THE Mirror of Mirth, and pleasant Conceits: CONTAINING, Many proper and pleasant inventions, for the recreation and delight of many, and to the hurt and hindrance of none.  
Framed in French by that Worshipful and learned Gentleman Bonaduenture de Periers, Groom to the right excellent and virtuous Princess, the Queen of Navara: And Englished by R. D.  
At London, ¶ Printed by Roger Warde: dwelling a little above Holborn Conduit, at the Sign of the Talbot. 1583.   

To the courteous and gentle Readers.  
IT was the custom of a certain Philosopher (right gentle and courteous Readers) when he perceived the people to wax weary by his long and tedious orations, & to drop out of doors ere he had done, to take his harp in hand, which he so finely fingered, that the sweet and pleasant sound thereof procured the people to come running in faster than before they went forth, whose dulled spirits being revived with that pleasant melody, and their minds before cloyed with over many circumstances of gravity, being by this means marvelously delighted, did the better and with greater ease continue the time of his conclusion: whose excellent policy in this point, hath attained so great commendation, that it is set forth for an example to all posterities. If then you find yourselves overladen, either by the means of worldly cares, or with the intolerable burden of over great studies (if the deeds of this Philosopher were to be followed) I would wish you no greater or better pleasure than he showed to his people: considering that Mirth and Melody cutteth off care, unburdeneth the mind of sorrow, healeth the grieved heart, & filleth both soul and body with inestimable comfort. And therefore many mighty and excellent Princes, whose heads are troubled with divers and sundry enormities, do for this cause entertain and accept of such persons, whose pleasant nature and disposition may move them to delight. Sith then moderate pleasure is not only convenient, but also profitable and necessary for us, I have presumed here upon your courtesy, for the recreation of your minds, to sent unto your sight this simpel & rude work, the grace and beauty whereof being stripped from his Country guise, & now newly wrapped in this strange attire, is not only blemished by means of the translators unskillfulnesse, but as it were spoiled both of favour and fashion. Yet if it please you to pardon his imperfection, and to accept his good will, he shall not only be encouraged to mend his amiss, but also hereafter present you with such as may better countervail your courtesy, and save his own credit. Thus loath to be over tedious, in so mean a manner, I commend you to the protection of the celestial powers, and this to your friendly consideration.  
Yours in all humility, T. D.   

❧ Here beginneth the mirror of Mirth, and pleasant conceits.  
¶ Of a Chorister that sang the Countertennor in the Church of S. Hyllaris at poitiers, that compared the Canons to their pottages.  
IN the Church of S. Hyllaris at poitiers, sometimes there was a singing man, that sang the Countertennor, who, for that he was a very good fellow, and would drink hard, as commonly such men will do, was well-beloved amongst the Canons, and they called him oftentimes to dinner and to supper. And because of the familiar acquaintance that he had with them, it seemed to him, that there was none of them all, but that sought and desired his furtherance. By reason whereof, he would say first to one, and then to an other: Sir, you know how long time it is since I first served in this Church, it is now high time that I might hereafter be provided for, I pray you speak for me when you are together in your Chapel Court, I require no great thing, although you my masters have great livings, I would be content with one of the least. His request was well taken and allowed of them all, being several, which gave him a good answer, saying, that it was reason he should be remembered: and although the Chapel Court will not consider of thee, rather than thou shouldest want, we will give thee part of ours: this this said they to him, when they were alone. Well, at all their going in, and coming out of the Chapel Court, he gave attendance, desiring them to remember him: and they did answer him with one voice, saying: stay a while, and thou shalt not be forgotten, but shalt have the first place that is vacant. But when it came to the pinch, there was always some excuse; either that the benefice was too great, and therefore one of the Masters had it: or that it was too little, and therefore he should have a better: or that they were constrained to give it to one of their brethren's kinsmen, but without fail he should the next that did fall. And with these words they kept off this singing man, so that the time went away, and he served still without any reward. And in the mean while he gave always some present (according to his slender ability) to them whom he knew might give their voices in the Chapel Court, as the first new fruits he could buy: sometimes Chickens, sometimes Pigeons, Rabbits, Partridges, and such like, according to the season: which the poor singing man bought, either at the market, or at the Poulters, making them believe, that they cost him nothing, and they took always that which was given them. In the end, this Chorister perceiving himself never the nearer, nor one whit the better, but that he lost his time, his money, & his pains, determined to make no longer suit, but studied to show them what opinion he had of them. And to bring this to pass, he found the means to gather five or six Crowns together: and during the time that he was providing them (for it required time) he begun to make more account of my masters the cannons then before, and to use himself more soberly. And when he espied time convenient, he came to the chiefest amongst them, and prayed them one after an other, to dine with him the next Sunday following at his house, saying unto them, that in 9 or 10. years that he had been in their service, he could do no less, then to bestow one dinner of them, and he would entertain them, though not so well as they were worthy, yet according to his power, in the best manner that he might, or could devise. They promised him one after an other to come together. But they were not so negligent, but that every one of them made their provision at home again the day appointed, fearing to have a slender Dinner of this singing man's provision, giving better credit to his words, then to his kitchen. At the hour and time set down, each of them sent their own ordinary provision to his house, and he said unto them: My friends, my masters and yours doth me great wrong, are they afraid they shall not be well used? they need not send their dinner hither, for I have provided meat for them, I thank God: but he took all that came, and put all together in a great Pot, that he had provided of purpose in a corner of the kitchen. At the last came the cannons to Dinner, & sat down in order, according to their dignities. This singing man, at the first let before them their pottage, that he had put together in the great Pot, but God knoweth in what order: for one had sent a Capon in stewed broth, another Saffron broth, another Chickens in white broth, an other powdered beef and turnips, an other a leg of mutton in herb pottage, some sent their meat sodden, and some roasted. When the cannons saw this kind of service, they had no stomachs to eat, but tarried each man to see when their own provision would come in, not thinking that it was on the Table before them. The Chorister or singing man, went to and fro very busy, as one that was careful to see them well served, beholding always their countenances that sat at the table. The first service being somewhat too long, they could forbear no longer, but said unto him: I pray thee take away these pottages, and give us those that we sent hither. These are yours said he. Ours said they? that they are not. Yes truly quoth he, they are: saying to one here is your turnips, to an other, here is your stewed broth, to an other, here is your herb pottage, to an other, here is your white broth, and to an other, these are your Saffron pottage: then they began each man to know his own pottage, and to behold one an other Now truly, said they, we were never thus used, but is this the order to feast the cannons? now the Devil take all, I thought this fool would mock us. Then spoke an other saying, I had the best pottage that was eat of this seven years: And I said an other, had well provided for my dinner: And my heart gave me said the fourth, that it had been better to have dined at home. When the singing man had given ear a while unto their talk, he said: My masters, if all your pottages were so good as ye feign they were, how can it be possible, that they should become nought in so short a time? I have kept them by the fire close covered, what could I have done better to them? Yea marry, said they, but where didst thou learn to put them thus together? thou might'st well know, that they would not be good being thus mixed. Well then said he, I perceive that which is good by itself alone, is nought being mixed with other things. Now truly said he, I must needs believe you, if it be but by yourselves my Masters: for when ye be each one alone by yourselves, there is nothing better than ye are, you promise then mountains, but when you are together in your Chapel Court, then are ye like to your pottages. Then they understood well what he meant. Ha well said they, we perceive now to what end this thy doing was, thou hast good cause to be considered: but in the mean time, shall we not dine? Yes that you shall said he, better than you are worthy. Then he brought them other meat that he had prepared, & set it before them, where with they were pleased. When they had well dined, they went away, & concluded from that time forth that he should be provided for, the which was done. And thus his invention and devise of pottages, did prevail more, than all his requests and importunate suits before time.   

¶ Of one that sang the Countertennor at Reymes, who was a singing man, a Pickard, and a Master of Art.  
THere was a singing man that did belong to our Lady's Church at Reymes, which is the Country of Champeny, who had a singular good voice to sing the Countertennor, but he was a man given very much to vice, for there escaped no day wherein he did not commit some folly: with one he would fight, with an other quarrel, a common gamester at Cards and Dice, always at the Tavern with his pretty wenches, of whom complaints came daily to the Chapel Court, before the cannons and masters, & they would often times warn him of his faults, reproving & threatening him, sometimes openly, sometimes secretly, and he would promiss every time to amend, and to become an honest man: but when they were turned, and g●ne out of sight, & that the wine had gotten Sir john by the brain, than began he his old pranks. Now the cannons were constrained to bear with him for two causes: the one was, because he sang passing well: the other because he was put to them by an Archdeacon of the Church, unto whom they bore such reverence, that they would not open the man's faults unto him, thinking belike that he had known them aswell as they, and that he did reprove him for them (as in deed he did, when he knew thereof) but he knew not the one half of this faults. It came to pass upon a time, that this singing man committed an offence so haineus', that the cannons were constrained of force to declare it to the Archdeacon, showing him that for his sake they had put up many grievous offences at his hands: but now, seeing he used himself worse and worse, being in a manner past remedy, they could no longer forbear to hold their peace. He hath (said they) this night so beaten a Priest, that he shall not be able to sing Mass again this two Months: if it had not been for the love of you, we would have forbidden him our church long ago, but for that we see in him no remedy, we pray you not to be offended with us for that we do inform you thereof. The Archdeacon answered them that they had done well, & that he himself would take order therein. And incontinently he sent for the singing man, who feared that there was some matter against him, for he knew well it was not to give him a Benefice, nevertheless he went, and was no sooner gone in, but Master Archdeacon began to sing to him an other manner of lesson than Matins. Come hither said he, thou knowest, how often those of this Church have borne with thy insolency and naughty life, therefore avoid, and get the hence, and see that thou see my face no more: I will not hereafter be reproved for such a lewd javel as thou art, for there is no amendment in thee: but if I should serve thee according to thy deserts, I should make thee fast bread and water, this twelve months. Ye need not ask if the singing man was cut on the head: not withstanding, he was not so calmed, but that he made his answer directly, and said: Sir, do you that are so well seen in men, marvel though I am not wise: you know Sir, that I am a singing man, a Packard, and a Master of Arte. The Archdeacon at this sudden answer, could not tell whether to laugh, or to be angry, notwithstanding he turned it to the best. For he assuaged by little and little his anger, being provoked to do, as the Bishop of Courtesan did, who forgave a Priest that had gotten five Nuns with child, to whom he was ghostly Father. For being called before the Bishop, and very straightly examined thereof, jesting out the matter, answered thus: Demine, quinque tal●ntae tradists mihi, ecce alia quinque superlucratus sum: which is as much as to say: Lord, thou gavest me five tallentes, behold now I have gained other five. A Pickard hath always his head near his cap: A singing man hath always some mynimes in his brain: A Master of Art is so full of Ergos, that it forceth not to talk with him. And truly, when these three good qualities take hold of any man, it is no marvel though he have a light head, but rather to wonder at the contrary.   

¶ Of three Sisters newly married, that did each of of them make a good answer to their husbands the first night of their wedding.  
IN the Country of Anjou there was in times past a Gentleman, that was rich, and of a good stock, but he was somewhat subject to his pleasure. This Gentleman had three Daughters, that were fair and well nurtured, and of such age and years, that the youngest might well enough resist the violence of a man. It happened so, that they were without a Mother: and because their Father was yet of lusty years, he used still his old customs, which were, to keep a good house, and to entertain and receive merry and pleasant company, where the order was, to play, to dance, to revel, and to make good cheer. And for that he was negligent, & not careful in the ordering of his house, and overseeing of his household, his Daughters had opportunity, leisure, & liberty enough, to talk and laugh with young Gentlemen: whose talk I warrant you, was not how to make cheap corn, neither concerning the governance of the public wealth, as the sequel shows. Also their father on his part, played the Lover as well as others, which made the young Gentlewomen the more boulder to love and to be beloved, for as the old cocks crow, the young-ones learn. And they having gentle hearts, knowing that they were Gentlewomen of a good house, thought it a thing very ungrateful, and full of reproach, to be beloved, and not to love again. These reasons therefore considered, being all thráe of them prayed, entertained, loved, and followed every day, and hour, at length they suffered themselves to be taken and snared in love, taking such compassion on their paramours, that they spared not so pleasure them, in whatsoever they did demand. At which play and sport they sped so well, that the marks and signs began to appear: for the eldest daughter (being somewhat more forward than the rest) was greatly abashed, because there was no way to keep it secret: for in a house where the mother is missing, there is small regard of the daughters doings: or at the least, if there happen a mischance, they know ways and remedies to prevent it. But the Maiden knowing no way to hide this from her Father, determined to make him privy to her secret practices: which, when he understood, he was at the first very sorry and greatly displeased, but he despaired not, for that he was of that stamp of men, that took not things to the heart. And to say the truth, what need a man torment and vex himself for a thing, when it is done? it is but rather to make it worse. Well, he sent his Daughter into the Country, three or four miles off, to an Aunt that she had, under colour of sickness, because that by the counsel of the Physicians, the change of the air was very good for her, tarrying there until she was dlivered with child But as it is commonly seen, one misfortune falleth upon an others neck: for as his eldest Daughter had in a manner dispatched her business, and emptied her belly, the second Sister was also sped. The Father perceiving this, said: I see that my Daughters would not that the world should be left desolate. And upon this event (doubting belike the worst) he came to his youngest daughter, who was not yet with child, but she had done her good will in the matter to her power: Well Daughter said he, he to dost & thou? hast not thou followed thy e●der afters steps? The young Damsel began to changed colour, and to blush, which the Father took for open confession. Very well said he, God send us good luck, and keep us from evil: yet nevertheless, he thought it his time to provide for his affairs, and therefore he determined to marry his three Daughters. But here was the mischief, he knew not to whom: for, to offer them to his neighbours it was in vain, because their doings in his house was known, or at the least suspected. On the other side, to marry them to those that had abused his Daughters, was a thing that could not well be done, for it may be each of them had more than one. And if peradventure there was but one man that had done the deed, ye know few men will put their trust in one that will so willingly lay her legs open, before she know who shall be her husband. And for these considerations, the Father thought it more expedient and necessary, to seek his sons in Law further from home. And as those men which of nature are pleasant and marry, and love to frequent company, are happy and fortunate in their doings: even so, this gentleman failed not of his purpose, to find out that which he sought for, which was in the Country of Britain, where he was well known, aswell for the name of his house, as for the lands and goods he had in that country, not far from the Town of Nantes: by means whereof, he had good occasion to make his journey thither. To conclude, when he was in the said country, aswell by friends that he made, as through himself, he preferred the marriage of his three Daughters: to which the Britain's gave some ear, so that there was choice enough. But amongst all the rest, there was one Gentleman of Britain who was rich, & of a good stock, the which had three sons of good years, and well made like men, good dancers, clean legged, well footed, and excellent at all games, whose like was not to be sad in all the whose Country, whereof this Gentleman was very glad. And becave the prolonging of the time was not best, he concluded the match with the Father of these young men, that his three Sons should marry his three Daughters, and that one Bridal should serve for all: that is, they should all three be married on one day. And to bring this to pass, the three brethren prepared themselves with all speed to departed into Anjou, with the Gentleman father of three daughters. Now you must note, that although they were Britain's, there was not one of the three but knew fashions: for they had played youthful pranks with the Brittanish Maids, which are of a good inclination that way, as the talk goeth. But to our matter. When they were come to the Gentleman's house, they beheld the countenances of the three Gentlewomen, every one his, and found them all fresh, fair and pleasant, and also wise and well spoken. Well, the marriage was concluded, & all things prepared: But she night before the wedding should be, the Father called his three Daughters aside into a chamber, and said unto them these words: Ye know what fault you have all three committed, and what pain you have put me unto: if I had been of the nature of these rigorous cruel & heard hearted fathers, I had cast you off, and you should never have enjoyed any of my goods: but for my part you see, I had rather redress things that are amiss, then to put you to shame, & myself in perpetual trouble through your follies. I have here brought for each of you a husband, therefore prepare yourselves to make much of them & cherish them, and pluck up good hearts, you shall have no harm: If they happen to perceive or spy any thing by any of you, to your own peril be it, nevertheless you have as yet done than no offence. And therefore henceforth take heed to yourselves, and govern yourselves so, that there may be found no fault in your doings, and I promise you for my part, that I will both forget and forgive all faults past. And besides all this, I assure you, she that can give unto her Husband the best answer to please him the first night, being in bed together, should have for her part two hundredth Crowns more than the others: now therefore go your ways, and remember my words. After these wholesome admonitions, he went to bed, and his Daughters also, being nothing oblivious in this matter. The bridal day was the next morrow, they went to the Church, and were married early in the Morning. There was great cheer, with dancing and leaping about the house: which being paste, the heads were made, wherein the Brides were bravely laid, unto whom their husbands shortly after came, what time the eldest sporting with his new bedfellow, and feeling her belly very lank, merely put forth these speeches: I doubt my beloved, the birds be fled and gone: unto whom she presently replied, keep you then in the nest. The second sister's husband handling her, feeling her belly hard and round, began thus: how now Wise, the barn is already full: beat then at the gate quoth thee. The third sister's husband in sporting himself in like sort, and finding his wife skilful in the game, presently spoke in this manner: I perceive the way was beaten before: the damsel answered, you may the better find the path. The night being passed, and the day come, they came all three before their father, & declared unto him, what had chanced, and what was their answers: now, would I know to which of the three he ought to give the CC. Crowns: If therefore your skill be so good, declare the truth of this difficult matter.   

¶ Of a certain man in Pickardy, that withdrew his wife from her disordinate love, through the admonition that he gave her in the presence of her parents.  
THere was in times past a King in France, whose name we do not well know, & although we did, yet should it be secret, because of this matter whereof we mean to speak. Nevertheless it is said that he was a good King, and worthy of the Crown, he would bend his ear to hear the talk as well of the poor as of the rich, for thereby he understood the truth of things, which cannot be so well when one goeth by hear say: but to the purpose. This good king, would walk thorough the countries of his kingdom, and many times would go into the Cities and Towns in a disguised garment, to understand the truth and order of things. Upon a day he thought to visit the country of Pickardy in his royal person: notwithstanding, using many times his accustomed privatnes, being at Soyssons, he sent for the chiefest of the town, and caused them to sit down with him at his Table, in token of great courtesy, requesting them very gently, to rehearse and tell some stories, either merry tales, or such as were grave and sad. Amongst others, there was one that began to declare to the King this story following. And it like your grace said he, it came to pass not long since in one of the towns of Pickardy, that a certain justice, who liveth yet, buried his wife, after they had lived together a good season. And because he liked so well the first, he had a desire to marble the second time, and took to wife a Maiden fresh and fair, & come of a good kindred yet notwithstanding, she was not equal to him either in goods, or in qualities: for he was of good years, and half spent, and she in the flower of her youth wanton, and full of pleasure, so that he was not able to satisfy her youth according to her desire: for when she began to have a little taste of the joys and pleasures of this world, she felt quickly, that her husband did but set her a longing. And although he gave her good entertainment aswell in her apparel, in fair words, and showing to her a merry countenance, nevertheless, all this served but to set fire in the ●ow, so that at the last it flamed out in such sort, that she determined with herself, to borrow of some other that which her Husband wanted to perform. At the last, she found out a new Lover, with whom she used her pleasure for a time: but not content with him, she got an other, and then an other, so that in short time she had such a company, that they hindered one an other, coming in unto her both at lawful and unlawful hours, to take their pleasure on her: by which means, she had laid aside the remembrance of her honour, giving herself wholly to her lust and pleasure. In the mean time her husband knew nothing, or at the least if he did, he armed himself with patience, being content to bear the penance of his own folly, because that his years being more than half spent, he had so unadvisedly taken to wife a maid of so young and tender years. Well, this train continued so long, till it was commonly talkend on in the town, & in every man's mouth: wherewith his friends were grieved so sore, that one of them could not refrain, but came and told him thereof, declaring unto him the rumour & noise that was spread abroad, so that if he did not provide a remedy, he would give occasion unto all the world to think that he was content withal: and in the end all his friends would despise and forsake his company, and he should be abhorred of all honest men. When he understood the talk of his friend, he made a sign of great displeasure and sorrow, as one that knew nothing thereof, & promised to see a remedy therein with as much speed as was possible: but when he was alone by himself, he thought it was a thing out of his power to remedy, but that the shame would continue & remain still: and he thought his wife should of herself in respect of him, and of her honour, call back her folly and beware: otherwise, all the strong walls, bolts, and locks, would not hold her in, nor stay her disordinate affection. Furthermore, he reasoned with himself, that he being a man sober and wise, ought not to set his care towards the bridling of a vain and evil given woman, the which thing kept him from searching out the truth, of the matter too rashly. Notwithstanding, for that he would not seem as one not careful of his domestical affairs, the which was esteemed of all men must dishonest and wicked, he bethought him on a remedy, which he thought above all others was most expedient and necessary. The remedy was this: he determined to buy a house which joined to his backside, and of two he purposed to make one, saying, that he would have a going in and out at his backside, as well as at the street side. Which devise was speedily finished, & a door was made in the secretest place that might be: unto which he caused to be made half a dozen of keys, & he forgot not to make a gallery very proper for the goers & comers. These thing being thus prepared, he appointed a day to have all his Wives principal and chief parents and kindred to dinner, and not one of his own kindred at that time: he gave them good entertainment, and made them great cheer. After Dinner was done, before any of them did rise from the Table, he began to speak unto them these words following in the presence of his Wife: My masters and Gentlewomen all, that are here present, you know how long it is since I married your kinswoman, that sitteth here by me, I have had now time & leisure to consider, that it was not to me she ought to have been married, because the match between her & me was not equal: but when a thing is done, that may not be undone, we must be content to tarry the end. Then turning himself towards his wife, he said unto her: wife, I have not long since suffered rebukes, through your naughty and evil government, the which hath grieved me at the heart. It hath been showed me, that there cometh hither youngmen at all hours of the day to keep you company, truly, it is a thing greatly to your dishonour & mine, which if I had perceived before now, I would have provided a remedy for: but yet it is better late than never. I pray you speak unto those that frequent your company, that here after they may come to you in more secret manner, which they may the better do, because of a door on the backside, which I caused to be made for them, of which door here are half a dozen keys for you, to give to each of your lovers one, and if there be not keys enough, I will cause more to be made, for the Smith is at our commandment: and bid them so to part the time of their meeting, as may be most profitable both for them and you: for if you will not abstain from sin and evil doing, at the least do it so secretly, that the world have no occasion to speak of the same, to your shame and mine. When the young Wife had heard the talk that her Husband had made unto her in the presence of her parents & friends, she began to be ashamed of her doings, and remembered with herself the wrong and injury that she had done to her Husband, to the dishonour of him, herself, and her kindred: so that that then she had such remorse of conscience, that from that time forward, she shut the gate against all her Lovers, and forsook all her disordinate affections, and unlawful pleasures, and afterward lived with her husband like an honest and virtuous Wife, in all honour, and contentation of them both. When the King had heard this story, he was desirous to know who was the party, saying: now by the faith of a Gentleman, he is one of the pacientst men in my kingdom, he would sure do some virtuous act, seeing he is endued with such patience. And at the very same time the King made him his general Attorney in Pickardy. As for me, if I knew the name of this honest man, I would give him immortal praise: but time hath done great wrong to hide his name, that deserved well to be placed in the Chronicles, yea, to have been canonised. For he was a very Martyr in this world, and I believe he is happy in the world to come.   

¶ Of a Norman that went to Rome, who provided Latin to carry to the Pope, and how he helped himself therewith.  
THere was upon a time a Norman, who perceiving that Priests lived the best and easiest life in the world, after his wife was dead, had a desire to become one of the Church, but he could write & read very little. Nevertheless, having heard say that money made all, and esteeming himself to be as like a man, as many of the priests of his parish, he came to one of his familiar friends, and broke his mind unto him, ask his counsel how to use and govern, himself in this matter. Who, after much talk had between them, did comfort him, and said, that if he would have his matters well brought to pass, it were best for him to go to Rome, for he should have some what to do to be made Priest at the bishops hand, that was his ordinary, who was very circumspect in admitting Priests, and giving them their Significavit: But the Pope, that was troubled with many other things, would make no regard of his ignorance, but would admit him with all speed. More over, in so doing he should see the Country, and at his return, being known to be priested at the Pope's hands, there were none, but would do him honour and worship, and that in a short time he should get a great Benefice, and become a very rich man. The Norman found this talk good, and agreeable to his mind, but he had this blot of conscience, that he could speak no Latin, and declared it unto his counsellor, saying: Yea marry, but when that I shall come before the Pope, what language shall I speak? he doth not understand the Norman speech, nor I can speak no Latin, how shall I do then? As for that said his friend, thou needest not to stay: for when thou art a Priest, it is enough for thee to know a Mass of Requiem, our Lady's Mass, and a Mass of the holy Ghost, the which thou mayest learn quickly after thy return. But for to speak unto the Pope, I will teach the three Latin words, so well placed, that when thou hast said them before him, he shall think thee to be a profound & learned Clerk. The Norman was very glad to hear these tidings, so that he would in all haste know what were these three words. Friend, said his Counsellor so soon as thou art come before the Pope, thou shalt fall down on thy knees saying: Salue sancte pater: then he will ask thee in Latin, unde es tu? that is to say, Of whence art thou? Thou shalt answer him, De Normania: then he will ask thee, Vbi sunt literae tuae? thou shalt say to him, In manica mea: and presently without any delay, he will command thou shalt be dispatched, and then shalt thou come thy ways. This Norman was never so jocund and merry as now, so that he remained fifteen or twenty days with his friend, to learn those three Latin words: and when he thought he had learned them well, he prepared himself to take his journey to Rome. And by the way he did nothing but repeat his Latin: Salue sancte pater: De Normania: In mansca, meo: but I think verily he said it so often, and with such great affection, that he forgot the first word, Salue sancte pater: and to see the luck of it, he was well forward on his way. If the Norman was troubled, truly it was no marvel: for he knew not to what Saint to make his vow, to recover again his words: and he thought with himself, to come before the Pope without them was in vain: and also he thought, that it was not possible for him to find a man, that could so faith fully instruct and teach him, on the friend of his own parish from whence he came. Never was man so sorry, as this poor man was, until it chanced upon a Saturday in the morning, that he went into a Church to pray, whereas he understood they began to sing a Mass of our Lady in note, Salue sancta parens, whereunto the Norman gave ear: now God be praised and our blessed Lady, said he, here are good tidings. Never was man so glad as he, & he caused the words to be repeated by a clerk that was there, keeping them so well in memory, that he forgot them no more, and thus set forward on his way with his Latin, Salue sancta parens: thinking himself the better that ever he was borne. At length he journeyed so far, that he came to Rome. And you must note, that in those days it was not so dangerous to speak with the Pope, as it is now. Well, when he was come thither, he was had in before the Pope, where he forgot not his reverence upon his knees, saying unto him, Salue sancta parens. The Pope said unto him, Ego non sum matter Christ's: the Norman answered, De Normacia. The Pope behold him, and said: Demonium habes? In manicae meo, answered the Norman: and with that he put his hand into his sleeve to pull out his letters. The Pope began to be afraid, thinking he would have pulled the Devil out of his sleeve: but when he perceived that they were letters, he asked him again, Quid petis? But the Norman could go no further, for he was at the end of his lesson, so that he answered nothing at all to the Pope. In the end, when that certain of his own nation perceived what Country man he was, they began to question with him in his own language: whom he gave to understand & know, that he had learned but a little Latin in his country for his own provision, and that he knew much good, but he understood not the way how to use it.   

¶ Of Fowlke, that made his Master believe, that a poor man which came to him was deaf, & also made the man believe that his Master was deaf, and how his Master was revenged of him for it.  
A Certain Attorney in the Law, kept under him two or three Clerks, among the which there was one a wealthy man's son in Paris, that was his Apprentice, which put his son to the said Attorney to learn the skill of the Law. This young man's name was Fowlke, about the age of sixteen or seventeen years very unhappy, wild, and full of play. Now (according to the custom of such houses) Fowlke did always the errands and business: amongst which one was, that he went always to the gate when any body knocked, for to know the parties that did wait for his master, and to know their request, to make report thereof to his Master. There was a certain man that had a suit at Chastelet, and had taken Fowlkes Master for his Attorney, & came oftentimes to visit him: and also because he would have the more friendship showed him, he brought with him sometimes Capons, Coneys, & Chickons: and his use was, to come always a little before noon, at such time as the Clerks were at Dinner, to whom Fowlke must open the gate, and then carry his Master word, and then to the gate again to carry him an answer, that before Fowlke could go in and out and dispatch the matter, his Dinner was very light: and on the other side, his Master had no great respect of him, for he would send him abroad into the City at all hours of the day, at which Fowlke was sore grieved. Upon a time this honest man came again to the gate at the hour accustomed, whom Fowlke knew by his knocking: when he had knocked three or four times, he went and opened him the gate, & in going he thought to play him a cast of legerdemain, because he came always at dinner time, and he thought his Master should have part. Having opened the gate, how now good man said he, what say you? I would speak with your master quoth he, concerning my suit. Well said Fowlke, tell me your mind, and I will certify him. No said the good man, I must speak with him myself: well than said Fowlke, I will go tell him that you are here. In he goeth to his Master, and told him that such a man would speak with him: bid him come in then said the Attorney. Sir said Fowlke, he is become deaf, or at the least he cannot well hear, you must speak loud enough, if you will have him to understand. Well said his master, I will speak loud enough. Fowlke goeth then to the man, and said unto him: come in good man & speak unto my master: but wots you what? there is fallen a disease into my masters ears, so that he is become almost deaf, when you speak to him, you must speak to him aloud, or else he can not hear you. This being done, Fowlke goeth to make an end of his Dinner, and in his going said to himself, our master and yonder man will not now I trow talk in counsel. The good man cometh into the chamber whereas the Attorney was, and saluted him, saying: God give you good morrow sir, so loud, that a man might have heard him all the house over. The Attorney said unto him as loud, welcome friend, what news with thee? Then they entered into talk concerning the man's matter, but they talked out so loud one against an other, as if they had lost one another in a wood. When they had well debated the matter on both sides, the good man taketh her leave of the Attorney, and goeth his way. Within certain days after, this good man came again, but it was at such time as Fowlke was abroad in the City, about business that his Master had sent him. The honest man went in, and did his duty to his Attorney, demanding of him how he did? He answered that he was in health. Ha Sir, said this good man, God be praised, that you are no more deaf, the last time that I was here, we were feign to speak aloud, but now I perceive that you can hear well, thanked be God. The Attorney was abashed at his saying: nay quoth he, have you recovered your hearing? It is you that was deaf. The man answered unto him, that he was never deaf, but that he heard always very well: then the Attorney perceived well that it was one of Fowlkes knavish devices: but he found the means to recompense it again. For upon a day when that he had sent him into the City, Fowlke forgot not to take the Tennis Court in his way, the which was not far from his masters house, as he was accustomed most times to do when he was sent abroad, the which his Maist. knew full well, and also had found him there many times as he went by: knowing well that he should find him there, he went to a Barber, that dwelled hard by, praying him to provide him a good new Rod ready, and told him for what purpose he would have it. When he thought his man Fowlke had played so long that he did sweat, and was in a great heat: he came into the Tennis Court, and called Fowlke that had banded all ready his part of two dozen of bauls, and was playing at double or quit, when his Master saw him so red, & in such a heat, well ye knave said he, leave of, thou spoilest thyself, if thou chance to be sick, thy Father will lay the blame in me: and there upon, coming out of the Tennis, he caused him to go into the Barbers, to whom he said: Gossep, I pray you lend me a shirt for this young man, that is alone a sweat, and cause him to be rubbed. Good God, said the Barber, marry Sir he had need, otherwise he should be in a danger of a pleurisy. They caused Fowlke to go into a back shop, and made him to put of his clothes before a fire, that was kindled to cloak the matter, and in the mean time, the rods were prepared for poor Fowlke, that would have been contented to have escaped without a clean shirt, When his clothes were of, these cursed rods were brought, wherewith he was well whipped, both back & belly & all about. And in jerking of him, his M. said, how now Fowlke? how likest thou this pastime? I was the other day deaf, but I shall make you dance after a new fashion, how say ye, is it good playing the fool with your Master: But GOD knoweth Fowlke was blank, and learned by this that it was not good mocking his Master any more.   

¶ Of a Doctor of degree, that was so sore hurt with an Ox, that he could not tell in which leg it was.  
THere was upon a time a certain Doctor, riding through the streets towards the Schools, who met in the way by chance a Company of Oxen, that a Butcher's Boy did drive: one of that which Oxen came so near to M. Doctor that he touched his gown as he passed upon his Mule: wherewithal, he being sore afraid, cried out a loud, help my Masters, help this Ox hath killed me, I am dead: at this cry, the People came running together thinking by his cry that he was grievously hurt, one kept him upon the one side, another on the other side upon his Mule: and amongst his great cries, he called his servant who was named Cornellius: come hither said he, go thy ways to the Schools, & tell them that I am dead, an Ox hath killed me, and that I cannot come to make my lecture. The Students were sore troubled to hear these news, and so were the other Doctors: whereupon they appointed some to go see him, which found him laid a long upon a bed, and the Surgeon by him that had his rolling bands, his ail, his ointements his while of eggs, & all his ymplements, necessary in such a chance. M. Doctor complained on his right leg so sore, that he could not endure to have his hose pulled of, but that it must needs be ripped. When the Surgeon had seen his bare leg, he found no skin broken nor bruised, nor no appearance of hurt, although that M. Doctor cried still, I am dead my friend: and when the Surgeon did touch it with his hand, he cried the louder, thou killest me, thou killest me. And where is it that it greeneth you most said the Surgeon? dost thou not see said he, how an Ox hath killed me, and askest thou me where my pain lieth? then the Surgeon asked him, is it here Sir? no quoth he: nor here? no neither: to be short it could not be found. Oh good God, said the Doctor, what a pain is this, that these Folks cannot find where my pain lieth? is it not swollen said he to the Barber? no Sir said he. It must needs be then said the Doctor, that it is in the other leg, for I know well enough that the Ox did strike me on one of my legs. There was no remedy but the other hose must be pulled of, & the leg searched, but there was as much harm as in the first leg. Good Lord quoth the Doctor, this Surgeon hath no skill, go fetch me another. When he was come & could find nothing, the Doctor began to wonder, saying: this is a strange matter, that such a great Ox should strike me, & do me no harm: them calling his man, he said: come hither, Cornelius? when the ox did hurt me, in which leg was it? was it not in this next the wall? Ita Domine, said his Servant: then quoth he, it must needs be in this leg, and so I said at the first, but they thought I mocked them. The Surgeon perceiving that M. Doctor had no harm, but only was afraid: for to content his mind, he gave it a little ointment, & bound his leg with a cloth, saying unto him, that the dressing would serve at that time, and afterward, said he Master Doctor, when you can tell me in which leg it is, another salve shallbe laid unto it.   

¶ A comparison of Soothsayers, and Tellers of fortune, to the good wife, that carried a pale of milk to the Market.  
THe common talk of Soothsayers & tellers of fortune is to promise great riches, saying they know the secrets of nature, which the wisest men never knew: their doings, is like smoke in the Sun, so that their soothsaying may rather be termed false saying, and we cannot compare it better, then to a good wife that sometime carried a pale of milk to the market, thinking to sell it, as pleased her, making her reckoning thus. First she would sell her milk for ij. d. & with this ij. d. buy xii. eggs, which she would set to brood under a hen, & she would have 12. Chickons, these chykons being grown up, she would carve them, and by that means, they should be capons: these capons would be worth, (being young) five pence a piece: that is, just a crown: with the which she would buy two pigs, a Sow & a Boar, and they growing great, would bring forth twelve others, the which she would sell (after she had kéept them a while) for five groats a piece: that is, just twenty shillings. Then she would buy a Mare, that would bring forth a fair Foal, the which would grow up, & be so gentle and fair, that he would play skip, leap and fling, and cry we he he he after every beast that should pass by, and for the joy she conceived of her suppossed colt, in her jollity counterfeiting to show his lustiness, her pale of milk fell down of her head, and was all spilled: there lay her eggs, her chikons, her capons her pigs, her mare, her colt, and all upon the ground. Even so these Soothsayers, after that they have furnished, burnished, blotted, and spotted, loutted and floutted, putrefied and corrupted, promised and not performed, their best box being broken, they may go count with this good Wife.   

¶ Of King Solomon, that made the Philosophical stone, & the cause why these Soothsayers cannot prevail in their doings.  
THE cause why Soothsayers, Witches & Wissardes, cannot bring all there matters to pass as they would, all the world doth not know: but Marry the prophetess, showeth the cause why, in a Book that she hath made of the great excellency and knowledge of the art, exhorting the Philosophers, and giving them courage not to despair, and she saith, that the Philosopher's stone, is so worthy and so precious, that amongst other her wonderful virtues and excellences, she hath power to command Spirits, and whosoever hath it, he may bind, lose, warrant, torment, martyr, help out of prison, go through bolts and locks: to be short, he may juggle, play with both hands, and do what he list, if he know how to use his fortune. It is so (saith she) that Solomon had the perfection of this stone, and knew by divine inspiration, the great and wonderful property of the same, which was, to constrain the Devils as we have said. And therefore, so soon as he had made it, he concluded to make all the spirits come and appear before him: but first he caused to be made a Cauldron of Brass, of a wonderful and huge greatness; for it was nothing less than all the whole circuit of the Forest of Sherborn, but that it wanted half a foot, or there about: it is all a matter, we will not strive for a little: marry ye must note, that it must be somewhat rounder, and it was needful to be so great, for to serve that turn that he minded. And after the same manner he caused to be made a cover, so close and just, as was possible. And also in like manner, he caused a hole to be made, and cast in the ground, large and deep enough, for to bury his Cauldron. When he had prepared all these things, he made to come before him by virtue of the stone, all the Spirits, that were dispersed in this world, little and great, beginning with the Emperors of the four corners of the earth: then he made the Kings to come, Dukes, Earls, Barons, Lords, Knights, Esquires, Captains, heads of Bands, petty Captains, Soldiers a foot, and on horseback, to great numbers. When they were all come, Solomon commanded them, by the virtue aforesaid, that they should all go into that said pan that was buried in the ground. The Spirits could not gainsay, but were feign to go in, but ye may well think that it was with great grief. So soon as they were all in, Solomon caused the cover to be set on, and glued fast with the glue of Sapience, and therein leaving the Devils, caused it also to be covered with earth, until the hole was filled up, with whom his mind and purpose was, that the world should be no more infected, & that men might afterward live in peace and tranquility, and that all virtue and godliness might reign upon the earth. And it came to pass presently after that, that men began to be merry and glad, content, lively, gallant frollirke, gentle, amiable and pleasant: O how all things went forward. The earth brought forth all manner of fruit without man's labour, the Wolves did not devour the cattle, the Lions, Tigers, and wild Boars, were as tame as other Beasts: to be short, all the earth seemed a Paradise, whilst these Runnigate Devils were enclosed in this deep Dungeon: But what happened after a long time? as kingdoms chance to change, the Towns & cities decay, and new are builded: so, there was a King, who had a great desire to build a City: and Fortune would, that it came into his head, to raise it in the proper place whereas these Devils were enclosed. This King set people on work for to make this City, the which he would have mighty, strong, and invincible, and therefore it required a terrible and deep foundations to make the walls: hereupon the Pyonners digged so low, that one amongst the rest discovered the Cauldron wherein these spirits were, who after that he had stricken upon it, and that his companions did perceive it, thought they should have been made rich for ever, & that there was hidden some inestimable Riches. But it was not in their power to break it open of a sudden: for besides the greatness, it was out of measure thick, and therefore it was necessary that the King should know thereof. Who when he had seen it, thought even as the Pioneers did: for who would ever have thought that devils were therein, when it was thought that there was none in the world? for in long time before there was no talk of them. This King did well remember, that the Kings his predecessors had infinite riches, so as he could not judge but that they had buried and hid therein some great treasure, and that it was appointed him of destiny to find it out and to enjoy that wealth, that he might be the richest King in the world. To conclude, he set as many men of work, as there was about the Cauldron at the first, and whilst they were battering and beating upon it, to get it open, the Devils were at their watch, listening and giving care what it should be, so that they could not tell what to think whether they should be had out to hanging, or that their judgement had been made since they were put there. Now these braziers and batterers had beaten upon it so long, that they beat out a great piece of the cover, and made a way to go in: but it was no sooner open, then the Devils you may be sure, strived to get out by heaps, making such a noise and cry, that the King and all his people was so amazed with fear, that they fell down as dead: and these Spirits got them to their feet, & away they go, every one to his old corner, but that perhaps some of them were amazed, to see the Countries & Kingdoms altered and changed since their imprisonment: by means whereof, they were feign for a time to stray as vagabonds, not knowing of what country they were because they heard not their parish bell. But all the way as they went, they did so many mischiefs, that it was horrible to declare: for in steed of one mischief that they did in times past to vex the world, they invented a thousand: they killed, they overthrew, they cast down, spoiled and overwhelmed all things, all went to shivers, for the Devils were lose. In those days there were many Philosophers, for the Soothsayers and Augurers, were called Philosophers by excellency, because that Solomon had left them by writing the manner and form to make the holy Stone, the which they brought to an art, and kept schools of Philosophy, as we do of Grammar, in such sort, that many attained to the knowledge, considering also, that these cursed Spirits did not trouble their brain whilst they were enclosed. But so soon as they were at liberty, remembering how Solomon had misused them by virtue of this stone, the first thing they did, was to go to the Philosopher's Forges, and to cast them down: and also they found the means to deface, scrape out, break, and falsify, all the Books that they could find out, of the said Science, so that they left them so obscure and hard, that men know not what they seek. And they were minded altogether to abolish and root it out, but that God would not suffer them: yet this permission they had, to go and come, for to hinder the best learned in their business, in such sort, that when any one taketh pains to attain the perfection thereof, and hath in a manner brought it to pass, then cometh the Devil, and he breaketh a box which is full of this precious matter, and in less than half an hour, maketh the poor Philosopher lose all the pains that he hath taken in ten or twelve years, so that he is to begin again, not because Hogs have rooted it up and spoiled it, but the Devils which are worse. And this is the cause why so few Soothsayers attain to their enterprises, not for that the Science is not so true as it was at the first, but because the wicked Spirits are enemies of this gift, and seek utterly to overthrow it: and because it may be one day, that one may have the grace to do as well, as Solomon ever did: if by good luck he happen in our days, I pray him by these presents, that he forget not to conjure, adjure, excommunicate, root out, destroy, exterminate, confound, and utterly abolish these wicked spirits, enemies to nature, and all good things, that thus hinder not only the poor Soothsayers, but also all men and women: for they put into their heads a thousand wrongs, and a thousand fantasies, yea, and they themselves enter into these old Witches, making them very Devils. And hereof cometh these words, that are spoken of a wicked woman, She hath a Devilish head.   

¶ Of the Cardinal of Luxenburg, and of the good Wife that would make her Son a Priest, and how the said Cardinal named himself Philpot.  
During the Reign of Lewis French King, the twelfth of that name, there was a Cardinal of the house of Luxemburg, who was Bishop of Man's, and kept commonly at his manor at Man's, being a man of great magnificence and loved and honoured of his Diocessers, like a Prince, more like than a Prelate. And with his honour he used a certain familiarity, that made him the better beloved of the People, and also he was full of his flouts in time and place, and he loved to jest, and would take it in good part to be jested withal. Upon a day, there came before him a good Wife of the Country (as he was bend to give ear to all comers,) the which wife, after that she had kneeled down before him, and received his blessing (as they used very devoutly in those days) she began to say unto him: my Lord, and it like your grace, with all reverence be it spoken, I have a son that is twenty year old and better, and is Clarke good enough, for he hath gone a year to School in our parish, I would feign have him made a Priest, if it were your pleasure to accept him. In faith said the Cardinal, it should well done good wife, let him be made one: yea Sir (said the simple wife) but there is a thing I fear me will let him: yet it was told me that you can recompense him, she would have said, dispense with him. The Cardinal taking great pleasure in the Woman's simplicity, said to her, what is it good wife? Sir, so it is, that he hath not: what is that he hath not said be? ha my Lord said she, he hath not, I dare not tell it: for ye know well enough what men carry. The Cardinal that understood her well, said to her, and what is that which men carry? hath he no long hose? no, no (quoth she) it is not that I would speak: Dyr, he hath nothing. The Cardinal, was long questioning with her, to see whether he could have made her speak it out, but it was not possible, for she said unto him: ha my Lord, you understand me well enough, to what end do ye reason so long with me? notwithstanding, in the end she said unto him: you shall understand my Lord, when he was a little boy, he fell of a ladder, and so broke them, that he was feign to be gelded, and had it not been for that mischance, I would have married him, because he is the tallest of all my Children. In faith said the Cardinal, he shall not let to be a Priest for all that, being once dispensed, for that must ye note by the way: and I would to God that all the priests in my diocese were in his case, & had no more than he. Ha my Lord said she, I thank your grace, he shallbe bound to pray to God for you, and for all your good Friends that are dead. But my Lord, there is yet another thing, that I would tell your Lordship, so that it do not displease you. What is that good woman, said he? it is told me (quoth she) that Bishops may change men's names: I have another boy, that doth nothing but mock him, because he is named Philip, and it like your grace, I think if that he had an other name, it should be better for him, for they cry after him Philpot, Philpot: and you know Sir what a grief it is unto one when he is scorned and mocked: I would desire you, and it were your pleasure, to give him another name. Now, ye shall note, that the Cardinal himself was named Philip. Truly good wife said he, it is evil done of them to call your Son Philpot, we must see a remedy for it, but you shall understand said he, I would not take the name of Philip from him, but I will have him to keep the name for my sake, because I am of that name. And therefore I will give him my name, and I will take his, so that hereafter I willbe called Philpot. And whosoever miscalleth thy Son otherwise than Philip, come and tell me, and I will give thee leave to take an action against them: how say you? are you not so content? thou will not be offended that thy Son be called after my name? In good faith my Lord (quoth she) you do for us more, than we shallbe ever able to deserve, and therefore I pray God of his grace to send you long life, and Heaven for your meed. The good wife went her way very well pleased and content, to have had so good an answer of the Bishop, and told all her Neighbours what my Lord had done for her. After this, the said Cardinal that had a delight to repeat such stories, would name himself Philpot for pleasure, and said that his name was no more Philip, so that often times he was called Philpot, whereat he would laugh, after the manner of Augustus Caesar, who loved to jest many times, and be content to be jested withal, as appeareth by this common talk of him, and of a young man that came to Rome, who was in face so like Themperor, that there was no difference to discern between them, and was looked at and viewed of all the People of the City. Whereof Augustus, having knowledge, said unto him upon a time: tell me young man, hath your Mother been at any time in the City of Rome. The youngman that understood well the emperors meaning, answered: and it like your majesty, my Mother came never yet to this City as I have hard her say, but my Father hath been here diverse & sundry times, so that by this answer, he gave unto Augustus that, which Augustus thought to have laid upon him. For it was no more unpossible that the youngman's Father, might have known Augustus' Mother, than the Emperor to have been acquainted with the youngman's mother: neither did the same Emperor take it in anger when Virgil called him a Baker's Son, because the first time that he knew him, he would distribute loaffes of bread for gifts and presents, but afterwards, he gave him many other rich and good gifts.   

¶ Of a youngman of Paris newly married, and how that Beaufort found a crafty means to take his pleasure of his wife, notwithstanding the diligent and careful watch and keeping of Dame Parnet.  
A Certain Man of Paris, after that he had frequented the University to small profit, gave over his study, and went and dwelled in the City, where he remained for a certain time without a Wife, being content so to live, wanting no kind of pleasure that he could wish or desire, and also women (although there be no such at Paris to be had) of which he having known the crafts and subtleties in many Countries, and having himself used them to his own use, he did not greatly force to marry a Wife, fearing this cursed and common mischief, to be made a Coockolde: and had it not been for the desire he had to see himself a Father, and to have an heir of his own body, he could have been contented, to have kept himself a Bacheller still. But he being a man subject to the flesh, thought it best notwithstanding to marry and take a wife, and that rather betime then to late, and partly because he thought he knew how to use her aswell as the most men, and also he did remember again, that nothing causeth a man so soon to be made a Coockolde, as the imperfection and unableness that the woman findeth in her Husband. Moreover, he did keep in memory, and also in writing, the deceits, frauds, and guiles, that woman daily use, for to have and enjoy their pleasure: he knew the goings and comings, that these old wives make from house to house, under the colour to bring, shred, linen, wrought works, dainties, little dogs, and such knacks: he knew how women do counterfeit sickness, make their walkings to Orchards, and gardens, how they speak to their lovers that come in masks, and how they get themselves favour, under the shadow of kindred, and acquaintance: also he h●●ed Boccas and Celestinus. And of all these things 〈◊〉 thought to take heed and beware, thinking this in himself, I would do the best that I can to keep me from horns, and as for other chances let them hap as they may. So then among the Damsels and Virgins of Paris where he did remain, he did choose one to his mind, that was well nurtured, sober, wise, and handsome, wherein he failed not of his purpose, for he married one, that was fair, rich, and of a good kindred, whom he brought home to his own inheritance. Now, he kept in his house a woman of good years, that had been his Nurse, and that had always dwelled in the house, named Dame Parnet, being one that was subtle and wary in all affairs: which Woman he did present unto his Wife, at her coming to the house, saying unto her: loving wife, I am greatly beholding to this Woman that you see here, she was my Nurse, and hath done good service to my Father and mother, and to me after them, I give her therefore unto you, to keep you Company, she hath been very well brought up, I doubt not, but she will please you well. And then secretly, he charged Dame Parnet, to give attendance upon his Wife at all times, and for nothing to forsake her Company upon his displeasure, whither so ever she went: the which she promised faithfully to do. But this much may I say by the way, that there is an unhappy proverb, I cannot tell who did invent it, but it is very common, (casta quam nemo rogavit:) I will not say that it is true, but leave it as it is, yet I dare say that there is no fair woman but hath been or shallbe assaulted. Well, I am not fair will some say, nor I neither will another say: I am content it be so, because I love no strife, but this be sure, a Woman that is wise and wily, will take heed to tell that she hath been sued unto by any, specially to her Husband: for if he be wise, he will think of his wife, that if she had given no occasion she should not have been required: but to come to my tale. It came to pass amongst other Company, that did frequent & haunt this married man's house (whom I mean not to name) was a young Advocate, who was called the Lord of Beaufort, being of the country of Berry, who came many times to the Bar, to plead the law: to which Gentleman, this married man bore great favour & love, & made good cheer, because they had been familiar at the Universities, and Companions together in many places. This Beaufort, had not his name in vain, for he was fair, & of a good behaviour, and therefore the young married Gentlewoman, gave him a loving look, & he likewise to her: in so much, that in short time by their often regards, they gave a token of their secret love & good wills. Now, the Husband knowing fashions, showed himself very willing to please his wife, specially when things were new, not greatly mistrusting his wives youth, neither doubting his friends honesty, contenting himself with the diligent care & attendance of Dame Parnet. Beaufort in like manner for his part, could tell how to behave himself, perceiving the great familiarity, that his friend her Husband showed him, & the gentle gracious entertainment, that the young wife made him with an outward affection, which he thought was more manifest to him, then to another, as indeed it was true: and therefore he found easily an occasion in talking with her, to declare the sorrow he conceived through her love, and because she was brought up & nourished in a house of fame, she could that better use herself, and answer unto all questions and demands. To whom Beaufort being pricked forward with a goodwill, said in this manner: Gentelwoman, it is easy enough to a Gentlewoman of a good mind, to know the goodwill of a servant, for they always bring in subjection and thraldom, the hearts of men, whither they will or no: therefore it shall not need further to express & declare unto you, the great affection & honour that I bear to an infinite number of your virtues, which are indeed, with such gentleness of the mind, that the man can not otherwise judge 〈◊〉 think, but that he was borne happy & fortunate to ha●● his heart fixed in so good a place: for those things that are most precious, are not desired, but of gentle and noble minds; which therefore to me is a great occasion to praise fortune, that hath been so favourable, as to present and offer me, so virtuous and worthy a subject, that thereby I might have the mean, to put in evidence, the desire I have to things precious, and of a great value. And although I be one of the least of those whose service you merit & deserve, yet nevertheless I am thus persuaded, that the great perfections that are in you (whereat I do wonder) will give occasion to increase in me those things that are required to true service. For, as touching my heart▪ it is so faithfully affectioned towards you, that it is unpossible any thing can be more, which I hope & trust, so to give you to understand, that you shall never be displeased in that you have given me occasion to remain for ever your faithful & trusty servant. The young gentle woman, that was well taught and sober, hearing his pretence, would as gladly have fulfilled his request, as it was required: who with a feminine voice, being somewhat bold according to her age▪ (to the which commonly Women have respect) being coupled with an honest & modest shamefastness, answered him in this manner: Gentleman, although I should have a will and a desire to love, yet will I not so overshoot myself, as to make another Lover than he to whom I am coupled & joined in marriage & wedlock, who loveth me so well, and doth so gently entertain me, that he keepeth me from thinking on any other than on him. Furthermore, if it should fortune unto me, to set my heart in two places, I esteem & judge your virtue & good heart to be such, that you would not wish me to do any thing that shall redound to my dishonour. As touching the virtues & graces that on attribute unto me, I will let them pass, ●nowing no such thing in myself, and therefore, I restore ●●m to the place from where they came, which is to you. ●or now, to defend myself otherwise, would you presume to do that injury and wrong to him, that putteth so much confidence and trust in you? it seemeth to me, that such a noble mind as yours is, would by no means give place to such a fact as this. And then you see beside, the inconveniences so greatly to let such an enterprise, that if you should obtain your request, there is not opportunity to fulfil the same: For I have always in my Company a Keeper, so that if you would consent to do evil, she hath always her eye upon me, that I cannot steal from her by no means. Beaufort was very glad when he understood this answer, and specially when he felt that the Gentlewoman stayed herself upon reason, whereof the first were some what to hard, but afore the last, the young wife did mellify their herself: to the which M. Beaufort made answer in this order. The three points that you do allege (Gentlewoman) I have well weighed and considered: but you know that two of them depend and consist of your goodwill, and the third lieth in diligence & good advise. For as touching the first, seeing that love is a virtue, that searcheth out and seeketh the hearts and minds after a gentle nature, you must well think, that one day you shall live first or last, the which thing before it be, it were better you should receive the service of him, who loveth you as his proper life in due hour, then to stay any longer to yield & obey to the Lord, that hath power to make you pay the interest of the time that by you hath been let slip, and to put you into the hands of some dissembling man, that would not take such regard of your honour as it deserveth. As touching the second, it is a case that hath been long void, to them that find me what love is: for you shall understand, for the affection that I bear unto you, (so far am I from doing injury to your Husband) that rather I do him honour, what I love with a good heart that which he loveth: & there is no greater show the two hearts are at accord, but when they both love one thing. You know well if he and I were enemies, or if we had not acquaintance one with an other, I should not have opportunity to see you, neither to speak to you so often as I do. So then, the good will that I bear towards him, being the cause of the great love that I bear towards you, ought not to be the cause that you should let me die for loving you. Now then, as concerning the third, you know fair Lady, that to a willing and noble heart nothing is unpossible, judge then, what it is that can escape from two hearts, that are subject to love, which of himself is such a Lord, that he maketh his subjects attain to the thing which they most desire. Well to be short, Beaufort did so wisely tell his tale, that with courtesy she could not well refuse him. And their affairs remained in such case, that the young Gentlewoman was overcome with a voluntary mind: so that there remained no more, but to find opportunity and means to bring their matters to pass. They invented many ways & devices to attain their purpose, but when it came to the pinch, Dame Parnet spoiled all: for she had two eyes, that were better than all the eyes that Argos had, which kept junos' Cow. And for to use those sleights that Beaufort had used before time, was all in vain: for the young woman's Husband knew them all. Nevertheless, he studied so long, that in the end he found one devise, that would serve his turn: which was (that knowing well that to two willing minds nothing might seem impossible) he disclosed it to a friend of his, that was a young Merchant, of cloth, and not yet married, dwelling in a house which his Father had left him not long before, being at the'nd of our Lady's Bridge, whom he had so won to his will that he refused not to give his consent in any thing that Beaufort requested: And because the Gentlewoman's husband was familiarly acquainted with this young Merchant, it was the easier to bring this matter to pass. These things falling so fit to their purpose, they gave knowledge to the Gentlewoman of their determination and devise, whereunto she willingly consented, and promised that the next time she went to the Market, she would pass by that place, at what time they might put their devise in practice. And as the Gentlewoman was coming by the house where Master Henry dwelled, (for so was the Merchant named) behold there was cast out (as the matter was determined before) a pale of water, that fell upon the Gentlewoman: and it was cast in such manner, that all that saw it thought it had come by some inconvenience and misfortune. Alas said she dame Parnet, help, what shall I do? I am ashamed for ever. The best for her was, to step into M. Henry's house, being her husbands friend, therefore she said unto Dame Parnet: for God's sake run home quickly, and fetch me my gown furred with white Lamb, and bring hither, I will tarry for you at M. Henry's. The old Woman went her way, and the young Gentlewoman went up into a Chamber, where she found a good fire, that her lover Beaufort had provided for her, who deferred not the time, but took the occasion offered, in the pleasure of his long looked for delight, whose matters were dispatched before the old woman could bring her Gown, French hood, partlet, and all other things that did belong to her. The married man being at home, and understanding the Dame Parnet was above in the chamber, who was getting together her trinkets, without saying any thing to him, for fear he should be angry, came and found her above, ask her what she made there, and where she had left his Wife. Dame Parnet declared to him what had happened, & that she was come home for other clothes. Yea with a vengeance said he (suspecting some deceit) here is a crafty devise indeed, that is not yet in my Book, I think I knew all saving this, I am now well served, one unhappy hour is enough to make one a Cuckold: get you hence away, run with that you have, I will send the rest by the boy: Dame Parnet trotted as fast as ever she could, but all too late: for M. Beaufort had dispatched and done: and when dame Parnet came, she perceived nothing: for although the Gentlewoman had a good colour, she thought it was through the heat of the fire: and so it was, but it was with such a fire that no water is able to quench.   

¶ Of Gyles the joiner, how he did revenge himself of a Greyhound, that came always & beguiled him of his Dinner.  
THere was on a time at poitiers, a joiner named Gyles, that laboured to get his living so well as he could, having lost his Wife, who had left him a Daughter of the age of nine or ten years, being contnt with her service, and had no other boy nor maid. He made his provision on the Saturday, to serve him all the week after, and in the morning he would get his little Pot on the fire, that his Daughter made to boil, & found himself aswell content with his ordinary provision, as a richer man would be with his. Now it is commonly said, it is good to have a neighbour, neither too poor, nor too rich: for if he be poor, he will always be craving, being not able to help thee at need: and if he be rich, he will keep thee under subjection, and thou must be fain to suffer him, and art afraid to borrow of him. This joiner had to his neighbour a Gentleman, who was somewhat too great a Sir for his poor estate, and loved hunting very well. And he did usually keep a great company of Hounds in his house, to hunt the Hare, the which pastime was to be had not far without the Town. Amongst all his hounds, he had a very fair Greyhound, that did many shrewd turns in that Town: for he would come into every man's house, & the victuals be found, he would devour: there was nothing for him neither too hot, nor too heavy, were it bread, beef, cheese, or any thing else, all was one: & chief he did most harm to the poor joiner, for there was but a wall between the Gentleman and him. By the means whereof, this Greyhound was smelling and seeking about his house, at all hours of the day, and look what he found he carried it quite away. And also the hound had this subtlety, that with his paw he would cast down the Pot that boiled upon the fire, and would take up the meat, and run his way: so that oftentimes the poor joiner had but a slender & cold Dinner. Which thing grieved him sore: for after his labour and pains taken in his work, he was beguiled of his Dinner, before he could sit down at Table. And (which was worst of all) he durst not complain, but he meaned to be revenged whatsoever should happen. Upon a day when he spied the Greyhound going to get his prey, he followeth after him with a great square troncheon in his hand, and he found him busy about his Pot to get out the meat, he made no more ado, but shut the gate, and got hold on the Greyhound, to whom in short time he gave five or six dry stripes with his square upon the back, and spared him not at all, and then cast away his square troncheon, and took up a small hazel wand in his hand, an ell long, or there about, wherewithal he followed the Greyhound out of the poors, that cried as though he had been killed (as indeed he was little better) and laid on him in the street, saying: Hahoreson Cur, get thee hence with a mischief and come no more here to eat up my Dinner, making a shows, as though he had stricken with nothing but that small rod: but it was with a rod so soft as a footstool, wherewith he had so blessed the greyhound, that the Gentleman never ease Hare after of his taking.   

¶ Of Blondeaw the merry Cobbler, that was ne-never sad or heavy in his life time but twice, and how he provided remedy for it, & of his epitaph.  
THere was sometimes dwelling in Paris a Cobbler, named Blondeaw, that had a little shop in a corner, where he mended shoes, getting his living thereby merrily, and above all he loved good wine, and could tell them that went unto it, where the best was, for he would be sure to spy out the best, and take his part. All the day long he would sing as he sat at his work, and make the neighbours merry, he was never seen all the days of his life heavy and sad, but twice. The one time was, after that he had found an old awl in an iron pot, in which was store of old money, some of silver, & some of brass, whereof he knew not the value. Then he began to he heavy & sad, and would sing no more, his mind ran all on his pot of trash that he had found: he thought to himself that the money was not currant, I cannot said he, get neither bread nor Wine for it, & if I show it to the Goldsmiths, they will bewray me, or have their part of my finding, & yet they will not give me half of that it is worth. Then another time he was afraid that he had not hidden his pot well, and that some one or other came to steal it away, there was almost no hour, but he would go from his shop to remove his pot, he was in the greatest trouble and pain that could be. But at the last he be thought himself saying: how the Devil cometh it, that I am so troubled with my pot, every man perceiveth by me, that I have some thing in my head, I would the Devil had it, so I had never seen it: which said, on a sudden he took the pot, with the money, and cast it into the river, and there drowned all his care: this being done, he was the merriest man alive, and began in his accustomed manner, to sing as joyfully as ever he did, neither was his mind any more grieved or molested. And other time, he was offended with a Gentleman, that dwelled right over against his shop, who had an Ape, that did a thousand shrewd turns to Blondeaw. For he being in a window, watched the Cobbler when he cut out pieces of leather for his shoes, and behold how he did, and so soon as poor Blondeaw was gone to Dinner, or to any other place about his business, the same Ape would come down to go into the cobblers shop, and take his cutting knife, & cut out the leather, as he had seen Blondeaw do, & this was his custom and use at all times that Blondeaw was gone out: so that the poor man was feign to eat & drink a great while in his shop, and durst not go abroad unless he had locked up his leather: and if he had forgotten at any time to shut it up, then the Ape would not forget to cut out pieces. Which thing did trouble him very much, and also he durst do no harm to the Ape, for fear of his master. When he was so weary of this displeasure, that he could forbear no longer, he thought he would be revenged, & perceiving it was the Ape's property to counterfeit him in all things: (for if Blondeaw had whet his knife, so would this Ape do, if he had thrust with his awl, this Ape would do so after him, and if that he had pulled out his threads at length, the Ape would pull out, as he had seen him do) upon a time he did whet his cutting knife, and made it as sharp as a razor, and at that time when he espied the Ape to look earnestly upon him, he began to put his cutting knife against his throat, and to go with it to and fro, as though he would have cut his own throat: and when he had done this twice or thrice, that the Ape might learn it, he laid down his knife, and shut his shop door, and went home to Dinner. This Ape by and by cometh down, and entereth his shop, thinking to try this new game and pastime, that he had never seen before: And he taketh up the paring knife, and straightways put it to his throat, going with it to and fro, as he had seen Blondeaw the Cobbler do: but he put it too near his throat, and taking no regard, cut his own throat, whereof he died within an hour after. And thus Blondeaw was revenged of the Ape, without any danger of his Master: and then he framed himself to his old custom again, in singing, and making good cheer, and so he continued even unto the end of his life. And in remembrance of his merry life amongst them, they made an Epitaph, and set the same over his grave, for all passers by to peruse at their pleasure.  

HEre underneath this ground doth lie a Cobbler, Blondeaw was his name:  
Who in his life lived merrily, to his great praise, and endless fame.  
Whose death his neighbours did lament, they did so much in him delight:  
Whom they did love, till life was spent, and death did come to claim his right.    

¶ Of three Brethren that thought they should have been hanged for their Latin.  
THere was upon a time three Brethren, come of a good house, that had been kept at Paris a long time: but their time being spent in play and idleness, it came to pass that their Father sent for them home, for the which they were very sorry, because they could not speak one word of Latin: therefore they did agree together to learn each one a word for their provision. So that the eldest did learn to say, Nos tres clerici. The second took his theme of money, and he learned, pro Bursa & pecunia. The third passing by a Church, hard the priest say, Dignum & justum est, & that kept he for his store. And here upon they departed from Paris, being provided to go to their Father, and they concluded & agreed together, that wheresoever they came, and to all people that they met, they would speak no other thing but the Latin that they had learned: because they would be esteemed to be the greatest Clerks in the Country. Now as they were going through a Wood, it was found that thieves had cut a man's throat about that time: Wherefore the Provost Martial coming thither with his men, and finding these three brethren hard by where the fact was committed, demanding of them who had killed this man, by and by the eldest (to whom it belonged first to speak) answered, Nos tres clerics. Yea said the Provost, for what intent have you done it? The second Brother, (whose turn was to speak next) said, pro Bursa & pecuniae. Well said the Provost martial, you must therefore be hanged. The third Brother answered, Dignum & instum est. So that the three Clerks had like have been hanged by their own confession, if it had not been, that when they perceived it was in good earnest, they began to speak their mother's Latin, and to declare what they were. The Provost that saw they were young and simple witted, knew that it was not they, & so let them go, following with hue and cry the murderers, not forgetting the learned fellows he met withal.   

¶ Of a young Scholar, that made that Latin prevail to some effect, which the Curate of their parish had taught him.  
A Certain rich Husbandman of the Country, kept his son certain years at Paris, who (by the counsel of the parish Priest, sent for him home. When he was come, the old man greatly rejoiced to see his son, and out of hand sent for the Priest to dinner, who came, & taking the youngman by the hand, bid him welcome home, I am glad said he to see you well: let us go to dinner, and then I will talk with you. After dinner was done, the Father said to the Priest: Sir, see here my Son, that I have sent for from Paris, as you gave me counsel, it shallbe three year come this Candelmas, since he went thither, I would gladly know whether he have profited any thing there or no, but I fear me he loseth his time, and yet I would feign make him a Priest: I pray you M. Vicar, examine him, to see how he hath profited. Yea marry Gossep said the Vicar, I will for your sake take a little pains with him. And at that time in the presence of the good man, he called for his son: come hither said the Priest, I know your tutors at Paris are great Latinistes, let me hear how they have taught you, seeing your father doth mean to make you a Priest, I am very glad thereof: and therefore first of all tell me, what is latin for a Priest? the young man answered him, Sacerdos: well said the Priest, that is not a miss, for it is written, ecce Sacerdos magnus. But Pristulus is a great deal more eloquenter, and more proper: for you know very well, that a Priest weareth a stoule about his neck. Now then tell me, what is latin for a Cat? for the Priest espied the Cat by the fire? The Lad answered, Catus, felis, murilegus: the Priest because he would make the good man believe that he knew more than all the Doctors in Paris, said to the young man: I think your Cutors at Paris have so taught you, but there is yet a better word, and that is Mitis: for you know there is nothing more familiar than a Cat, and also her tail (that is so smooth and soft when ye handle it is called suavis. Now then, what call ye in latin fire? the boy answered Ignis. No said the Priest, it is Gaudium: for ye know, it comforteth and rejoiceth us: do you not see that we are here by the fire at our ease? Well, what call ye water in latin? the Lad answered Aqua. It is a great deal better said the Priest to call it Abundantin: for you know, that there is nothing so plentiful as water. Now, what is a bed in latin? the Boy said Lectus. The Curate said, ye speak none but common latin, there is no Child but can tell this, know ye no other words? the Boy said again Cubile: yet that is not it. At the last when he had no more latin words for a bed: john (said the Priest) I will tell thee, it is called Requies, because that thereon we sleep, and take our rest. Whilst the Priest was questioning in this order, with his novice, the old man was not well pleased, but could have found in his heart to have beaten his Son, for he had thought he had lost his time, and spent his money in vain. But the Priest seeing him angry, said unto him: Gossip, I pray you content yourself, your Son hath profited well enough, I know that he hath been thus taught, and his answers are good. But there is latin, and latin again: for I know such words, that they never heard no such at Paris, not the best Doctors of them all, therefore send him to me, and I will teach him things that he doth not yet know: and you shall see, that before three months are past, I will instruct him otherwise then he is yet. The youngman all this while durst not reply, because he was fearful, & shamefast: but his thought was free nevertheless. Within certain days after, the Priest did kill a fat hog, & sent for this Husbandman to dinner, to make merry with hog's puddings, and willed him to bring his Son with him: which came, dined together, & made good cheer. The young man that kept well in remembrance the Latin that the Curate had taught him, and that studied, and practised the way and mean to exercise the same, did rise from the table are they had done, and after he had done his duty, he goeth to the fire side, where he espying the Cat, took her, and tied a wisp of dry straw at her tail, and set fire thereto with a match, and so let her go: and she feeling the fire flame at her tail, began to run about, and at the last under the Priests had where he lay, the which was set on fire with the Cat's tail, and began to flame. And when the young man saw that, it was high time to make his latin to works some effect, he came in all the haste running to the Vicar, and said unto him. Pristole, Mitis habet gandium in suani, quod si abundantia non est, tu amittis tuam requiem. It was no boot to bid the Priest run, perceiving the fire to wax great. And by this means the young man did show how he had profited in the Latin, that Master Vicar had taught him, for to teach him, not to defame him any more before his Father.   

¶ Of a Priest that could not say one word almost in his Gospel, but jesus.  
IN a certain parish in the Diocese of Man's, which was named Saint George's, there was a Priest, that before time had been married, but after that his Wife was dead, (to do his endeavour the better to pray to GOd for her Soul, and for to get the saying of a mass, that she had appointed to be said every day for her in the Parish Church) he would needs be made a Priest. And although he could speak no latin but for his own provision, and scant that: yet notwithstanding he did as others do. and would make an end of it as well as he could. Upon a time there came to Saint George's a Gentleman, upon certain business that he had: and because he had no leisure to tarry the high mass, he minded to have a low mass said: so he sent his man to seek a Priest to say it, who met with this Priest that we speak of here, that was as diligent as might be. And although he knew but his mass of Requiem, of our Lady, and of the Holy Ghost, yet he made no show of any thing, for fear to lose his Mass great, but seemed to have as much skill as another. Well, he put on his masking robe, and beginneth his mass, he dispatched his introite with much a do, and the Epistle with much more. But the Gentleman took no great regard, being occupied in his Prayers, until it came to the Gospel that was too hard for the Priest, for he did never read it before, above three or four times: by the means whereof, he was marvelously troubled, knowing well, that the Gentleman, and they that stood by, gave ear unto him, which gave occasion to make his tongue to trip the more. He said this Gospel so heavily, and found in it so many new and strange words, and so hard to spell, that he was constrained to cut off the one half, and at every second or third word he said jesus, (although it was not in his Gospel) at the last he got out of it with great pain, and made an end of his mass, as well as he could. The Gentleman noting the ignorance of this Priest, paid him for his mass, and willed his man to bid him home to dinner, which proffer the Priest willingly accepted. Being together at dinner, the Gentleman said unto him: Sir john, the Gospel that ye read to day, was very devout, there was jesus repeated very often. Then Sir john, that was somewhat merry because of his good cheer, perceiving the Gentleman pleasantly disposed, began to say. Sir, I perceive well what you mean, but I will tell you Sir: indeed I am not so well seen, as those that have been Priests twenty or thirty years, whereas I have not been passing two or three year at the most, the gospel that was read this day (for to tell you truth) I never read it before, above three or four times, as there are many other in my book that are very hard. But I will tell you what Sir, when I say mass before honest Folk, and that there is in the gospel hard words that I cannot read, I skip them over for fear to make the matter too long: but in steed of them I says jesus, which is a great deal better. Now, truly Sir john said the Gentleman, you do very well, always when I come this way I will hear your mass: I drink to you Sir john. I thank you Gentleman said the Priest, when you stand need of me Sir, I will serve you aswell as any Priest in the Parish, and so he took his leave as merry as might be.   

¶ Of M. Peter Faeifew, that had Boots, which cost him nothing, and of the Scorners of a Town called Arrow, in Anjou.  
NOT long time since, there kept in the Town of Angiers a jolly shifting Gentleman, named Master Peter Faifew, a man full of inventions, using many times unlawful shifts, to take other men's goods for his own: Master Peter could do such things well enough. And this proverb seemed to him very good, All things are common, there wants but the way to get them. True it is, that he would make such cleanly shifts & conveyances, that men could not greatly blame him, but laugh and jest at his doings, notwithstanding they took as great heed of him as they could. It were too long to tell the shifts that he hath made in his life time, but by this one judge of the rest. Upon a time, he found himself so hard beset in going out of the Town of Angiers, that he had no leisure to take his boots, no, he had not leisure to saddle his Horse, he was followed so near. But he made such shift, that when he was a two or three forlongs out of the Town, he found the means to get a mars of a poor man that went homeward to the Town, saying unto him, that he went that same way, and was in great haste, but he would leave the Mare with his Wife. And because it was foul weather, he went into a barn, and in great haste made him a pair of boots of hay, and got upon his mare, and at the last he came to Arrow all wet, and in ill plight, which caused his countenance to be very sad. And yet to mend the matter, in riding through the Town, whereas he was sufficiently known, the Scorners (for so were they called because of their scoffing and mocking) began to rate him, saying: M. Peter, it were good talking with you now in this case, another said M. Peter, take up your sword: another, he is mounted upon his Mare like saint Georg on his Horseback: but among the rest, the Shoemakers mocked him most with his boots. Surely said they, this a good World for Shoemakers, for the Horses will eat up their masters boots. Master Peter was so moved, that a little thing would have made him lighted of his Mate: but so much the more willinger were they to flout him, because he was one that mocked others: yet he took it patiently, and saved himself so soon as he could in 〈◊〉 Inn. When he was a little come to himself by the fire, he began to study how he might be revenged of these Scorners, that had so given him his welcome in: at last he remembered and bethought him of a mean and way to be revenged of the Shoemakers, according as the time and necessity required. His devise was (wanting boots) to find the means to be booted of free cost of the Shoemakers, and sending a Boy of the In for a Shoemaker, there came one, which by chance was of them that flouted him at his coming in. Friend said he, cast thou make me a pair of good boots against too morrow in the morning? Yea Sir said the Shoemaker: but I would have them an hour before day quoth he. Sir you shall have them said he, at that hour, or as early as you will. Then I pray the dispatch them, and I will pay thee thy own price: the shoemaker took measure of his leg and went his way. He was no sooner gone, but M. Peter called an other Boy, and willed him to fetch him an other shoemaker, saying, that the first man and he could not agree. The Shoemaker came, to whom he said as much as he did to the first, that he should make him a pair of boots against the next morrow an hour before day, and he would not rare what he paid for them, so that he made them well, and of good neat's leather. The two Shoemakers laboured all night about these boots, the one not knowing of the other. The next day in the morning at the hour expressed, M. Peter sent for the first Shoemaker, that brought his boots. So he caused him to pull on the right foot boot, which was made very well, but when he came to pull on the left leg boot, he made as though his leg was sore, saying to the shoemaker: friend, thou dost hurt me, I have a swelling fallen into this leg, and I had forgot to tell the of it, the boot is too strait, but there may be a remedy: I pray thee go & set it on the last, I had rather tarry an hour longer. When the shoemaker was gone. M. Peter pulled off the boot, and then sent for the other shoemaker, and in the mean time caused his mare to be saddled, and reckoned and paid for all his charges, and by & by came the second Shoemaker with his boots. M. Peter caused him to pull on the left boot, which was marvelously well made, but as for the right leg boot, he made such an excuse as he did to the first, and sent him with it again to have it made wider. And when he was gone, he took the right leg boot that he had of the first shoemaker, & pulled it on, and got upon his mare, and road away as fast as he could. And he had well nigh ridden three mile when the two Shoemakers came and met together at the Inn with each of them a boot in their hand, that asked one another for whom his boot was: it is said the one for Master Peter Faifew, that willed me make it wider, because it hurt his leg. How so said the other, I have made this boot wider for him, thou deceivest thyself, it is not for him that thou hast wrought. No is said he, have not I spoken with him? do not I know him? and whilst they were so debating the matter, the Host of the house came, and asked them for whom they tar●●●. For M. Peter Faifewe, said the one, and the other say● as much. If you stay to speak with him, you must then tarry until he come this way agine said the Host, for by this time he is four or five mile on his way, and rideth still on. God knows, the two shoemakers combs were cut, what shall we then do with our boots said the one to the other? they determined to play a mumchaunce who should enjoy them, because they were both of one fashion. And Master Peter sped even as he did wish, who was in better order than he was the day before.   

¶ Of a Counsellor and his Horsekeeper, that sold him his old Mule again in steed of a young one.  
THere was a Counsellor of the palace, that had kept a Mule twenty five years or there about, and had amongst the rest before time an Horsekeeper, named Dedyer, that kept this Mule ten or twelve year, who after he was weary of his service asked leave of his Master, and with his good will became a Breaker of Horses, notwithstanding, he frequented daily his masters house, in offering his service as dutifully, as if he had been his household Servant. After certain years, the Counsellor perceiving his Mule to be very old, said unto Dedyer: come hither, thou knowest well enough my Mule, she hath borne me marvelously well, I am sorry that she is so old, for I fear me I shall not get again her like, but I pray thee look abroad, and see if thou canst espy out one for my turn. Dedier said unto him: Sir: I have one in my stable I think will prove well, you shall have her a while, and if you find her to your mind, we shall agree for her well enough, and if she do not like you, I will take her again. Thou sayest well said the Counsellor, go thy ways & bring her to me, & so he did, In the mean time, he gave Dedyer his old Mule to put away, who began to use her teeth with a file, and dress and rubbed her, and quickened her up with a stick, and so cunningly used her, that he made her quick and lively, that if she had seen but a stick, she would have stirred. In the mean time, his Master road upon that Mule, that the Horsekéeper had lent him, but he found her not for his turn, and said unto Dedyer: the Mule that thou gavest me will not serve my turn, she is too full of qualities, canst thou not get me an other? Sir (said this Horse-breaker) it comes well to pass, for within this two or three days I have found one, that I have known of a long time, which will serve your turn very well, and when you have tried her, and find her not as good as my word, then blame me. Dedyer brought out this fine mule, as smooth as a penny, with a gilded bridle, foaming at the mouth, and playing with her head, that it would have done a man good at the heart to have seen her. This Counsellor taketh her, getteth on her back, and found her very gentle, and ambled finely, he praised her very well, musing how she could be so well made to his hand, she would stand as meek to get up as might be: to conclude, he found her in all points as good as the old one that he had first, & also of the same colour and scantling. He called this Horse breaker, and demanded of him where he had this Mule, she seemeth (quoth he) much like to the old one that I gave thee, and hath the same qualities. I promise you Sir saw Dedyer, when I saw her first on the colour of your old Mule, I thought she would have her conditions, or else that she might be brought to them, and therefore I bought her, being in good hope, that she would serve you● turn. Now truly said the Counsellor, I con thee thank: but what shall I pay for her? Sir said he, you know that I am at your commandment, and all that I have, if it were to ●●other, I would not sell her one penny better cheap than forty Crowns, nevertheless, you shall have her for thirty. The Counsellor was agr●● and gave him thirty Crowns for his old Mule again, supposing he sped very well.   

¶ Of the Scorners of Arrow in Anion, how they were beguiled of one Pyquet, by the means of a Lampron.  
We have here before spoken of the Scorners of Arrow, of whom it is said, that never man passed through the Town, which was not mocked: I do not know whether they use it still or no, but I heard say, that upon a time a great Lord took upon him to pass through the Town, and not to be scorned. And to bring this matter to pass, he determined to go to the Town very late in the Evening, and to depart in the Morning so early, that no body should be stirring to mock him. And indeed he so measured his way, that he came in very late: therefore, all the people being gone to bed, he found neither man nor woman, that said worse to him then his name. And when he came to his Inn, he made show that he was not well at ease, and so withdrew him into his Chamber, and was served by his own men so well, that the night passed without any danger: but he commanded over night the Master of his house, that all his train might be ready in the morning two hours before Sun rising: the which was done, and he himself was first up, for he had no desire to sleep, he had so great care to pass without a mock. He went to horse so soon as the day began to appear, no body being up, nor stirring in the Town, and road till he came at the Town end, thinking than he had been out of all danger, whereof he began to be glad and rejoice: but hearken what happened. There was an old w●●ther beaten Witch, that stood up against the end of a wall, which gave him his passport, saying to him in her own language: Rose you so soon for fear of flies. Never was men so ashamed as he, to be so unluckily flouted, and specially of such an old hag. And if it had been a King, as some say it was, I think he would have made gunpowder of the old witch: But the most part believe it was no King, although they of the Town of Arrow make their vaunt that it was. Well, whosoever it was, he had his part as well as others. But as the Proverb sayeth, Que mockat, mockabitur: Even so those of Arrow had sometimes the like as they proffered, which appeared by M. Peter Fa●sew. And there was given them an other pretty mock by one named Pyquet, which had bought a Lampron at Duxtall, and put it in a Linen wallet that he carried behind him, which Lampron he tied very fast by one of the holes in her head with a point, and made her fast within the wallet, so that she could not get out by any means, and having a little hole in the end of his wallet, he put out her tail, that she might be seen. When he came near to the Town of Arrow, this Lampron that was very quick, writhed always her tail more and more, so that in passing through the Town the Scorners spied her, & how in writhing of herself she appeared by little and little more and more out of the wallet, and they were at hand watching when she would fall out of the wallet. But Piquet he road easily through the Town, as one that had no great haste on his way, because he should gather together more company, that came out of their houses and followed him, to catch the Lampron when it fell, of the which there was four or five that watched as decently for it, as a Cat doth for a Mouse, thinking they should have it to dinner. All this while Pyquet made as though he had not seen them, but that at sometimes he would look first of the one side, and next of the other, as if his Horse had not been well girded, which he did to see his lackeys that followed him. When he was out of the Town, he began to ride faster, and these Scorners after, thinking that it would not continue long, but it would fall, for the Lampron appeared almost all but of the wallet: they run half a mile after this Lampron, but there was two of them weary with trotting, that gave over, & the other two held out sides still, being glad that all the rest were gone, saying one to another: hold thy peace, we shall have the better part. When Pyquet perceived he had but two lackeys following him, he began to ride faster and faster, and the Scorners followed after more than a long mile from the Town, thinking at length to have the Lampron for their labour: but Pyquet road on still a good pace, and the Lampron would not fall, which provoked them to great anger, whereat Pyquet had good sport, and began to laugh out so loud, that at the last they perceived and saw well enough that they were mocked. Nevertheless, one of their to make the matter good, said a far off to Pyquet: how Sirrah, you on Horseback, take up your Lampron that is ready to fall. Pyquet stayed his horse, and turned about saying unto him: Come and fetch it if it fall, for you are worthy to have it, up else run a little further, and it will fall by an by. But they went their ways with their combs cut, and bid the devil and a vengeance take the Lampron. But when they were come back again into the Town, God knoweth how they were flouted and mocked: for they knew well the craft, ask them what sauce they would have to their Lampron. And thus the mockings & scornings doth oftentimes return upon the mockers and scorners themselves.   

¶ Of a Provost named Cocklyer, that had a pain in his eyes: whom the Physicians made to believe that he did see.  
IN the Country of Main, there was not long ago a Lieutenant of the Provost martial, who was named Cocklier, a man that could give a sentence, and that knew the policies of the Lieutenant Maylard, who upon a day having under his hands a man that had committed and done many felonies, notwithstanding he did allege for his life that he was a graduate, but he let him cool in prison, yet afterwards he sent for him, and began to use him very gently, saying: Truly, it were reason that you should be sent to your Bishop, calling him by his name. I will not deprive you of your privilege, but put you in remembrance when you do not think thereon: yet I counsel you, that hereafter you withdraw yourself from places of dishonour, being a man sufficient to serve the King: by which means you should be known, and so come to take a charge, and to be esteemed: And not to lie lurking in Towns, & watching of high ways, to put yourself in danger of life, to your continual fame & infamy. By and by the man (that felt himself praised) said: Sir, I am not now to learn what it is to serve the King, I was before the Town of Pavia, when it was taken under the charge of Captain Lorge, and since I was with my Lord Lautrick at milan, and in the kingdom of Naples. But for all that the Provost red his sentence, and made him stretch a Rope, although he was a graduate, and by the means taught him how to serve the King. Thus Cocklyer could do these things, and such like, and could see clear with the eyes of his wit, but with the eyes in his head he could not see the length of three fingers: & he needed not to have been asked, whether he had rather have his nose as long as his sight, or his sight as long as his nose, for there was not much between them both. It chanced upon a time, the Bishop of Man's going of visitation through his Diocese, would see how he did in going by, because he knew him to be a good justice, whom he found in his Bed being sick of a Rheum, that was fallen into his poor eyes. Well Master Provost (said the Bishop) how do you? My Lord (said he) I have kept my bed this month and more. Your eyes are never well (said the Bishop) but how do you feel them now? My Lord (said Cocklyer) I hope in God they shall do well: for the Physician hath told me that I can see. Think you that he was not a wise man, to know of the Physician whether he did see or no. But he would not trust a Prisoner in his saying, as he put confidence in the Physician for his own.   

¶ Of the feats and memorial acts of a Fox, that belonged to the bailie of maine la Inhes, and how he was taken and put to death.  
IN the Town of maine la Inhes, in the low country of Main, which is situate in the borders of the barren Country, there was sometimes a bailie, that was a good companion, according to the order of the Country, who delighted in many things, & had in his house many tame beasts, among the which he had a Fox, that he brought up and kept of a young one, whose tail was cut off, and therefore was called the Curtal Fox. This Fox was crafty of nature, but yet he degenerated from his kind, in being conversant with men, and had so good a wit for a Fox, that if he could have spoken, he would have showed to many men that they were but Beasts. He knew when the bailie of the house did make a feast, seeing the folks in the house busy, especially the Cook. He would go to the Poviters, and bring home Coneys, Capons, Pigeons, Chykons, and wild Fowl, according to the season, and would steal them so cunningly, that he was never taken doing the deed, and thus he furnished his masters kitchen marvelously well. Nevertheless he went to and fro so often, that he began to be suspected of the poulters, and others: for he always found new crafts, stealing still more and more, At the last, they conspired to kill him, which they durst not do openly for fear of his master, that was chief Lord of the town: but each one determined to trap him in the night. Now this Fox, when he went about to seek his prey, would come in at the Seller window, or by a low light, or else watch whilst they had come to the door without a candle, and then did he steal in like a Rat. And as he had inventions and ways to come in, so had he in like manner policies to get out with his pray. Many times the Poulterers determined his death, with a Crossbow bent watching for him: but the Fox would prevent them for all their policy, & did never come there so long as they watched. But a man could not have his eyes any sooner closed, but the Fox would be presently provided. If there were any snares or begins laid for him, he knew aswell how to escape the danger, as if he himself had laid them, so that they could never be so circumspect as to take him, although he never came away empty: yet being many times prevented of his purpose, he was sore displeased, because he could not do such service to the Cook, as he was used to do. And therefore being of good years, he began to take heed: and also he thought, that they made no account of him as they did asore time, because he did them small service in his age: and chief for this, he began to be mischievous crafty, and to eat and kill up his masters Fowl. So that every body being in bed, he would step to the perch, and now take a Capon, another time a Hen, and they did not mistrust him, thinking that it had been the Wéesell, or the Polecat. But in the end, (as all mischiefs come to light) he went and came so often, that a little wench lying in the stable for God's sake, perceived him, and bewrayed all: and from thence forth the great blame was laid on the Fox: for it was reported to Master Bayly, that curtal his Fox did eat up and devour his Fowls. This Fox would be in every corner to listen and hear what was spoken against him, and he used commonly to be under the Table when his Master was at dinner & supper. But after his M. hard of his fashions, he so hated him, that upon a time being at Dinner, and the Fox being behind the folks, Master Bayly began to say: what say you to my Fox that eateth up all my Hens and Capons? I will be revenged of him within these three days. The Fox understanding this, knew it was no more good tarrying in the Town, and he tarried not until the three days were passed, but he banished himself, and fled into the fields, amongst the wild Foxes: you may be sure his farewell was not without making spoil of somewhat: but being now amongst his kind, he had some thing ado to acquaint himself with them, for during the time that he remained in the town, he had learned to speak good yealpishe of the Dogs, and their manner also, and went with them on hunting, and under the colour of friendship, would deceive the wild Foxes, and put them into the hands of the Dogs: this the foxes remembering, refused both the receiving of him into their company, and to put their confidence in him any more. But he used Rhetoric, and made partly his excuse, and partly asked forgiveness. And then he made them believe, that he knew the means to make them live at ease like Kings, because he knew all the poultry in the Country, and the hours and times fit to seek their prey: and thus in the end they believed him through his fair words, and made him their Captain. Wherewithal they found themselves content for a time: for their Captain curtal brought them to such places, as they had enough But the mischief was, that they would use themselves too much to the civil life not fit for them. For the people of the Country, seeing them thus in bands and companies, set Dogs after them, and made always some of them to come short home. But in the mean time Captain curtal that crafty Fox, saved himself at all times: for he kept the backward, to that end, that when the Dogs were busy and occupied with the first Band, he might have leisure to save himself, and escape from the view of them. And also he would never go into the hole, but amongst the Company of other Foxes, and when the hounds were ready to thrust in, he would so bite and fight with his fellows, that he should constrain them to go forth, to the end that whilst the dogs were occupied in running after them, he might save himself. But the poor curtal Fox could not so well shift for himself, but in the end he was caught: Forasmuch as the Clounes of the Country, knew well enough that he was the cause of all mischief and shrewd turns that were done there about, so that they swore his death, and dispatched each of them a Messenger to all the Gentlemen of the Country, requesting their help, and desiring them for the profit of the Country, to lend them their dogs, to dispatch the Country of that mischievous Fo●e. To the which the Gentlemen did willingly agree, and gave a good answer to the messengers, and also the most part of them had of a long time sought their pastime, and could not find any thing. In the end they brought out so many dogs, that there were enough both for the Curtal Fox, and his Fellows, so that he might well bite and drive out the rest, but it would not prevail: for at the last when there was no more left, his turn must needs follow next: he was taken quick, and haled out of a Corner of his hole, with digging him out, for the dogs could not come at him, nor make him to come forth of his hole, Well, at the last poor curtal was taken, and led alive into the Town of main, whereas his judgement was given, and was sacrificed in the open market place, for the thesis, robberies, pylferies, crafts, fraud, deceits, injuries, wrongs, conspiracies, treasons, murders, and other grievous faults and injuries by him committed and done, and was executed before a great multitude standing by to see the execution. The People came flocking thither on heaps. For he was known well twenty mile compass, to be the most ungracious Fox that ever the earth bare. Some say, for all that, many honest Folks bewailed his death, because he had done so many proper fears, & therefore they said it was pity that he should be put to death, being a Fox of in good understanding: but in the end they could not have the mastery, although they had layke hands on their weapons, to have saved his life: for he was hanged and strangled for a notable thief at the castle of main. And thus may you see that there is no mischief nor wickedness, but is punished at the last.   

¶ Of Master Pontalais, how featly he played his 〈◊〉 against a Barber, that did counterfeit 〈◊〉  
THere are few Folks, but have hard speaking of Master john Pontalais, the memory of whom is yet fresh in mind also his jells, sports, pastimes, and merry pranks, and his fair plays, that he played, and hos● he put his shoulder against a Cardinals, showing him that 〈◊〉 mountains might meet together in despite of the old proverb: But what need I rehearse this, when he did a thousand other seats, among the which we will speak of one or two. There was a barber that would counterfeit the brave Fellow: for he thought there was not a man in all Paris, that ha● the like wit that he had, no● the like grace, specially when he was in his hot house stark naked (like to Friar Croiset, that said mass in his doublet) having but his razor in his hand, he would say to those whom he did rub and shave: see you not Sir, what cometh of a good wit? what think you by me? such cunning as you see me have, I learned of my own mind, & all that ever I have, came by my own getting, there was never kindred nor friend that I have, that ever helped me with any thing: if that I had been a fool, I should not have had the knowledge that I have: and as he thought of himself, so would he that all the world should think of him. The which being known by M. john Pontalais, he used him for his purpose, being sure of him always to make one in his plays & enterluds: for he said unto him, that there was never a man in all Paris, that could play his part better than he: & I never have praise (said Pontalais) but when that I have you for one of my Company, for than they ask me, who was he that played such a part, it was excellently well handled of him, and then I declare your name, because I would have you known. You would muse to hear tell that the King would see you play, we tarry but the time: you need not ask if the Barber was proud to hear such words, so that he became so stout that who but he: and also he said upon a day to M. john Pontalais: know you what (Pontalais?) I would not that you should hereafter make me common for every day, nor I will play no more, unless it be some moral or stage matter, wherein are noble men, as Kings, Princes, & Lords, and I will always have the best part and oftenest in sight. Now truly, said M. john Pontalais you say well, & you are worthy. But why did you not tell me of it sooner? I was far overseen that I did no remember it myself: But I know how to make you amends hereafter, for I have better matters to play than ever were played, wherein you shall have the best part, and keep longest upon the scaffold▪ And first of all I pray you fail me not upon Sun●●●e next: for, I mean to play a notable matter, in the which speaketh the great King of India, will not you play that part how say you? ●ea, yea (said the Barber) who should else play it, & I should not? give me my scroll. Pontalais gave it him the next morning. When the day came, that the play should be, the barber showed himself in his throne with his sceptre, keeping as good and royal a majesty as ever did Barber. In the mean time, M. john Pontalais prepared his things in a readiness to flout she Barber: and because commonly he made the first show upon the scafold, playing the prologue in his plays, the rest having played their parts he cometh in at the last, and spoke thus.  
I am but little, as all men may see,  
Having neither spear nor shield to defend me:  
But yet nevertheless it hath so come to pass,  
That the great King of India hath shaved my Arse.  
And he speak this with such a grace as it required, because he would give the People to understand of the braveries of the Barber: and also he had made his play in such order, ' hat the King of India should speak very little, but only keep a countenance, to the end that if the Barber should have been offended, the play notwithstanding should have gone forward. But God knoweth how Master Barbar was flouted for playing the King, for he wished he had been warming his not house. There is yet another tale told of the same Pontalais, that others do attribute to another: but who soever is the Author, it is very pleasant. It is of a Friar, which upon a holiday went up into the pulpit to preach, where he was very busy in talking little good: for when he strayed out of his Text (as he did very often) he made the goodliest digressions in the World: & thus he would say. There are few found worthy to come into a Pulpit: for although they be skilful, yet have they not the gift to preach. But unto me, God hath given the grace both of knowledge and preaching, and also I know what all sciences are, and in pointing his finger to his head, he would say: my Friend, if thou wilt have any Grammar it is here within? if thou wilt have any Rhetoric, it is here also? if thou wilt have Philosophy it is here likewise? for Logic, I fear not a Doctor in all the University, and yet with in these three years I knew nothing: notwithstanding, you hear and see how I do preach. But God giveth his graces to whom it pleaseth him. Now, so it was that Master john Pontalais, had somewhat to play there that day in the after noon, who knew what manner of man the Friar was. He made his shows thorough the Town: and it fell so out, that he must needs pass by the Church where this Friar was preaching. M. john Pontalais according to his custom, sounded up his Drum at the end of the street, that was right over against the Church, and caused it so sound very long and loud, of purpose to make this Friar hold his peace, to the end that the people should come forth for to hear his play. But it would not serve: for the more he made his Drum to sound, the louder was the Friar, and so they strived who should have the mastery. The Friar was in a pelting chafe, and spoke by the authority of a bald pate aloud saying: go some, and cause the drum to cease: but for all that no body went, unless it were to look upon him, that made his Drum sound more and more. When the Friar perceived he would not leave off drumming, and that no body came back again to bring an answer: truly said he, I will go myself, and so he came down from the Pulpit, desiring the people to stay until he came again. When he was in the street, in a great chafe he began to say to Pontalais: who made thee so bold to sound thy Drum before the Church door whilst I am preaching? Pontalais beheld him and said: And who made thee so bold to preach whilst I am playing on my Drum? The Friar being offended here with, took his servants knife that stood by him, and thrust into the Drum, making a great slit in it, and so went back a-againe to the Church, to make an end of his Sermon. Pontalais took his drum, and running after him, whelmed it on his head, like a high Almains hat, but that it was somewhat greater, wherewithal the Friar, even in that case he was, would needs go up into the Pulpit, to show the injury and wrong done to him, & how the word of God was disdained. But the people laughed so heartily seeing him covered with the Drum, that he could have no audience, but was constrained to hold his peace: for they said it was no wise part to contend against a fool, that did not ear what mischief he did him.   

¶ Of Mistress Furrier, that lodged a Gentleman at large.  
IT is not long time since there was a Gentlewoman of a good desire, that was named Mistress Furrier, who sometimes followed the Court, which she did when her Husband was in some quarter. But for the most part she kept at Paris, and there found she customers for her turn: for Paris is a paradise for women, a hell for men's Horses, and a purgatory for those that follow suits of Law. Upon a day when she was in the same City, before the door of her lodging, there passed by a gentleman with a friend of his, to whom he said alone as he came by Mistress Furrier, because he would be heard: by God if I had such a beast to ride on this night, I think I should by tomorrow morning be well forward on my journey. mistress Furrier hearing the Gentleman say so, whom she found to her mind (for he was lusty) called a little halfpenny boy that was by her: go thy wars said she, and follow yonder same Gentleman that thou seest, and lose him not until thou seest where he goeth in, and then do so much that thou mayest speak with him, and say unto him, that the Gentlewoman that he saw at such a lodging even now as he came by, hath her commended to him, and if that he will take the pains to come unto her this evening, she will prepare him a banquet, between eight and nine of the clock. The Gentleman did accept the message, and sent back word that he would come at the hour appointed. Ye must note, that their two lodgings was not far the one from the other. The gentleman came at his time, and found Mistress Furrier tarrying for him: she bid him welcome, and made him a banquet, they talked together, and the mean while the bed was made, in which the Gentleman laid him down, according to the agreement made between them, & Mistress. Furryer came to bed to him: the Gentleman seeing his horse ready, failed not to do his diligence for the speedy attaining of his journey: but notwithstanding his great courage, he was tired in short time before his hackney was any thing hot, in so much, he was constrained to leave his steed in the stable, and go his way. The next day, or certain day after, Mistress Furrier (that had always some errantes in the City) met the Gentleman, whom she saluted, saying unto him: God morrow Sir with deux and ace. The Gentleman being abashed said unto her: Mistress Furrier, if the Tables had been good, I had made two trays: Nevertheless you lodged me yesternight at large. It is true Sir said she, but I did not know that you had so small a train.   

¶ Of a Gentleman that had ridden post, and of a Cock that could not tread the Hens.  
THere was sometime a certain Gentleman, which had been absent from his house a long season, at the last finding opportunity he came home to see his Wife, who was young, fair, and pleasant: he took post a two days journey from his place, where he arrived very late, when his Wife was in bed, he laid him down by her, who incontinently awaked, being very glad of company, hoping verily to have had some good turn that night. But her joy was soon turned: for her Husband self himself so weary with riding Post, that for all the joy and pleasure she made him, he continued still drowsy, without proffering her any pleasure, whereof he did excuse him saying: Lady, the great love that I had toward you, hath caused me to hasten to see you, and I have ridden post all the way long, therefore considering I am weary, & sore beaten with riding, I pray you excuse me for this time. The Gentlewoman sound not this to her mind: for some that have experience say, there is nothing grieveth a Woman more, then to be deprived of such pastime. Nevertheless, the Lady took patience perforce, and had no other thing for that night, but rising up early in the morning from her Lord, let him take his rest. With in an hour or two after, he rose, and in making him ready came and looked out at a Window, which opened toward a back yard, and my Lady his wife was by him, he spied a Cock that would have trodden a Hen, & made his frisks about her many times, but at the last did nothing. My Lord that beheld his doings, was angry and said: see this scurvy Cock, he hath been this hour about yonder Hen, and can do nothing: he is nought, and therefore let him be taken a way, and another put in his steed. The Lady answered him that my Lord, I pray you pardon him, it may be that he hath ridden Post all the night long. With that my Lord held his peace, and spoke no more, having his comb cut with that answer.   

¶ Of the Vicar of Brow, and of the good pranks that he did in his life time.  
THe Vicar of Brow, who in many places hath been called the Vicar of Byon, hath done so many memorial acts in his life time, that whosoever would put them in print, should make a legend more great, than Lancelot du lake or sir Tristram. And such fame had he, that when an other Priest hath done any notable thing, it is said to the Vicar of Brow▪ The Lymosines would have usurped this honour to their Vicar, but it fell to the Vicar of Brow by all men's consent, of whom I will here recite certain feats, & the rest I will leave for others to describe. This Vicar did all things by a particular judgement of his own, & to his mind he found all things not good, that had been set forth by his predecessors: as the Anthems, the Anwers, the Kirieli●on, the Sanctus, the Agnus Dei, and such like, but he would say & sing them after his manner. And above all the rest he could not abide the order of the passion, as it is commonly said in the Churches, but he would read it clean contrary: for when Christ jesus spoke any thing to the jews, or to Pilate, then would he speak it out a loud, the every one might hear and understand, and if it were the jews that spoke or any other, he would read it so softly, and with such a low voice, that with great pain might the people hear him. It happened that a Lady of fame and authority, taking her way toward the castle of Dun, there to keep her Easter, passed by Brow upon a Good-fryday, about ten of the clock before noon, and minding to hear the service, she came into the Church, where was the Vicar saying Service. When he came to the passion, he read it after his manner: and when he said, whom seek ye, he made all the Church to ring with his voice, but when he said jesus of Nazareth, he spoke so softly that no body could hear him, and in this order went forward with his passion. This Lady, who was very devout, and for a Woman had good knowledge in the Scripture, noted well these Ecclesiastical Ceremonies, and was greatly grieved at this order of reading, and wished that she had not come to the Church: but she determined to speak to the Vicar, and to fell him her mind. After the Service was done, she sent for him to come, and speak with her. When he was come, she said unto him: Master Vicar I cannot tell where you have learned to behave yourself so unreverently such a day as this is, wherein the People ought to be in humility, but to hear you say your Service, there is no devotion at al. And why so my Lady said he? why so said the Lady? you have read the passion to day like a mad man: for when Christ speaketh, than you speak like the common Crier: and if Cayphas, pilate, or any of the jews speak, than you speak 〈◊〉 to yourself. Is it well done of you? are you worthy to have a cure? they that do you right, should take away your Benefice, and make you acknowledge your fault. When the Vicar had long given ear unto her, he answered, is this all you have to say unto me? Now by my soul it is true that is commonly said, there are many Folks that speak of that wherein they have no skill. My Lady I think I know what belongs to my office, aswell as another, and I would that all the world should know, that God is as well served in my Parish according to my degree, as in any place within this hundred mile. I know that other Curates and Priests read the Passion after another manner, the which I can do I thank God, aswell as they if I would, but it should appear that they understand not what they read. For doth it become the Knave jews, to speak as loud as jesus no, no, my Lady: Be you sure that in my Parish, God shallbe Master, so long as I do live, & let others do in their Parish according to their knowledge. When the Lady hard this proper reply, she said: now truly Master Vicar you are a man of a good Spirit, it was so told me before, but I would never have believed it, if I had not seen it.   

¶ Of the same Vicar and his Maid, and of his clothes that he did wish, and how he entertained his Bishop, his great Horses, and the rest of his train.  
THE said Vicar had a Maid of twenty five years of age, or there about, which was feign to do him service day and night. And therefore he was many times put into the Comissaries Court, where he made amends by the purse. But for all this, the Bishop could not prevail, and therefore upon a time forbade him the keeping of any maid, under fifty year old at the last: therefore he keepeth one of twenty year old, and another of thirty. The Bishop perceiving this error worse than the first, charged him to keep none at all: to the which the Vicar was forced to obey, or at the lest he made semblance of so doing. And because he was a good Fellow, and would make good cheer, he found means enough to appease his bishop, and to get his favour, who also passed often times by where he kept: for he would always have a cup of good wine for him, & now then a pretty wench to pleasure him also. Upon a time the Bishop sent him word, that he would come next day to supper to him, but he would have him provide nothing but light meats, because he found himself not well at ease, and the physicians had appointed him a diet for his stomach. The Vicar sent him word, that he should be welcome, and by and by he provided good store of calves skins and sheep skins, and put them all to boil in a great pan, minding therewith to feast the Bishop. Now, he had them no Maid, because he was forbidden to keep any. And about the time that he thought the Bishop would come, he pulled of his h●s● and shoes, and went and carried a pan full of linen clothes, to a brook that was in the way, where the Bishop should pass, and went into the water up to the knees with a washing stool before him, holding a bettel in his hands, wherewithal he beat his clothes. At the lost the Bishop came, and they of his train that rid before spying the Vicar in the water beating of his clothes, showed him to my Lord saying: I pray you my Lord foe yonder the Vicar of Brow, how he standeth in the water washing of clothes. The Bishop seeing him in that sort, was wonderfully amazed, and could not tell whether he should laugh or be angry, but coming near the Vicar, that was very busy, making countenance as though he had not seen my Lord, said unto him: I pray thee what dost thou here? the Vicar starting up as one taken, said unto him: my Lord, I am washing my linen. Art thou washing of thy linen said the Bishop? art thou become a Launder? is this a seemly order for a Priest? well, make thy account for this thy knavery to be deprived of thy benefice beside further punishment. And why so my Lord said the Vicar? you have forbidden me to keep a maid, and therefore I must be feign to be maid myself, for I have no more clean linen. Well, thou ungracious Vicar, go thy ways (quoth he) I will remember thee, but wherewithal shall we sup? My Lord quoth he, you shall have a good supper God willing: take no thought for that, I have provided light meats. When supper time was come, the Vicar served the Bishop, and at the first mess set before him these sodden calves skins, to whom the Bishop said: what meat is this thou bringest me? dost thou mean thus to mock me? My Lord said the Vicar you sent me word yesterday, that I should prepare for your Lordship light meats, I have tried all kind of meats, but when it came to the dressing, they went all to the bottom of the pan, until at the last I found these skins, that swum above the water, they are therefore the lightest meats that I could find. Thou was never good in all thy life said the Bishop, nor never wilt be, thou knowest what wickedness thou haste done me: well, I will teach thee to know with whom thou hast too do. The Vicar notwithstanding, had very well provided for supper meats of another kind of digestion, the which he caused to be brought forth, and did so well use the Bishop, that therewithal he was pleased. After supper was done, the Bishop withdrew himself to rest: but the Vicar that knew my Lord's complexion, provided him a pretty tender pigeon to lie with him all night, and also for each of my Lords men a Gossip: for it was their ordinary and custom always when they came to him. The Bishop going too bed, did the Vicar go his ways, for said he, I am now well pleased with thee, because thou knowest my diet. But I pray thee let my Horses be no worse used than myself, for I put my trust in thee. The Vicar forgot not these words, but took his leave of the Bishop till the next morning. And strait ways sent into the town to borrow good store of Mares, and within a short time he found enough to serve his turn: the which Mares he put amongst my Lords great Horses, which began to fling, kick, and keep a foul stir, in somuch that the Horsekéeper was feign to forsake his sweet heart, to appease the broil between the Horses & Mares. The next day in the morning, the Bishop would needs know what ailed his Horses to keep such a coil in the night. The Horsekéeper thought to have excused the matter, but he could not. My Lord said the Horsekéeper, the occasion was, because the Vicar had put Mares to your stone horses. The Bishop mistrusting such a matter, sent by and by for him, to whom my Lord laid a thousand injuries and reproaches, wretch that thou art said he, wilt thou always play the javel with me in this manner? Thou hast spoiled my Horses, and yet thou carest not. The Vicar answered: My Lord, said you not to me yesternight, that your Horses should be as well used as yourself? I have done to my power the best that I could do to them, they have had hay and oats their belly full, and they have had straw up to the hard belly, so that they wanted but each of them their female, which you had, and therefore I sought them the like in the Town. A vengeance on thee thou ungracious Vicar (said the bishop) dost thou tell me of such things? hold thy peace, we will reckon together, and then I will reward thee according to thy doings, and so went his way for that time.   

¶ Of the same Vicar, and of the carp which he bought for his Dinner.  
NOw to come again to our Vicar of Brow. Upon a Sunday in the morning, as he was walking about the Parish, he espied a man come walking towards him, that brought in his hand a fair great Carp: he remembered that the next day was fish day, and it might possible be the gang week, he bought this Carp and paid for it. And because he was alone, he took the carp, and tied it to his codpiece point, and so covered it with his Gown, & in that order went to Church, where the Parish tarried for him to hear Mass. When it came to the Offering, the Vicar turned his face towards the people, with the basin in his hand to receive the Offerings, and the carp that was quick, did oftentimes wag the tail, and made Master Vicars white surplice to stir, whereof the Vicar perceived nothing: But the Wives that were beneath in the Church, perceived it well enough, and they looked one upon an other hiding their eyes, and laughing, with a thousand other gestures. And in the mean time, the Vicar stood still tarrying for them, but not one of them durst go: for they supposed the Carp hanging so near his codpiece, to be some other kind of thing. The Vicar and those that were with him, stood crying and calling, come to the Offering Wives, you that have any devotion: but yet they came not. When he perceived that they would not come, but were laughing one at an other, he knew well enough that there was somewhat in the way, in so much that at the last he remembered his carp, that wagged his tail to and fro under his surplice. Well my Parishioners said he, I perceive what it is that made you so to laugh. No no, it is not it that you do think, but it is a carp that I bought for my dinner tomorrow: and in saying so, he pulled up his vestment, and showed them the carp, otherwise they would never have come to the Offering. The good man took care for tomorrow, notwithstanding the words in the Scripture, Be not careful for tomorrow: which for all that he did interpret for his own advantage: for when any man said unto him, Sir, God hath forbidden you to be careful for tomorrow, and yet for all that you have bought a carp for your dinner. It is said he, to fulfil the precept of the Scripture: for when I am already provided, what need I then care for tomorrow? Some say, that it was a Friar that did hide a Pudding in his Gown sleeve, that he stole at a certain banquet: but all cometh to one matter. There is yet many pretty tales of this Vicar of Brow, that are very pleasant, which I will leave for others to set forth.   

¶ Of a pretty little man named Terry, who being upon his Mule, could not be seen above the pommel of his saddle.  
IN the Town of Montpellier, there was a young man called the Prior Terry, who was of a good stock, and well learned, but that he was unable of his body: for he had a botch on his back, and an other on his stomach, that did let him to grow, so that he was not above a cubit high. Upon a day he chanced to ride from Montpellier unto Tholouse, in company of certain his friends of Montpellier, they came to Thuberies to dinner: and because it was in Summer, and that the days were long, his company after dinner made no great haste to departed, but tarried until the heat of the day was past, and also some of them laid them down to sleep: Wherewith Terrye was displeased, and therefore he caused his Mule to be bridled in an anger, and got upon his back, saying: Now sleep your fill, for I will be gone: So he road his way as fast as he could. When his company knew he was gone, not minding to let him go alone, they dispatched as fast as they could after him: but Terrye by this time was ridden most part of his journey. Now you shall understand, that he carried one of the great Spanish felts to keep him from the Sun, being so broad that it covered almost both the Mule & the man, rebating nevertheless somewhat as much as is reason. They that followed after him, spying a fellow of the Country in a field not far from the high way, demanded if he saw a man on a mule riding towards Narbona. The fellow answered thent saying: No, I saw no man, but I saw a grey Mule, that had a great felt Hat upon his saddle, and he ran a great pace. These men began to laugh: for they knew well it was Terrye, whose stature was so tall, that he could not be seen over the saddle.   

¶ Of a Doctor that blamed Dancing, and of a Gentlewoman that defended the same, with the reasons alleged on either part.  
IN the town of Mauns there was in times past a Doctor of Divinity, a man of great knowledge & singleness of life. And although he was a Divine, yet was he acquainted with civil orders, and therein he would behave himself very modestly and well: for which cause he was desired into good and honest company often times. Upon a day, in an assembly of the chiefest & principal of the Town (he being of the number) there was as it chanced dancing after Supper, the which he beheld for a time: during which dancing, he took occasion to talk with a Gentlewoman called the Baylivisse of Silla, a woman, who for her virtue, modesty, and honest behaviour, was well esteemed in worshipful and honourable company, very forward in all things that she did, and specially in dancing, wherein she took more delight then in any thing else, and having spent much time in civil communication, at the last they began to talk of dancing: whereof the Doctor said, that there is nothing wherein men & women were so much overseen as in it. The Baylivisse replied to the contrary saying, that no thing did revive the mind more than it, & that the measure in dancing would never enter into the mind of a dull man, which doth declare the party to be nimble, feat of activity, & to have measure in his doings: there are also said she, young folks, that are of so heavy a moolde, that you shall sooner learn an Ox to amble, then them to dance: and also you may see what minds they have. Of dancing there cometh pleasure both to them that dance, and to them that look on. And I am of this opinion, that if you durst tell the truth, you yourself take great pleasure to behold them, for there is none be they never so melancholy, and heavy, but will rejoice to see them foot it so finely with the gesture of their body. The Doctor understanding what she had said, left the terms of dancing for a time, holding this Gentlewoman nevertheless with other talk: yet not so far from the purpose, but that he might fall in hand with the former when he thought good. Within a quarter of an hour after, as he saw occasion offered, he demanded of Mistress Balivisse, if she were standing at a window, or upon a gallery, and should see from whence she was in some great and broad place a dozen or sixtéen Persons, together hand in hand, that did leap, and skip, and turn about, going forward and backward, whether she would not judge them very Fools. Indeed said she, if they kept no measure I say quoth he, although they kept measure, and had neither drum, flute, taber, nor minstrel. I confess (said the Gentlewoman) the sight would be very unseemly. Why then (said the Doctor) can a hollow piece of wood, or a pail that is stopped at both ends with parchment, have such power to delight your cares, which of itself seemeth folly? and why not, said the Gentlewoman? know you not of what power music is? the melody and pleasant sound of the instrument, entereth into the party's mind, and then the mind commandeth the body, which is for no other thing, but to show by signs and movings the disposition of the soul, in joy and gladness: for such men as are sad and sorrowful, show a contrary countenance. Furthermore in all places the circumstance and meaning of things are to be considered, as you yourself daily preach. A minstrel that should play to himself alone, were to be esteemed as a Preacher that should go into the pulpit to preach without audience: the dancers that are without an instrument, are as People in a place of audience without talking: wherefore in vain blame you dance, unless our feet and ears were taken away. And I ensure you said she, if I were dead, and could hear a minstrel, I would rise again and dance. They that play at tennis, take a great deal more pains to run after a little ball of leather stuffed with hair, and they follow it with such a desire, that it seemeth sometimes they would kill themselves, they are so eager, and yet have they no Instruments of music as the Dancers have. Nevertheless they find therein great pleasure, and marvelous recreation: and therefore Master Doctor, in my opinion moderate mirth discretely used, and dancing indifferently practised, is rather profitable, then otherwise hurtful. The Doctor would have replied, but he was compassed about with Women, that made him hold his peace, fearing they would have taken him to have danced, and God knoweth how well it would have become him.   

¶ Of a Priest, and of a Mason that confessed himself unto him.  
THere was in the Country a Priest, that was not little proud for that he had read his Cato, & somewhat more, for he had read also Sintaxis, and his Fauste precor gellida, and therefore he would be known, and spoke with a great bravery, using words that filled the mouth, because he would be esteemed a great Doctor: and also in his confession he had such terms, that he made the poor People amazed. Upon a time he had under his confession a poor man that was a Mason, to whom he said: how sayest thou Friend, art thou not ambitious? the poor Man answered, no: for he thought that was a word that belonged to great Lords, and noble Men, and in a manner did repent himself that he was come to be confessed of this Priest, of whom he heard much talking, that he was a great Clerk, and spoke so highly that few could understand him, the which he knew by the same word ambitious: for possible though he heard the word before, yet he knew not well what it meant. The Priest again began to ask him, art thou not a Fornicator? art thou not a Glutton? art thou not superbious? he said still no. Art thou not Iracondious? no neither. The Priest perceiving that he said still no, began to wonder, ask again, art thou not concupiscent? no Sir said he. What art thou then said the Priest? I am said he a poor Mason, behold here my trowel. There was also another that answered in like manner to his confessor, the which is somewhat in better order. It was a Shepherd, whom the Priest did ask, how sayest thou? hast thou kept the Commandments of God with all thy heart? no said the Shepherd. Hast thou kept the Commandments of the Church? no neither. Then said the Priest unto him, what hast thou then kept? I never kept nothing but sheep, said the Shepherd. Yet there is another of one, who after he had declared all his faults unto the Priest, the Priest asked him again, well Friend, what have you else on your conscience? any thing? he answered nothing, but that he remembered upon a time he had stolen a halter: well said the Priest, to steal a halter is no great matter, you may easily enough make restitution. Yea but said the man, there was a Horse tied at the end. Ha Sirrah said the Priest that is another manner of matter, there is difference between a Horse and a halter. You must therefore restore the Horse, and the first time that you come again to me to be confessed, I will absolve you for the halter.   

¶ Of a Gentleman that in the night time cried after his hawks, and of the Carter that wipped his horses.  
THere is a kind of people that have choleric humours, or melancholy, or phlegmatic, it must needs be one of the three: for the Sanguine complexion is always good (so they say) whereof the vapour forgeth into the brain, that maketh them become fantastical, lunatic, erraticke, schismatic, and all the acticks that may be spoken, for the which there is found no remedy by any purgagation, that may be given. Therefore having a desire to help such afflicted People, and to pleasure their wives, Friends, parents, and kindred, and all those that shall have to do, I will here in few words, briefly declare an example that came to pass and happened, how they shall do, when they have any body so taken, chief with night dreams, for it is a great pain to rest neither day nor night. There was a Gentleman in the Country and Land of Province, a man of reasonable good years, & rich, which greatly loved hunting, & took there in so great delight and pleasure in the day time, that in the night he would rise up in his sleep, and begin to cry, to hallow, and whup after his hounds, as if he had been abroad in the day time. Wherewith he was sore displeased, and so were his Friends: for there could not sleep one body that was in the house for him. And also many times he wakened and diseased the Neighbours, he would cry out so loud and so long time after his birds. But for other qualities he was reasonable, & also he was well known aswell for his honesty and gentleness, as for this his imperfection, which was so troublesome, that by reason thereof, all the World called him the Falconer. Upon a day in following his hawks, he was far from home, and strayed so far that the night overtook him, so that he knew not whither to go. But he turned so long through Mountains and woods, that at the last being very late, he came to a house that was upon the high way alone, whereas the goodman did sometimes lodge foot folks that were belated in the night, because there was no other lodging near hand. When he came thither, the good man of the house was in bed, & his household, whom he caused for to rise, desiring him that he might have lodging for that night, because it was both cold and fowl weather. The goodman opened the door, and let him in, and put his Horse in the stable amongst the neat, and showed him a bed on the ground, for there was no chamber above. There was at that time in the house a Carter, new come from the fair of Pesenest, which was laid in another bed hard by, who awaked at the Gentleman's coming, wherewith he was angry, for he was weary with travail, and was but new fallen a sleep: and such People of their nature are not very courteous. At his sudden waking he said to the Gentleman, who the Devil brought you hither so late? This Gentleman being alone, and in a place unknown, spoke as he could, saying: my Friend, the occasion is in following my Hawks. Suffer me I pray thee to tarry here until the morning, and then I will away. This Carter being better awaked, and looking earnestly upon the Gentleman, began strait way to know him, for he had seen him often times a Aix in Province, and had oftentimes hard tell, what a Sléeper he was. The Gentleman knew not him, but in pulling of his clothes he said: Friend, I pray thee be not offended with me for this one night, for I have an impediment, which is to cry in the night after my Hawks, for I love hawking so that me think every night I am at the game. O ho, said the Carter, it taketh me after the same manner, for I think I am always whipping of my Horses and driving my Cart, and I can by no means leave it. Well said the Gentleman, one night will soon be passed over, we will therefore bear one with another. He goeth to bed, but he was very little entered into his first sleep, but that he started out of his bed, and went crying about the house, sa haw, sa haw, sa haw, whup whup whup. At this cry the Carter awaked, and taketh his whip that stood by him, and yerked the Gentleman to and fro about the house, crying ha, rée, brown, bayard, dun, go, what brown, hob, hob, why, hay, ho, ree: he so yerked the poor Gentleman ye need not to ask how, who waked with the yerkes of the whip, and instead of crying after his Hawks he changed his tune, and cried out for help, saying I am slain: but the Carter fetched him to and fro still about the house, until at the last the poor Gentleman was feign to get him under the table and there couch & speak not a word, taring there until the Carter had passed his rage over, who when he perceived that the Gentleman had hidden himself, set down his whip, went to bed, and begun to snort like one that had been in his dead sleep. The goodman of the house rose, lighted a candle, & found the Gentleman hidden underneath the boorden, in such a little corner, as would scant serve a cat to go in, and all his body and legs were so painted with lashes, as if it had been the picture of Christ: the which surely was a great miracle: for never after that did he once rise up to cry after his Hawks, as before he was wont to do in his sleep, whereat his Friends and kindred did much marvel that knew his quality: but he told them, what had happened. Never one man was more bound for another, than was the Gentleman to the Carter, who had healed him of such an infirmity as that was.   

¶ Of the good widow woman that had a supplication to present, and she gave it to the Counsellor Fowle.  
THere was a certain Widow Woman that had a matter in law at Paris, and thither she went to see how it went forward, wherein she made great labour and diligence, although she did not well know how to do her business, but she put her trust that the Lords of the Parliament would have respect to her age, wydowhod, and the right of of her cause. Upon a morning very early, sooner than she was wont, she did not enter into her garden together violets, but she took her supplication in her hand, the which declared of certain injuries, and wrongs that were done to her late Husband, she goeth withal to the palace, against the Counsellors should come in, and went to the first that came in, to whom she presented her supplication, and he took it, and in taking of it, the good Wife made to him her complaints, because he should understand the matter better. When the Counsellor who was for spiritual matters, saw and understood by the Wife that they were temporal crimes and faults he said to the Widow: good Woman, it is not to me that you should give your supplication, it must be unto Master Counsellor Fowl. The good Wife not knowing what he meant by Counsellor Fowle, thought that it should be delivered to the foulest and blackest Counsellor, because peradventure she saw that the first Counsellor was a fair man and well made. She began to look upon the Counsellors one after another, to see which was fair, & who was foul, wherein she was very busy: at the last comes one, that was none of the fairest men in the world, at the least in the widow's sight, because he had a long beard & was shaven. The good wife thought she had found her man, to whom she gave her supplication, and said. Sir it was told me, that it must be a fowl Counsellor that must deal with my supplication. I have viewed all those that are gone in, but me think there is none so fowl as you: therefore I pray you declare it. The Counsellor that understood very well what she meant, thought no ill of the woman's simplicity, but took her supplication, and in declaring it to the chamber, failed not but got the Wydows' matter dispatched & ended according to her request.   

¶ Of the Bastard Son of a noble man, that would have suffered himself to have been hanged, in hope to be revenged, and how he was angry with him that saved his life.  
THere was upon a time a noble man's bastard, whose wisdom was but after a manner: for he thought that every body should have done him honour as to a Prince, because he was Bastard to such a noble house. And besides this he thought that all the world did know his quality, his birth & his name: for oftentimes he went straying about the Country with a Company of no great value, and he would be in all Companies good and bad, all was one to him, he played away his Horses, at all times when he had new given him, and his apparel by that way where he went, and many times for want of a Horse he was feign to go on foot. Upon a time being left but in all ill plight, he passed by the Country of Rovergie, coming toward France, to get him a new Horse, and he passed by wood, where certain thieves had newly slain a man. The Provost Martial that followed upon the thieves, met by chance this Bastard clad like a Soldier: of whom he asked from whence he came. The Bastard answered him nothing, but stubbornly asked what he had to do from whence he came: yes said the Provost I have to do, and to know: art not thou one of those that hath killed yonder man? what man said the bastard? thou needest not ask what man said the Provost, I will make thee tell me others news or ever thou goest. Why what will thou do said the bastard? The Provost made no more to do, but caused him to be apprehended, and that was worse led him away by force, & going by the way the Bastard said, is it to me that thou hast a quarrel, & I have suffered thee all this while? the Provost thinking that he did threaten him with his fellows, kept his men about him, and led him strait to the next Town, and there condemned him to be hanged. But in ask him what he was, and what was his name, he answered no other thing, but I will teach you to know what I am, & what is my name: thou art a hanger of men, art thou? no force. Upon these threatening words the Provost condemned him, & carried him out to be hanged, & made him go up the Ladder, which provoked the Bastard to great anger, saying his death should be the dearest to him, of all that ever he hanged in his life. When he was a high upon the ladder, there was by fortune amongst the rest to see the Execution a man of that Country, which before time had been at the Court, that knew this bastard, and because he would be sure, he came nearer to the Ladder, so that he knew verily that it was he. This man called to M. Provost, saying: what will ye do M. Provost? stay your hands, it is such a noble man's son, take heed what you do, as you mean to answer it. The Bastard hearing this man declare what he was, willed him to hold his peace with a mischief, let the Provost alone said he, for to teach him to hang folks. When the Provost heard him named, he caused him to come down, and to be loosed, to whom the bastard said moreover: Well, you would have hanged me, it should have been the dearest hanging M. Provost, that ever thou hanged in thy life. But why didst not thou let him alone (speaking to the man that did save him very angerly?) judge now I pray you what will this man had, that would have suffered himself to be hanged, and would have been revenged afterward: but who would once think that he was a Noble man's son, and also a Gentleman. The poor man was not of his mind that the French King would have sent to the King of England, who then had war against France, for many injuries & wrongs that France had offered, the which Gentleman said unto the French King: Sir, and it like your grace, I am yours body life and goods, the which I will endeavour with all my power to bestow in your Grace's service like an obedient Subject: but if you send me into England in these troubles. I shall never return again, which is for a matter of no such great weight, but that it may be deferred until the King of England have pacified his anger: for now that he is thus bend against you and your kingdom, he will not stick to cut off my head. By the faith of a Gentleman said the French king, if he do so I willbe revenged, or it shall cost me forty thousand men's lives. Yea marry Sir said the Gentleman, but of all those heads there will not be one that will serve my turn, it is a small comfort to a man that his death shallbe revenged. Indeed, a man for the respect of his honour, and for the common wealth, will be the more willing to offer his head to be stricken off, for that it is a virtuous act, and a honourable execution.   

¶ Of a Tailor that would steal from himself, and of the grey cloth that he restored again to his Gossip the Hosyer.  
A Tailor of the Town of poitiers named Lion, was a good workman of his occupation, and could as well make a garment for a woman as for a man, but sometimes he would cut out three quarters behind in steed of two, or three sleeves in a cloak, and sow on but two: and he had so practised this legerdemain, that he could not refrain it in nothing that he did cut out. If he had cut out a garment for himself, he would have thought his cloth had deceived him, if he cut not something beside the garment to cast into the chest. As in like manner an other, who was so great a thief, that when he found nothing to steal, he would rise from his bed, and steal money out of his own purse. I will not say that Tailors be thieves, for they take no more then only that which is brought them, no more than the joiners: & as the Maid said to her Mistress that hired her: wots ye what Dame? I will serve you well, but look you? what meanest thou by that said the woman? My feet are swift to seek a new service if I like not, and this all the fault I have: for in all other things you shall find me as diligent as is possible. Also our Tailor could very well his occupation but that he had his fault. It chanced so that he made a cloak of Rouen russet for a Gossip of his that was a Hosier, who had occasion to ride abroad, whereof he had stolen a good quarter. The Hosier perceived it well enough, but said nothing, knowing by his own occupation that every man must seek to live by theirs. One day in the morning, the Hosier passing by the tailors door with his cloak on, the Tailor asked him how he did, and willed him to take a Hearing with him to breakfast, for it was in Lent. He was content, so they went up together to roast this Hearing: the Tailor called to his apprentice that was in the shop saying, bring me the gridiron that is below: the boy thought that he had called for the grey russet cloth that was left of the cloak, and that he would have restored it again to his Gossip the Hosier: he took the cloth, and carried it up to his Master. When the Hosier saw this great piece of cloth, why said he, is this of my cloth? and will no less serve thy turn then this? Now surely I see there is small honesty in thee. The Tailor perceiving that he was bewrayed, said unto him: why dost thou thinks that I would have kept it from thee that art my Gossip: Dost thou no● see that I have called for it to give it thee again? I spare thy cloth, and thou sayest I steal it from thee. The Hosier was well pleased with this answered: so he broke his fast, and took hence his remnant of cloth. But the Tailor gave his prentice a lesson, to make him wiser: an other time.   

¶ Of Chykovan the Taborer, that caused his Father in Law, to appear before the judge because he did not die, and the sentence that the judge gave.  
IT is not very long since that in the Town of Amboyse there was taborer, that every man called Chykovan, a man merry and full of pleasant words, for the which he was welcome in every place. He took to Wife an old man's Daughter in the Town of Amboyse, a man that meaned good faith, and had passed his time having no child but one only Daughter. And because that Chykovan had no other means to sine but his Tabor, he requested of this good man some money with the marriage of his Daughter, that he might buy some implements towards household. But this old man would give him none, saying for his excuse to Chykovan: My son, ask me no money, for I can give you none at this time: but you see well that I am at the end of my days ready to go to the grave, I have no heir but my Daughter, you shall have my house, and all my movables when I am gone, for I cannot live above a year or two at the most. The good man told him so many reasons, that he was content to take his Daughter without money, but he said unto him: you shall understand that I do upon your word, that which I would not do to another: but will you fulfil that truly which you have promised? What else said the old man? I never yet deceived any man in all my life, and therefore God defend that I should begin now. Well then said Chykovan, I will have no other contract but your promiss. The day of marriage was come, Chykovan goeth from his house to fetch his Wife at her Fathers, and he himself brought her to the Church with his Tabor and pipe: when he had brought her to Church, yet all is not done said said he, Chykou●n hath fetched his Wife is Church, and now he must go fetch himself. He goeth back again to his house, and then he brought himself to to the Church with his tabor and pipe, where he married his Wife, and then brought her home, so that he was himself both Bridegroom and minstrel, and gained his own money, he played the good husband with her, and they lived always together joyfully. At the end of two years, perceiving that his father in law did not die, he tarried yet two months, yea three months, but he lived stil. He bethought him for his pleasure and to make sport, to summon his Father in law, & for that purpose sent to him a sergeant, to warn him to the Court. This good old man, that never before had to do in the Court, and that knew not what such adiornementes meant, was the heaviest man in the world to see himself adjourned, and also at the request of his son in law, whom he had seen the day before, and had said nothing to him of it. He went out of hand to Chykovan, & made his complaint, showing him that he had done him great wrong thus to adjourn him, and he not knowing wherefore it was. No said Chykovan, I will tell you tomorrow at the Court, and so could get no other thing of him, but must needs come to the Court. When as they came before the judge, Chykovan began to declare his matter himself saying My Lord judge. I have married this man's daughter here as all men know, I never had one penny with her, as he himself can tell, but he promised me when I did marry her, that I should have his house and all his goods, & that he would not live above one year, or two at the most, I have tarried this two year and three months longer, and yet I have neither his home nor any other thing, I require that he die, or else to give me his house and movables according to promise. The good man defended his cause by his Attorney, that answered briefly what he had to say. The judge having heard the debates on both sides with their reasons alleged, and knowing the 〈◊〉 intent of Chykovan, and his foolish demand upon the old man's unsure promise, for his foolish adiornment did condemn Chykovan to pay all his Father's costs and charges, and besides that twenty franks turnoys to the King. Yet said the judge perceiving thou art a poor man. I will moderate the sentence, it shall be but a Capon, and the charge that the goodman hath been at, and you shall go together like friends, and eat your part, & after his death you shall have his house, if it be not sold before, or mortgaged, or fallen by casualty of fire. And thus the judges appointment was according to Chykovans demand, whom he made afraid with his first sentence, but at the last did moderate the same, as a judge may do in such a case.   

¶ Of two points to make a woman hold her tongue.  
A Certain young man being in talk with a Woman of Paris, who made her vaunt that she was Master, said unto her: If I were your Husband, I would break you well enough from your will. You said she? why what can you do more than other men? you would be made to come under as well as others I warrant you. No no said he, I know two points to have the upper hand of a Woman, Say you so said she? and what be the points I pray you? The young man in shutting his hand showed her his fit, saying that was one, and then in closing the other hand said that was the other, whereat there was good laughing. For the Woman thought that he would have showed some reason by learning, to have the upper hand of a Woman: but trust me, I think there is neither these points nor any other, that can persuade a Woman, if once she have gotten the head to range at her own pleasure.   

¶ Of the Lord of Vauldry, & the pranks that he played.  
IT is not long since was living the Lord of Vauldry, whose doings made him known of Princes, and almost of all the world, the Acts that he did in his life time with such a terrible and fearful desperatenes, and the good fortune that he had withal, that no man but only he durst presume to do the like. And as it is commonly said, that a wise man should have died thereof a hundred times. As when he strangled a Cat with his teeth, having both his hands bound behind him. And an other time when he would try the goodness of a buff leather jerkin, or a jack of mail, I know not whether, but to try it he pithed a naked sword against a wall, with the point toward him, and ran against the sword with such might, that he ran himself through the body: and yet nevertheless he died not, he may say he had good luck. Amongst other of his desperate follies, there is yet one that deserveth well to have the hearing. He passed on Horseback upon a time over say bridges, not far from Angyers, which for bridges of wood are very high from the water, and he bore behind him on his Horse an other Gentleman, who jesting with M. Vauldry, said unto him: tell me now M. Vauldry, thou that art so full of inventions, and that canst play so many pranks, if thou sawest now thy enemies at both ends of the bridge, that waited for thy coming to slay thee, and thou hadst no shift but to go forward or backward, what wouldst thou do? Then said Vauldry unto him, dost thou ask me what I would do? thou shalt see what. And without any more ado set spurs to his horse, and leapt with him clean over the bridge into the river of Loire, and kept his horse back so well, that he escaped with his horse, but if the gentleman that was behind him escaped as well as he, truly he was more happy at the least then wise. For it is great foolishness of him to put himself behind a desperate fool, and to move such words unto him knowing when a man is in such a place, he is not sure from danger.   

¶ Of a Mooncke, that answered altogether by Syllables.  
A Certain Mooncke travailing the Country, arrived in an Inn at supper time: the host willed him to sit down among others, that had already begun supper: but the Mooncke to over take them, began to lay on load with his teeth, and with such an appetite as though he had eat no meat in three or four days before. The old Lad had put himself in his doublet, the better to fill his paunch: the which being perceived, be one that sat at the table. He began to ask the Mooncke many questions; that were not greatly to his mind, for he was busy filling of his belly, because he would not lose much time, he answered the party that spoke to him altogether in syllables: and I think he was practised with this language long before, for he was very expert in it. The questions, and the answers were these: what garment do you were? strong: what wine do ye drink? red: what flesh do ye eat? beef: How many Monks are ye? nine: how like you this wine? good: you drink no such at home? no. What eat ye upon fridays? eggs: how many have each of you? two. And this while, he lost not one mouthful of meat, for his teeth were still going, and yet answered well and readily to all his demands. If he said his matins so short, but of doubt he was a notable Pillar of the Church.   

¶ Of a certain Student in the law, and of the apothecary, that taught him physic.  
THere was upon a time a certain Scholar, that had dwelled at Tholowse a certain time, passing by a little town not far from Cahors in Quercy, named saint Antony's, there for to practise his texts of law, not that he had greatly therein profited, for he had most studied humane letters, wherein he had very good knowledge. But he thought, seeing he began to profess the law, not to stray or wander from the same, until he could answer therein aswell as another. So soon as he was come to saint Antony's (as in such little Towns a man is quickly spied and marked) there came a Apothecary to be acquainted with him, saying: Sir, you are welcome to the town, and so began to fall in talk with him: who amongst other talk, spoke certain words as touching Physic. When the Apothecary had hard him speak, he said unto him: Sir, so far as I can perceive you are a Physician. No that I am not said he, but I have read somewhat of Physic. I know well enough Sir, that you will not declare what you are, because you mean not to tarry long in this Town. But truly Sir, if you would, you should not find it least for your profit. We have at this present never a Physician in these quarters, he that we had, is lately dead, and died worth three or four thousand pound. If that you will remain and dwell here (for here is god being) I will lodge you in my house, and so you and I shall live well, when ye are once known. Sir said he apothecary, I pray you take the pains to come and dine with me. The Scholar understanding the Apothecary's words, that was no fool, for he had travailed into many places, to see and know fashions, was content to go with him to dinner, & thought this to himself: I will try the chance, and if this man will do as he saith, I shall make good shift, for this is a rude Country, and there is not one body that knoweth me, and therefore we will see what will come to pass. The Apothecary, brought him to his house to dinner. After dinner, having always this talk in their mouths, they agreed together to be Coosins. And for to make our tale short, the apothecary made the Scholar believe that he was a Physician. And then that Schooler said unto him first of all, you shall understand that I never had great practice in our art as you do think. But my mind was, to have gone to Paris, to have studied another year, and then to have fallen to the practice at the Town from whence I came. But seeing I have found you, and that I know you are a man that can show me pleasure, and I in like manner unto you, let us look about to do our business, for I am content at your request to tarry. Sir said the Apothecary, take no care, I will teach you all the practice of physic in less than fifteen days. I have of a long time used the company of physicians, both in Prance and in other places, I know their fashions, and their receipts all by heart. Moreover in this Country, ye need but set a good countenance on it, and go by guess, & you shallbe counted the best Physician in all the World: and then the apothecary began to teach him, how he should write an ounce, half ounce, a quarter of an ounce, a dram, a handful, a quantity. And another day, he taught him the names of drugs that were most common, and to mix, to strain, to still, to make compounds, and simples, and such like things. This continued ten or twelve days, during the which time he kept his chamber, causing the apothecary to say that he was not well. The which apothecary blazed abroad that this physician was the best learned man, that ever came to that town. Whereof they of the Town were very glad, and began to entertain him, and to make much of him so soon as he came abroad, they striving who should make him the best cheer. And you would have said that already they longed to be sick, to try this new physician, and to set him a work to the end he might have a better will & desire to tarry there. But M. Doctor made himself to be sought for, & entered not haunting the Company of many Folks, but kept a great countenance & set a good face on the matter, & above other things he did not departed from the Apothecary, that had taught him his running: in short time there came uryns to him from all parts. Now in those places they must judge by the urines, whether the patiented be a man, or a woman, & in what part their pain and sickness lay, and of what age they were. But this Physician could do more than that, for he could tell them who was their father & mother, and whether they were married, or no, and how many Children they had, to conclude he could tell all even from the old to the new, and all by the help of his M. the apothecary. For when he saw any body brought a water, the apothecary would question with them whilst the physician was above, and would ask them, from end to end all these former things. And then he caused them stay▪ until he was gone up & declared to M. Doctor all that he had learned of them that brought the urins. The physician, taking their waters, would hold them up & look on them, putting his hand between the brinall and the light, & would shake it, and turn it with all the gestures in such cases required. Then he would say, it is a woman's water, yea truly Sir it is so, she had a great pain in her left side under the breast, or pain in the head (as the Apothecary had given him instructions) it is not three months since she was delivered of a Daughter. The bringer of this urine did begin greatly to marvel at his great knowledge, & would go away, and declare unto every body what the physician had said, So that from mouth to mouth the report went, that there to the town was come such an odd Fellow, that there was not his like to be found. And if by fortune his apothecary was not by, or at hand, then would he draw the worm out of their nose himself, in saying very sick, to which the bringer of the urine would say he or she, by the means whereof he would say after a little pausing, is not this a man's water? Yea truly Sir, it is a man's water would the Bringer say, I spied that by and by, would the Physician say, but when he came to minister and give physic unto any one, than would he have always his apothecary, who spoke one unto another physic latin, which was in those days fine stuff. And under this latin, the Apothecary would name him the whole receipt, making a show as though they spoke of other things. In the which, I leave you to consider whether it were not a good sight to see a Physician write under a Apothecary. In effect whether it was because of the good opinion the People had on him, or by any other chance, those that were sick, felt themselves well by his ordinances and appointments, they thought not themselves well that came not to this Physician, and they were persuaded, that it was good being sick whilst he was there: for they thought if he went once his way, they should never recover again the like, and happy was he that could present him with the greatest gifts. So that in six or seven months, he had gotten good store of crowns, and also his Apothecary by means one of another: and therefore he prepared himself to departed from saint Antony's, saying that he had received letters from his Country, by the which he hard news that he must needs departed for a time, but he would not fail to return again shortly. It was to Paris that he came, where afterwards he fell to study physic. And it may be afterward for all his further knowledge, he was not so good a Physician, as when he was prentis: I mean, his doings came not so prosperously to pass: and many times fortune helpeth more those that are ignorant, than those that have knowledge and skill: for a man of knowledge, useth too much discretion in his doings, he thinketh of the circumstance, and hath a fear, and a doubt, which giveth unto men a mistrust in themselves, that doth discourage them to deal in many things. And as it is commonly said, better it is to fall into the hands of a lucky physician, then to him that is learned, and hath good skill. The Physician of Italy knew this well enough, who when he had nothing to do, did write two or three hundred kind of receits, for divers sicknesses & diseases, of the which he took a great number, & put them in the pocket of his coat, or into his bosom: so that when any body came unto him with urines, he drew out one of the receipts by chance (as the lots are drawn at the Lottary) and gave it to the bringer of the urine, saying unto him or her, Dio te la dagae buonae: and if it sped well so it was, and if it sped ill, Suo damuo: for thus goeth the world.  
FINIS.