well, the news of this (as women are borne blaby) began to go about the town, yet the two Gossips wondered at it, as much as the rest, and this happening upon a saturday, the next day being sunday, (good honest Sir john) came to visit his neighbour, and finding him almost speechless, after some words of comfort unto him▪ he went to Church, where after the first Lesson, he began a certain prayer for the health of the Rope-maker, who he said lay speechless, and at the mercy of God, and that through a strange and wonderful fortune, and therefore desiring all them that were present to pray for him, he began to take his text out of Saint Peter, how wives should obey their husbands, and husbands cherish their wives, sith they were but one flesh, and therein for an example brought in the strange adventure of Richard the Rope-maker how he had abused himself to all his wives, and so making manifest the wickedness of his life, did tell them what revenge our blessed Lady had taken upon him in a dream, and so from point to point discoursed unto them what had happened unto him, wishing them by his example to amend their lives, lest for beating their wives the like punishment fall upon them This text no little pleased the wives of the parish, for they tickled at it▪ and the men they were amazed to hear of such a wonderful chanc● so that in the after noon, all the parish came to see him and behold him, as if Lazarus had been risen from the dead, there finding a more pitiful spectacle than master vicar had told them of, they all said that as the case was very strange, so the revenge was just, such as were to shrews to their ●iues, bit the lip, and were afraid of our Ladies whipping. At last Richard gathering his spirits, and his speeches together, exhorted his Neighbours by his ex●mple, not to abuse and beat their wives, telling unto them th● full 〈◊〉 of this Tragedy.  
This discourse pleased the Wives, and affrighted the husbands, so that if any in the town offered to strike his wife▪ she would straight vow to make her complaint at our Lady's shrin●, and so they scaped many a sharp scour▪ But to be brief▪ Richard lay long sick and his maid, and his wife tended and comforted them so well, that at length they recovered some part of their strength▪ and when he was able to walk abroad, he humbled himself to his wife, and ●urst not abuse her all his life after, & if by chance they had fallen out, she would say straight, well, I say no more, but our Lady requi●e my injuries: and then would her husband never go abroad till his wife and he were reconciled and made friends, so ever after she war● the breeches, & was Master, and all the Wives in the parish fared the better, and were all greater benefactors to the Shrin● of our Lady, that rid them from the hands of their injurious husbands.  
And thus with a ravens quill have I written this Almanac, which foretelleth strange, ominous & most dir● events, The plagues whereof I have spoke shall as certainly fall out, as the Famine, and the Civil wars: all three are dreadful, all three are at hand. Make bonfires therefore in your streets, (O you Citizens) to purge the air of all infection, albeit you keep the inward houses of your bodies never so unclean it is no matter. Open your gates to let in the country folks, with provision, to beat back famine, but let the markets be looked unto as men's consciences are: that is to say, every one to rack it how he listeth, As for civil wars there is good hope, they shall quickly be quenched, because so many hundreds of Constables watch day and night within the walls to keep the peace: But by no means step you in and be sticklers when the Church is at ●arre within he● self by schisms or by Temporizer●, or when the husband and wife, the Father and Son, the Master and Servant, or when any other limb of the politic body challengeth the combat against him, whom by nature he is bound to defend: if any predictions bring thee in pleasure or profit, thou wil● encourage me to play the right Almanac maker, and in another year to sing mor●ie tunes of my fair weather, as in this I have struck a dull string, sounbing only storms. In the mean time suffer my Raven (being weary) to fly to some tree of rest, and there to prune herself of this seek Feathers, which she hath caught by meddling with the diseases of 1609.     
FINIS.